Page 15 of Thorns of Death
“But what does that have to do with his dead wife?” I rasped, my ears buzzing and my head spinning.
She chewed on her bottom lip, emotions flickering in her eyes. Almost as if she didn’t want to say the next words.
“Maybe they made it look like she was dead to keep her protected.”That motherfucking, lying, gorgeous Italian!“If she was considered dead, it’d be easier to keep her alive.”
I should have been alarmed at the possibility that he was involved with the mafia. But no. My mind and my body railed against the fact that I couldn’t have him again, and even more importantly that I’d slept with a married fucking man, no matter what the story was.
Jealousy and anger were a bad combo for someone with my temper. And Enrico Marchetti would learn just how bad if he ever crossed my path again.
FIVE
ENRICO
Iwatched the streets of Paris blur past, lampposts beginning to flicker on as night settled in. I was on my way to the Philharmonie de Paris. My mood was sour, and it matched the current weather, throwing gray shadows over this city of love.
But my mind was elsewhere. It searched for the ginger-haired woman who’d slipped through my fingers. It wasn’t often—never, actually—that women walked away from me without bothering to get in touch. It piqued my interest. I wanted to taste her again. Feel her lips on mine. I needed to drink her sighs and swallow her whimpers.
Giulio drove swiftly in and out of traffic while my faded reflection stared back. Was it my face, or a stranger’s face? It had all started to blur. It didn’t really matter though, did it? It was for the good of ourfamiglia. A dynasty. The kings of Italy.
Except lately, it felt like a gold chain wrapped around my neck. Suffocating me.
My phone buzzed and I retrieved it out of my pocket. It was from my uncle.
Donatella secured.
I typed my message back.
Make sure she can’t slip out again.
Of course.
Then my phone buzzed again.
See you at the Philharmonie.
Putting my phone away, I leaned back in my seat and pinched the bridge of my nose to ease this pressure behind my eyes. Maybe I was tired or maybe this anticipation that shit would blow up any minute was taking its toll on me.
I pushed my hand through my hair. Years ago, when it started to gray, I thought it’d dissuade women from hooking up with me. It didn’t. Apparently, it was “in” to have salt-and-pepper hair, and women found it more appealing.
I inhaled a lungful of air. If they knew the fucked-up shit our family was into, they’d probably run screaming. The image of the girl with emerald eyes and ginger curls cascading down her back flashed in my mind. She seemed innocent. Pure. Even though the woman’s sexual appetite matched my own, much to my delight.
Yet something about her intrigued me. A quiet, rebellious strength she projected without even trying.
Unlike another woman I knew.
Donatella Marchetti was a fucking curse on our family. Weak. Clingy. And catastrophic for everyone around her.
Like a goddamn leech, she refused to die. Instead, she made everyone’s lives hell. Including her own. A fucking psycho. The only reason I kept her alive was for the fact she was Enzo and Amadeo’s mother. I had hoped she’d get better with time and professional help, but she hadn’t, and I couldn’t help the bitterness that crept up whenever I thought of everything she’d done.
Having her locked away kept me from killing her, but it didn’t stop me from wishing her dead. She stood on thin ice, very much like the mafia—with one major difference. She could be killed, the mafia couldn’t.
Over the last ten years, the mafia organization in Italy had changed and adapted to the times. We as the five ruling families—Marchetti, DiMauro, Agosti, Romero, Leone—had developed a finely honed sense of loyalty among our citizens. At the cost of ourselves and our own families.
But now, we fucking thrived.
We divided Italy into five territories and worked together rather than against each other. But not only that, we went a step further and built ties with other powerful families. Konstantins. Callahans. Even the Ashfords through Kingston. The infamous Ghost.
It made us stronger and together we ran one of the most successful organizations in the world. The Thorns of Omertà.
