Rebecca Downhill (Becca) has known nothing in her life but a strict father who is involved in businesses with the Italian mafia in NY, an absent mother who has taught her to be obedient and fulfill her duties towards the family, and a twelve years o...
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"Fuck!" I hiss between my clenched teeth in blissful satisfaction, and I throw my head on the back, rubbing the hands on my face.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial Mike.
"Where the fuck are you, Mike?" I growl when he answers.
"Italy still. Why?"
"Is she coming back?"
"I spoke with her today, but she didn't seem convinced. I'll stay a few days more. She'll come around."
I understand now that Gio must have some damn powerful resources in Italy if he has found out about Becca's plans before Mike has.
"Keep me posted, Mike."
"Sure," he says, and disconnects the call.
"Are you sure of your intel, Gio? Mike knows nothing yet."
"Mike is just a bodyguard, Lucas. He doesn't know the people I know," Gio replied calmly, sucking the cigar he holds between his long and thin fingers.
I hum, pressing my lips in a thin line and looking down at the crowd on the dancing floor below the VIP room.
Instantly I can hear my own blood rushing through my veins and feel the need for another burning whiskey, so I throw the contents of the glass I have in my hand in one swift move, down my throat.
Becca is coming back. She'll be on my territory, and I'm fucking ready for her. I'm readier than ever.
I stretched my lips in a smile and met Gio's eyes, smiling back at me.
"Finally, I see a smirk. A shitty ugly smirk, but at least there is one," he says and raises his hand for another round of drinks.
I smile wider and lower my eyes back to the dancing floor, and I see someone I wish I never had seen shortly because I'm still not sure if Marciano has managed to cool things off. And seeing that someone makes me lose my shit.
Salvatore raises his eyes and when he meets mine, he puts two fingers of his right hand to the right temple in a vicious salute and gives me a venomous smile.
I don't reply, just stare back at him, feeling my already boiling blood invading my brain.
I took my phone and called his father.
"Talk to me, Marciano. How far are you with our plans?" I say when he picks up and my hand is already feeling the gun tucked in the waistband of my pants, ready to shoot Salvatore.
"Tate, I was going to call you to tell you I am a happy father and will send you a wedding invitation," he says.
"A fucking wedding invitation doesn't make me happy, Marciano. I need insurance."
"What the fuck do you want me to do, Tate? Blow my son's brain to make you happy?"
"Oh, no. That's my job to do. Send him to Italy. Make sure he's busy there and away from here. And he will be safe."
