Page 8 of The Marriage Contract

“You two are the only ones who know the truth,” I tell my two most trusted soldiers. Every man is loyal to the Moretti Family as a whole, but these two are faithful to me specifically. We’ve fought together. We’ve bled together. Allessio and I grew up together.

“It’s going to stay that way,” Allessio says.

“Or off with our heads, be it,” Paolo comments.

I smirk. “You almost sound afraid.”

He looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Of you, Dario? Why would that be? You’re such a pussycat.”

With no other men here, we’re able to banter like this. That’s one reason I like these two so much. They almost make me feelnormal, like just another soldier in the Moretti army, which is what I feel like most days.

“How’s it going, anyway?” Allessio asks. “She doing a good job?”

I think about telling the truth. She fumbled her first big task, but the idea of badmouthing her doesn’t sit right with me. When she got all sassy back at the house, technically, I should’ve put her in her place, but I didn’t. I almost liked the way she spoke to me, as if she wasn’t afraid, as if I wasn’t some intimidating godlike figure.

“She’s doing amazingly well,” I say.

Allessio nods. “That’s good to hear.”

“But let’s focus on the Romanos,” I say sharply. “Vincenzo is living in a dream world if he thinks we’re going to allow him to take over one of our goddamn charities to launder money. Who does he think he is?”

“He hasn’t escalated to violence,” Paolo remarks.

“That’s the only reason we’ve agreed totalk,” I say bluntly. “This conversation would sound more like the Fourth of July if he’d gone any further. Infiltrating a charity, blackmailing an accountant, that’s one thing. If he were to make a serious move, one misplaced punch, or, worse, a purposefully placed bullet …” I curl my hands into fists. “I’d beat the motherfucker to death myself.”

They nod, knowing I’m being serious. In the back of my head, there’s an ugly voice telling me that a civilian like Elena could never really be with a man who deals so casually in violence, which is good—I tell myself—because this is all a show anyway. If anything, I should be glad my life is too dangerous for her. Itmeans if I were ever to develop real feelings—which I can’t—I wouldn’t be able to act on them sincerely. Her life would change and become far more dangerous than she could imagine.

Paolo pulls up outside the bar. Two Moretti men are waiting for us outside. One quickly rushes forward and opens the door for me.

“They here?” I ask.

“Inside, boss.”

Allessio walks in front of me, his tatted arms at his sides like he’s ready for a fight. Most born-and-bred mafiosi don’t have tattoos, but Allessio wasn’t always part of the mob. In his late teens, he went to live overseas, working security and as a bouncer all over Europe as he traveled, painting his adventures on his skin.

Allessio always enters any room before I do.“If they try something, let them hit me first …”He’s the most loyal man I know.

The bar is thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of whiskey. Vincenzo is waiting for us at the far table. Several of his men are dotted around the room, and several of mine are, too. Nobody would be stupid enough to try anything here unless they are willing to sacrifice their lives.

Vincenzo stands, a tall, imposing man around my age, his hair completely gray, his eyes just as calculating as Paolo’s. He’s on the leaner side, giving him a hungry look, which is fitting. The Romanos have wanted to take what we’ve built for a long time.

“Dario,” he says, smiling and offering his hands.

“Vinnie,” I reply, pretending we’re best buddies as we shake.

“I hope the traffic wasn’t too bad.”

“This city. You know how it is. Shall we talk in private?”

A flicker of fear touches his features, though he tries to hide it. I sense his men tensing up all around me. Reaching into my pocket, I take out my piece, eject the bullet in the chamber, catch it, and then remove the magazine. I place it all on the table. Vincenzo does the same. “Sure.”

I head into the back room. He follows. It’s a power move my father taught me when I was a boy.“If you want to show a man that he isn’t a threat to you, turn your back on him. It’s the ultimate sign of disrespect.”

In the back of the bar, there’s a meeting room, almost like a police interrogation room. It’s a simple layout with a table and two chairs. We sit opposite each other. Vincenzo taps his fingernail against the table, the speed of the tap-tap-tap noise increasing the longer I remain silent.

“You trying to keep me in suspense?” he says.

I smirk. “Why are you nervous?”

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