Page 4 of Bought By the Mafia

“Funny that you care about it. But sadly no. Resign tomorrow. Those are the terms.”

“I hate you.”

“Back at you, babe.”

And he left.

2

She was testing my patience. That had to be it. Otherwise, why refuse to resign from her frivolous job, even though she was married to a multi-millionaire? Billionaire, if you counted the off-shore assets. It was two weeks since we got married and still; she hadn’t left her job.

A cold war was waging in my home, and it was draining me. I would say she should do something, just one thing, and she would not refuse, but simply not do it. I would remind her, and she would acknowledge the reminder and then forget about it. She must have realized by now that I wasn’t ready to deploy the “expose your mother’s location” nuke, thus emboldening her. Instead of leaving earlier than I for work, she was simply leaving the same time as I was, as if daring me to do something.

Problem is, she did not know how she was endangering the business with her stupid standoff. It was just as well that she didn’t know the consequences of her actions, otherwise she would have used it against me.

I should have been concentrating on my work, but I was instead wasting my brain power thinking about her and her stupid antics. Graphs, words, and numbers were floating on my laptop screen like a jumble of undecipherable financial data. Even when my phone chimed, the noise felt louder than usual and pulled me out of my pretend concentration. It was her. And she was testing me further by sending this asinine text. The nerve. The gal to send a text like that. I thought of calling her father. Not to do what I had threatened, that was something I wouldn’t do even to someone I hated like Simona, but maybe to return the goods and ask for a refund? Her father was a well-known violent man and who knew how he would retaliate towards her? I had some sympathy for Simona. A little, not a lot, but her insolence had to end. Simona had cost my business once. I would not let her cost us again.

I put in a call. The phone rang and rang until I thought the call was going to die, when she picked it up. “You saw my message?” she said on the other end. Talking to her over the phone was just as devastating as talking to her in person. Her voice had a sultry quality enough to drive any virile man insane. It was equally matched by her stunning beauty, which had made me speechless the first time I saw her after five years. It did not differ from when I first met her. Amazing how she still could shut down my voice box.

“Hello?” I heard her say on the other end. Like a love-struck teenager, I had gone quiet again. I felt a lump in my throat and cleared it. “You should hand in your resignation, not going to Paris.”

“You’re don’t control me.” The line went dead.

Why did she keep insisting on making everything difficult? If Dante were to find out that my wife was working for a Saccone money-laundering front, he would have my head. The twins would not stop him. Wouldn’t they love reminding me it wasn’t the first time I sabotaged the business? There was no way I was going to let that happen again, which meant there was only one thing to do. Drag her out of there myself.

The offices weren’t that far away. A five-minute drive at the back of my town car and I was there. The place looked like what one would expect a typical fashion magazine office space to look like. White marble walls, abstract art, and framed magazine covers. Skinny white girls scurrying in heels. My presence as soon as I got into the reception attracted a lot of attention. The two receptionists glared at me as soon as the elevator doors opened. A few of the people sitting in the lobby looked up from their phones. The girls would glance at me and my three bodyguards in perplexed amusement as they ran past. It had the desired effect. The receptionist I approached looked similarly petrified when I asked her I wanted to see the editor-in-chief.

“Um, d-do you have an appointment?”

“Tell her it’s Giovanni Morelli. She’ll make time.”

She did to the girl on the other end of the call she made and then said, “A-apparently she’s in a meeting.”

“Tell the assistant to tell her boss that Giovanni Morelli is here.”

She peered at me for five long seconds, clearly conflicted about whether she should push back or do as I say. The latter won, and she called back.

A few minutes later, a smartly dressed short woman with silver black streaked hair came marching in. “Gio,” with a hand extended, “to what do I owe this marvelous surprise?”

“Judy.” I said, accepting her greeting. “I had a minor issue I wanted to discuss with you, nothing pertinent,” I replied and followed as she led me to her offices. I signaled my men to stay in the lobby, much to the chagrin of the receptionist, who kept peering at them from behind the counter.

When we arrived at her office, I saw she was indeed telling the truth. She was in a meeting. Albeit a staff meeting with three other employees, one of them who was my wife. Simona bolted from her chair when she saw me coming in. “Let’s reschedule this later girls, I have company,” Judy said to them.

“Except for Simona,” I said. Everyone looked at both her and me with curious glances. Ah, this was going to be interesting. Judy seemed just as perplexed as she told Simona to remain. I took the one beside Simona. Her hands were shaking, I noticed. With fear or anger? I could not tell.

“Sorry to bother you on such a busy day,” I said to Judy.

She dismissed my apology with a flicker of the wrist. “Oh, it’s nothing at all. You know you’re welcome to walk in and out whenever you like. What I want to know is how you two know each other?”

I frowned. “She didn’t tell you? Seems like my wife is not as excited as I am about our marriage.”

Judy’s eyes bulged. “Married!” She turned her gaze to Simona. “Simona! When? Where? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I’ve been meaning to,” Simona said in a low voice before glaring at me. She looked like she wanted to punch me in the gut. It was definitely anger that was making her shake. Good. That I can handle. I noticed something else. “I don’t know,” I said, raising her hand and showing it to Judy. “Looks like you didn’t want your coworkers to know. Where’s your ring, darling?”

“It, um, kept slipping off. It looks really expensive, and I didn’t want to lose it.” Like the consummate liar she is, the excuse came out smoothly.

“But why didn’t you tell us! And when did this happen?”

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