. . .
Dante Valentino
I liked buying things for her, especially how she reacted to them. She was a woman with pride, and I was a man who wanted to see it crumble. Only for me.
We went back to the house after lunch. She didn't speak during the drive back, looking to be deep in her thoughts. I thought about the set of books she had written.
Fantasy, from the looks of the vibrant covers. It fit her. I couldn't imagine her writing romance, and neither could I imagine her writing horror or thriller. I wasn't a reader, but for her, I'd make an exception.
I was already making many exceptions for her.
As soon as I parked in the garage, she bounced out and locked herself in her room with her new books.
I settled myself in my office. I felt a bit better after eating and going out with her. Arguing with her took my mind off things.
Especially one thing I couldn't stop thinking about.
My marriage to Danilo's daughter. I had announced to soften the blow of my brothers' engagement to Leyla and did plan to go through with it.
It was the right decision. But having her in my house didn't feel right. I knew Blue would leave sooner or later, and I couldn't keep her locked up here no matter how much I enjoyed her company. Then Danilo's daughter would be here.
And I would be expected to be a husband.
When I was younger I had vowed that the Valentino Mafia would die with me. That I would kill every Valentino, and then myself. I wanted to destroy what had destroyed me - destroy what my parents loved more than their children.
But things didn't go according to plan. Fabiano and Giovanni were not killed like my mother had said they would, because we escaped Igor. All three of us ruled the mafia. The Valentino name was ours, no longer did it belong to just our father.
Yet, there were moments I wanted to burn it all.
Being the king of the castle where I was once a prisoner couldn't make me love the castle.
I grabbed the box set I had bought, setting it on the office desk. There were five books, each looked to be of at least five hundred pages. I took one out, flipping through the pages till I got to the dedication.
Dedicated to my mothers, who write beautifully, and love better than me.
I picked the second book.
To those who read the last one and did not give it away.
I chuckled.
I picked the third.
To those whose dreams are lined with reality. I know how it feels to want to fly but fear the sky.
I went through all of them.
To those who loved me when I was terrible and when I was lovely.
To my kittens. They are better than everyone.
The last one made me frown.
To the one who valued history, and departed before he could make it.
Who was she talking about?
I reached for my phone, hesitating only for a bit. I had not yet demanded a thorough background check for Lily, because of reasons I could not fully understand. The need to know her was always there, but I wanted to hear everything from her.
Yet I reached for the phone and gave the order.
. . .
"Hello," I said, sitting down in front of him on the wooden chair.
The man struggled with his ropes. I sighed, pulling out the dirty cloth from his mouth and throwing it away.
He looked like a rabid animal.
Giovanni appeared through the darkness behind him, his knife glinting. "Our men told us you are refusing to talk," he said. "Any way we can convince you?"
"Go to hell," he spat.
"I will," Giovanni said. "Hopefully after a few more years." He stood beside me. "Who sent you?"
The man's dark eyes glared up at Giovanni and then at me.
I pinned his hand to the armrest with my knife, Giovanni chuckled as the man screamed.
"Let's get this over with." I pulled the knife out. "Who sent you?"
"No on-"
I stabbed his hand again. "Who sent you?"
"...Creed," he whimpered.
"Why?" I asked, pulling the knife out.
"They wanted me to kill someone," he said. "Offered half a million. I took it. I need the noney-"
"Who did they send you for?"
"The girl," he said. "Pietro's daughter. She killed someone close to the Creeds."
I frowned. "Who did she kill?"
. . .
(2/5)