Page 58 of Beauty and the Mafia Boss

“You told me that all I needed to do tonight was to be myself,” she justifies. “It was your choice.”

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“You smiled?” These are Tizziano's first words upon entering my office at the La Santa training center. He pauses, holding up the several copies of newspapers he holds in his hand. “Seriously? You? Smiling?” The underboss expels the air through his teeth, making an irritating noise before continuing. “If all we had to do was come up with a crazy overexposure plan and hire some photographers to take hidden photos! Damn, you should have said it before.”

I refuse to give him an answer to that, and he sits on the couch across from the one I'm on, leaving the bundle of newspapers on the table. My brother pours himself a shot from the bottle on the low table between us and downs it in one gulp.

“It's everywhere.”

“The photographer did a good job.”

“Good job? Your order to announce to the estate's soldiers that she had moved into your ward had already generated interesting gossip. But these photos? Even I believed them, Vitto. My favorite is this one.” He chooses a newspaper from the pile and hands it to me.

I don't look, because I don't really care what my brother's favorite photo is. The only thing that interests me is the fact that Massimo Coppeline has certainly seen the photographs, as has all of Italy.

“Are you this great of an actor or just an excellent photo model? Because if this was acting, maybe you should be careful not to be too convincing even for the Brazilian.” That makes me look up at him.

“What?”

“Did it occur to you that the girl might fall in love with you?” he asks, gaining my full attention.

“I don't think she's stupid.”

“That's not the point.”

“I told her she was a means to an end, Tizziano.”

“And knowing you, I'm sure you didn't explain that the end is, most likely, a marriage agreement that old Coppeline must already be looking for, now that he has a granddaughter to use.”

Tizziano's deduction is not absurd, all of Massimo's revolt with his daughter's death was due to the connections that the old man lost with her, not because of the pure intentions of his good heart. No man who associates with the Sagrada can be accused of having pure intentions.

It wouldn't surprise me at all if Massimo was already wondering what he could gain from discovering that his granddaughter is alive. If he was able to sell his own daughter, who he watched birth and grow, to the head of a Mexican cartel, Coppeline would probably be able to promote an auction for his heiress' hand.

Massimo has a corporate empire that any large organization would love to use for large money laundering operations, for example. This was his part in the partnership he had with Sagrada, years ago. The image of Gabriella laughing at something last night pops into my mind, but I push it away.

“First, he needs to get his hands on this granddaughter, and until he's willing to give me what I want, that's not going to happen.”

“I think I'm going to spend a few days away from home,” he suggests, and I let out a long exhale before putting the document I was reading aside. I don't need to tell him to explain. “The nextfamily dinners will be hellish. I thought I would just need to deal with the fact that we both missed yesterday, but this right here?” He points to the stack of newspapers. “Mammawill go crazy.”

“You're a little old to be afraid ofmamma, Tizziano.” He snorts.

“Did you hear what I said? Rumor has it that you fell in love, Vitto.”

“What?” I ask, moving my body back until it's leaning against the sofa cushions, and I cross my legs, resting an ankle on my knee.

“Exactly. This was already in the hallways before these photos. You changed the girl's wing, gave her a team of security guards, and practically put her on a makeover TV show. What did you think people would think? And after these photos, it's not just those at the property who are thinking about this, it's the entire organization.”

“I'm not in the habit of worrying about what people think, Tizziano. But if they want to think like that, let them do so. Right now, there's only one person whose thoughts interest me, and I'm going to make sure they're exactly where I want them to be.”

“Massimo Coppeline.”

“Exactly!”

“Alright, then,” Tizziano says, raising his hands flat in the air and getting up from the sofa. “I just wanted to make sure you were aware.”

“About the gossip?”

“The consequences,” he points out. “See you at dinner, Vitto.” He says goodbye before turning his back and leaving.

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