Page 11 of Owned by the Italian Mafia Boss
“And you locked her inside? I didn’t know you were so desperate, Carmine.”
I bite back my immediate response. I don’t want to seem affected by their jabs, but Delilah’s quickly becoming a weakness for me, a dent in the armor I always wear. “She’s a means to an end,” I say, which isn’t a lie.
“Carmine—” Ari wraps his hand around my arm to stop me from walking out the front door, Gianni instantly at my side. “What are you doing?” He searches my eyes for answers he won’t find.
“My room is off-limits, do you understand? She is off-limits. You are not to speak with her. I’ll be back in an hour.”
He wants to fight me on it, but releases his hold on me and runs his red-stained hands through his hair. “Fine. Matias and I will wash up, but I want you to know that it isn’t the end of the Romanos trying to bribe our people. One death isn’t going to change that.”
“You don’t think I know that? One person dead is a warning, and another dead will mean war, baby brother.” I tap his face, something he can’t stand. He scowls, pulling away from me.
“I hope you’re prepared.”
“I’m always prepared.” I go to shut the door, but stop. “Delilah is off-limits,” I remind the two troublemakers. “She is mine. Do you understand?”
They both nod before disappearing into their wings. We all have a separate area of the house.
“Where are we going?” Gianni asks, walking around the black Mercedes G-Wagon and hopping into the driver’s seat.
After opening the passenger side door, I slide in. The tinted windows conceal us, preventing us from becoming anyone’s target. “We’re going to that shitty motel on the city's outskirts. Do you know the one I’m talking about?”
“I do.” He cranks the SUV, and the engine rumbles to life.
Looking at the house, I think of Delilah and how I’m leaving her alone in a mansion full of monsters.
Why do I care?
“Her father is there. It’s cute he thinks he can hide from me, but I know his every move.”
Gianni drops his hands from the steering wheel and stares at me with disapproval. “You told the girl you wouldn’t hurt her father. She made a deal with you, Carmine. You aren’t a man that goes against his word.”
“I’m not going against it.” I slide on my sunglasses and stare through the window toward the sun, which is hot and uncomfortable, and if I stare at it long enough, I won’t be able to see. Something shouldn’t have so much power, should it?
The sun and I have that in common.
I want to remind Mr. Reynolds that he will not be able to see his daughter again if he tries to interfere with my demands. I’ll give him his life back, his shop, his home, but Delilah is no longer his concern.
She’s mine.
Gianni sighs, clearly not believing me, and I don’t blame him. Gianni is the closest person I have to a best friend, but men like me don’t admit to having friends. We have business partners. We’ve known each other for a long time…too long. He’s the one person who knows everything about me. While my blood relatives surround me in this business, Gianni is different.
My father took him in when he was just a boy, and poor Gianni thought he was being saved, but he only went from a bad situation to a worse one. My father was not a kind man to children. He bought them if he could, beat them until death or until they fell in line, and Gianni was one of those purchases.
A sick, skinny boy with hollow cheeks took the punishment from my father every day without shedding a tear.
Strength like that is almost impossible to find, but I know Gianni, and still, he finds a way to care about others.
Unlike me.
He is a stark reminder of the humanity I lost long ago. On the day I killed my father, I killed that part of me as well.
I might be a dangerous man and kill those who wronged me, but I don’t kill, beat, or torture for sport.
My father was sick in the head and no longer fit to lead the Milazzo organization.
Luckily, the twins were only three then, so they don’t remember their father’s cruelty. It’s a blessing. Sometimes I wake up screaming, remembering the hot blade searing into my skin. From when I was six years old until I turned eighteen, I had broken bones or was used as a sculpture for my father to carve his hate into.
Life is cruel, and now it’s up to me to decide how that cruelty should be gifted.
