Allegiance

Philanthropy

Dante's POV 

"No Francesco te l'ho gia detto, niente spogliarelliste. Io manteniamo di classe." (No Francesco I told you already, no strippers. We're keeping it classy.) The man on the other end of the line chuckles deeply, and I can imagine him shaking his head in disbelief. My tone remains resolute, "Beh c'e una prima volta per tutto". (There's a first time for everything). 

He finishes taking me through the current profits at our new casino, and I invite him to lunch the next day before hanging up and breathing out deeply. It's a beautiful day, the sun slanting through large windows to create tiny rainbows that dance across the dark wood of my desk. 

The casino is doing well, incredibly well, making more in a few weeks than we had predicted for the first few months. It had already paid for itself. I should be at peace, happy with the luck that had been granted to my latest venture. 

But something was off. I didn't feel right. My fingers tap a staccato beat against the arms of my chair, and my eyes keep drifting from my work, instead seeking out the crystal blue water of the pool situated not far from my office. Laughing and raucous shouts drift through the open window, the soft breeze carrying the voices of Luca and Juliette. They're playing volleyball again, leaping around ridiculously in the water, Juliette clad only in a tiny dark red bikini that barely covers anything. 

A group of my men are at a table outside playing poker, but only Marco is actually looking at his cards. The rest are distracted, gazes constantly flickering over to the girl in the water, eyes perusing her body in a way that makes my jaw tighten. They should be working, not ogling. Tony is especially obnoxious, barely glancing away from her even as Marco takes all his money. 

My teeth are grinding against each other, hand gripping the edge of my desk. It's only because I expect better of them. They're meant to be focused, capable soldiers, not horny teenagers who can't handle the appeal of the opposite sex. Besides, all of them fuck Italian women, they date Italian women, and they eventually marry Italian women. Pure bred Italian lineage. 

Juliette was an outsider. We don't like outsiders. 

But you wouldn't fucking think that from the way they're gazing at her like love struck idiots. 

I loosen my clenched fist and shove my papers away from me. Instead of finishing my work, I walk outside, hand shielding my eyes from the glaring Italian sun. My jaw tightens as I approach the table of men, who all call out in greeting. "Don't you have jobs to do? Get the fuck inside and go do them."Looks of surprise pass between them, except for Marco. He just smirks at me with a knowing look on his face. Who knows what he was on about. 

I can feel his eyes on my back as I stalk towards the pool. As I get closer, the intense shit-talking and actual playing stops, with Luca yelling "Come play Dante" while Juliette trails off into silence. She stares straight ahead, refusing to meet my eyes. I ignore Luca, and instead walk over to the ledge Juliette has propped her arms up on. 

"Good afternoon Beaumont"

She remains silent, resting her head on her forearms. 

"The silent treatment? That's not very mature. Do we need couples counselling already?" I grin at the spark that lights in her deep blue eyes, which are now swirling with emotion. 

But she doesn't lash out or make some cutting comment like I've come to expect from her. She just responds in a montone voice, "Good afternoon Salvatore." 

She doesn't even look up at me, and frustration fills me at her refusal to meet my gaze. I sigh and turn my voice sardonic, taunting, "And here I was trying to share some information about your beloved cousin. Oh well, enjoy your volleyball."