BORGATA - BOOK 2
***NOTE: This is Book 2 of the Vendetta series. I recommend that you read Omertà before this book so that you have a gist of what's going on. However, this is a prequel, meaning this story happened before Omertà, and CAN be read o...
"Fero got ze charm, but does he have ze humongo dîck? I zink not," chrisrocks247 said, when asked what to say at the beginning of this chapter.
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After Ferro had walked me up to my room, I'd quickly–and I mean a stripper costume change quick– freshened up in the bathroom, washed and toweled dried my short bleached hair in the sink, and then slipped on a peach-colored number from my closet, paired with sparkly, strappy white sandals. Considering the material of the dress was thin, I'd chosen a nude bra and thong. Then blow dried my hair and molded it with some hairspray into a playful, but elegant fohawk, and finished the look off with my usual smoky eye and light lip-gloss. I was even wearing some perfume.
"In Italy, the cure for hangovers is fresh espresso," Ferro explained, as he filled my colorful mug up. We sat out on the patio outside the mansion, overlooking the beautiful property, enormous trees, and gardens. "I recommend two mugs, at least."
"You expect me to to drink two mugs of espresso on an empty stomach?" I slid my sunglasses down my nose. "Mr. La Morte, are you trying to cure my hang over, or kill me from a heart attack?" I teased.
"It's not that much caffeine," he laughed out and slid over the milk and sugar. I added some milk and nearly dumped the entire bowl of sugar. Sweet tooth. "The espresso dilates blood vessels and makes the headache go away," Ferro explained. "And, by the way, if you're ever going to drink two mugs of espresso and risk a heart attack, risk it on Fico's espresso."
"Oh yeah?" I drank enough of his espresso already.
"He only buys premium espresso from Venice, Italy. The bastard wouldn't give me the name of his supplier if I dangled him over a pool of sharks."
I wondered if anyone had the capability to dangle a six-foot-six–or whatever Fico's height was–over a pool to begin with. "You said supplier. How ironic," I muttered into my mug, blowing off the steam from the boiling hot espresso.
"Ironic?" Ferro asked. I was getting used to that boyish, entertained expression of his, since he'd ditched the initial cold version of himself and warmed up to me. Unlike Fücko, who was constantly "I hope you're not implying that Fico illegally purchases and distributes drugs."
"I would never. So, what's up with the bromance between you and Captain Fücko? I didn't know he had actual friends."
Ferro choked, nearly spilled his espresso on himself. "Did you just say...?"
"Captain Fücko?" I smiled, pleased with myself. "Fitting, isn't it?"
He smirked, but was smart and didn't agree. "To answer your question, Sam. Short version: Santino Vitali took me under his wing when I was younger and in a dark place. I was living off the streets at the time, and he offered me a hot meal and essentially interviewed me to join his mafia. He gave me a temporary house to stay at until I was eighteen, then he recruited me. I've been loyal to the Vitali family ever since."
