10: In Which He Says It...Again and Again [Carlo's POV]

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10: In Which He Says It…Again and Again [CARLO’S POV]

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“A drink, sir?”

Her name was Goldie – at least, I thought it was. Hanging over me, her breasts in my face and the faint smell of her sweat and overcompensating perfume assaulting my nostrils, she couldn’t have been more obvious.

“What are you wearing, signorina?” I asked, tapping my fingertips on the armrest of what Angie had called the Throne. It had been a present at the club opening from Don Romano, the go-to guy for every kind of furniture under the sun. The Throne, in particular, was one of his best creations. With a high back and golden, velvety exterior, it was aptly named and, because I rarely sat in it, was in pristine condition. I noticed things like texture and design. Coming from such an underprivileged background, it was too damn hard not to, even now, when money was no object.

Goldie – or whatever her name was – glanced down at her front. “You mean my top? But...Gio said cream is just like white, only...more interesting. Should I...change?”

“What does the sign on the building say?”

“Eleganza?”

“And what does that mean?”

“Elegance?”

. Do you really think that – with your breasts on show like a common puttana – you are anything close to elegant?”

She bit her bottom lip and shook her head.

Signorina, I run a respectable business,” I informed her. “If you want to dress like that, there are plenty of seedy nightclubs for the picking and you are free to leave whenever you so desire. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll have a whisky, no ice.”

She all but scampered away like a hunted rabbit.

“Should you really be drinking in the morning, mio fratello?” Gio called out, approaching me with a bottle of Heineken in his hand, the hypocrite.

“Fatt’i cazzi tuoi,” I muttered, accepting Goldie’s proffered glass. She was fast, I’d give her that.

“Unfortunately, I can’t mind my own business,” Gio replied in English, taking a long swig of beer before sitting on the divan opposite me. “What are you even doing here? You know I’ve got this Eleganza under control. What, you’re running away from the signora?”

I regarded him with a glare over my glass. If Gio were anyone else, I would have punched him for his insolence. As it was, Giovanni Bianchi was Mia’s baby brother and the closest thing to a confidant and brother that I had. Five years my junior, I trusted his judgment more than I did that of my own blood. Angelo had more than proven that water could be thickened if need be.

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