Page 35 of Capo Dei Capi's Daughter

On the outside my face is acknowledging everything this man says, but on the inside I’m wonder what the fuck he’s going to do to stop me from doing whatever the fuck I want.

Not that I have an intention of drugs, whores, orcreating a problem.

“Got it,” I pick up the keys, “You don’t by chance have a trash bag laying around, do you?”

“One dollar.”

Pulling the dollar from my pocket, I extend my hand to him while he grabs a trash bag out of a jumbo-sized Great Value box.

That whole fucking box probably only cost him ten dollars.

“Thanks,”

I take the bag from him and head back out to the car. When I approach her door, Venecia pushes the button to unlock the doors. Opening her door, I help her out of the car and lead her towards the trunk. Popping it open, I pull out my duffel bags and drop them on the ground before unzipping her suitcase.

“What are you doing,” she questions as I begin to shove all her belongings into the trash bag.

“Cuore mio.If anyone watches me carry this Louis Vuitton bag into our room, we’re going to be looking to get robbed the second the sun goes down.”

Closing the trunk, I grab our belongings, “Walk behind me. Stay close. Keep your eyes on the ground. No matter what. Understand?”

“Yes,” she mumbles as we begin walking towards the room. The walkway is littered with trash, a few scattered needles, and an occasional abandoned toy.

Putting the key in the door, I jimmy the handle to get it to turn. Finally getting it unlocked, I open the door, and motion for Venecia to enter the room first.

Yup. Just like home.

VENECIA

It doesn’t take long to glance around the room. Even with as tiny as it is, it is the barest hotel room I have ever been in.

Just inside the door is a small wooden table with two mismatched diner style chairs. They nearly butt up to the sole nightstand, which is also wedged tightly against the queen-sized bed pressed into the far corner of the room. At the foot of the bed is a small dresser with a tiny tube television on top, leaving barely enough room to pass between them. Next to it hangs a cheap floor-length mirror.

Beyond that, there is nothing on the walls, except an occasional piece of tape holding the wallpaper to the wall and the dusty curtains hanging over the window. The only door at the far side of the room must be the bathroom.

“I know it’s not what you’re used to,” Dante drops the bags against the door to outside, “but we’ll be safe here.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. While this is a shithole, it is also the type of place where everyone minds their own business,” he pauses while he crosses the distance between us, “People don’t ask questions, and they don’t talk.”

Leading me towards the bed, he sits against the headboard and pulls my body between his legs. Laying between his legs, my back against his chest, his arms slowly wrap around me.

“How do you know that?”

“After my dad died, I grew up in a place not too different from this one until my mom met Tony and remarried,” his voice is soft and carrying just a tinge of embarrassment, “Everyone keeps to themselves.

They are so focused on surviving, they don’t have time to worry about, or care, what their neighbors are doing.”

Wrapping my hands over his arms, “You didn’t tell me that. When you talked about your mom and growing up, it all sounded so happy.”

“Part of it was,” his arms tighten around me, “and that’s the part I like to remember. We bounced around trash motels a lot, but she did the best she could with the cards she was dealt. She sheltered me from it for a long time and did whatever she could to make sure I was taken care of.”

“She sounds like a wonderful woman. I wish I could have met her.”

“I wish she could have met you,” his hand lifts my face towards his, “she would have loved you.”

“What makes you say that?”

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