Italian Affari

Chapter 1 ~ His Son

Angelina's heels clicked against the marble floor, the sound resonating through the Don, Elio Marchetti's office. She moved with precision, her silhouette a striking contrast against the vintage rugs and dark wood paneling that adorned the room. Her flowing dark brown hair accentuated her sun-kissed olive skin, and her deep-set light brown eyes held an intensity that demanded attention.

The businessman's eyes followed the sway of her hips and traced her feminine figure as she stood next to the Don. With a finger, she pushed the cat eyeglasses further up her upturned nose. The polite smile on her perfectly proportioned face held a sense of professionalism.

The man sat back in his chair with his arms crossed, "Well?"

Her sultry voice informed, "After conducting a comprehensive review of your financial records and business history, Mr. Marchetti has expressed reservations regarding investing in your company, citing its volatile patterns of growth and decline."

He slammed his fist down on the desk and stood, "I waited six months to be told this? By her? Bullshit! If what I heard about the Marchetti family is true. I know for a fact you can take me under your wing. Use my business for anything you want. I don't care, and I don't need to know!"

She sighed. Yet another man with a death wish this week. She clasped her fingers behind her back and stepped back from Elio's side. She said a silent prayer for the man.

Elio stood up and stood behind the man, his meaty hands slumping down the man's thin shoulders.

All color drained from his face. He knew he had made a mistake—big time.

In a very low tone, the Elio said, "You are very young. Your wife and two daughters are young as well. For your own good, kid, watch what you say and who you say it to. Otherwise, things could end badly for you. Capise?"

His gulp was audible, "T-Thank y-you for your time, Mister Marchetti. I will take your advice to heart. M-may I leave now?" His voice shook with proper fear.

The pats Elio slammed on his shoulders caused him to flinch in pain. "Get the fuck outta my office." And like a cockroach, the man scrammed from the office faster than he came.

As he turned around, a smile played across her lips. He raised his thick brows, "Would you like some personal advice, too?"

She put her manicured fingers on her hips, "Would it matter if you gave it?"

His laugh quickly turned into a cough as he stumbled. She quickly closed their distance and helped him stabilize himself. "Sit," she ordered while helping him to his chair. "Are you okay? That cough is getting worse."

He waved his hand, trying to dismiss her worry, "It's nothing. Have you done what I've asked of you?"

She sighed while sitting in his armchair, tenderly cupping his cheek in her hand. "Yes. He should be arriving soon."

He began coughing again, "Good."

Worry hung heavily in her stomach. She placed her other hand over his hand, "You and Antonio aren't very close. Why did you have me call for him?"

His hazy green eyes locked onto hers, "You know why. I am sick, Angel, and I'm not getting any better. I need someone to take over after my passing, and it should be him."

She rolled her eyes, the thought too daunting to consider, "Just because you're getting old doesn't automatically mean you're also dying."

He let out a short chuckle as he added pressure to his ribs, "I appreciate your enthusiasm... It almost gives me hope. But enough of that." He declared, "Whether my passing is now or later. I will still need someone to take over. It must be him. We both know he is not ready yet. That's why I need you here."