Chapter 35 Pre-Planned
Roman
Because I went back to New York. And I took his baby with me.
When I get there, the whole family will be there. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were throwing me a welcome-home party. But I know better. A few men are milling about.
Protecting the family, doing their jobs. A few of them stop to look at me, but otherwise ignore me. There’s a bunch of cars in the driveway, and my heart rate quickens when I spot Roman’s Audi.
Great, he’s home. I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to see him again. Maybe he wouldn’t show his face.
Russo
One of the first lessons I learned is that the world is truly black and white. There are no gray areas. There is a very clear line, and the moment you cross that line, the moment your soul begins to feel a little black. Then, after a while, it becomes black, corrupted, and beyond salvation.
I think the gray area might be that line. The edge, the middle, is black and white. But if you're already anchored to that edge, you're already halfway there. You can step back into white, or you can wallow in darkness.
There are good people in the world, and there are bad people. And here's what you need to know about me: good people make me sick.
My eyes open before my phone alarm even rings. Every day, like clockwork. Someone once asked me why I even set an alarm, since my body is wired to wake up without one. I told him the only thing I hate is uncertainty.
Yet I leave the alarm on, letting it keep ringing until it wakes the woman in the bed next to me. She moans, pressing her bare ass back onto my cock. I roll my eyes before rising from the bed and crossing my arms over my chest.
"Get up," I command.
Her eyes are open, but her movements are slow and sluggish as she sits up. She blinks at me, her brown eyes soft, her eyelashes fluttering in a gesture I'm sure is meant to seduce. It worked last night, but it doesn't work in the bright light of day.
"Get dressed and go," I tell her.
I can't remember her name. That means she didn't tell me. If she'd told me, I would have remembered. All she did last night was pull me close to kiss her and ask me to fuck her.
Clear, concise language and easy access, just the way I like it. I'm not one to work for something that should come easily to me, especially sex. This woman was exactly what I needed last night, given my disappointment.
And yet, when she frowns, I know I should soften my tone.
"I'll have someone contact you and offer compensation for your services." When her brown eyes narrow, I realize I've said something wrong. She tosses her blonde hair over her shoulders and rises to her feet. She's a sexy woman with long legs, medium-sized breasts, and full lips.
"From what I heard, I thought the new Don Russo would be much better behaved." She sniffs the air and starts to pick up some clothes.
I raise an eyebrow, realizing she knows who I am. There's an accent in her voice I can't place. Russian, perhaps? It wouldn't surprise me. Last night's party was filled with gangsters from all over the world, dangerous men with ties to the mafia.
I went there yesterday to identify the people I'd eventually have to deal with, but my plans were thwarted by the arrival of Christian D'Angelo. Soon, everyone was clamoring for even a second of his time.
He symbolizes everything I aspire to be. But not yet. I plan to stay in the shadows for a while longer.
"My bedside manner won't be wasted on a woman I've already fucked," I drawl. "But for the sake of politeness, what's your name?"
She blinks again, her long eyelashes fluttering before her lips stretch into a slow smile.
"You don't know who I am?" she asks. "That's interesting. From the grapevine, I thought you knew everything."
My eyes narrow. This is the second time she's used the phrase "from the grapevine."
"I know almost everything," I correct. "But don't stroke my ego. Just tell me who's feeding you the information."
Aside from the De Luca situation, the mafia world knows about me.
For the past few months, I've prided myself on my anonymity. Working in the shadows is much easier than in the spotlight. And I'm a little uneasy that this woman approached me, knowing who I am. That means it wasn't just casual sex.
"You don't have to know, Enzo," she says, further unsettling me. "But I'm sure you'll find out in time." Finally, she finishes dressing and puts on the dress she wore last night.
"And when will I do it?" I challenge.
She smiles.
"Then I'll come and find you. Or not. It depends on the next steps you take. Who you decide to ally with."
“What the hell does that mean?” I ask calmly.
“You’ll understand soon enough, Enzo,” she says, still vaguely, putting on her heels before rising to her feet. “Anyway, I had fun last night. Don’t insult me by making someone contact me for any kind of payment. I’m not a whore, Enzo. Goodbye.”
Before leaving the hotel room, she blows me a kiss. As soon as she leaves, I get dressed, clenching my jaw, trying to understand the interaction and the conversation. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s feeling out of control. And she’s right. I also despise not knowing.
More.
Leaving the hotel, I head to my car and drive to the Russo mansion, a place that feels less and less like home each time I pass, even though it's the only home I've ever known. As I enter, the men guarding the place nod and greet me several times.
I open the giant double doors and catch the ball hurtling toward my head, seconds before it even hits me. My eyebrow rises as I examine the ball in my hand, and my gaze darts back to where it came from.
The child gasps, his blue eyes widening as he takes a fearful step back.
"For God's sake," I mutter.
I walk up to Matthew Russo. He has short, curly brown hair, chubby cheeks, and a sweet smile. At least, I think his smile is sweet, but I don't know because he hasn't smiled at me since he met me a few months ago. Not that I blame him. His dad died, and I came to take his place.