Filed to story: The Mafia Boss’s Regret (Ava & Dante)
I was six-foot-three-hardly inconspicuous-but she wouldn’t notice me for another thirty minutes, at which time she would glare at me.
The Candy Voss was sweet to everyone but me. I could have laughed, if for reasons unknown to me, it didn’t piss me off. It was the first time since I’d become Boss that anyone had blatantly disrespected me. Maybe it was juvenile, but I wanted Ava Voss to know I didn’t care for her much either.
No woman with that much male attention could ever be anything but stuck-up and shallow. By her pink designer heels, I could see she liked to spend her papà’s money. Her sister was wearing flip-flops. I’d probably save millions of dollars by marrying her instead.
Lydia was a little strange, but attractive. If you took her away from her sister, she was stunning; if she stood next to Ava, she’d blend into the wallpaper. This scenario worked for me just fine. I’d rather not have a wife all my cousins were jerking off to.
It wasn’t like I cared much about who I married. It was time to take a wife, and in my world that meant profits. Salvatore had a little dispute with some Mexicans that was starting to grow into a problem. He’d grown soft in his old age. After the wedding, I’d help him find the root of the issue and deal with it the way I’d been taught: with a bullet through the head. This alliance was making me millions richer, not to mention would allow me control of most of the city.
A wave of awareness ran down my spine when Ava’s gaze settled on me from across the table. It was a warm and annoying consciousness on the side of my face. I was going to ignore it, but I found myself glancing at her anyway. The back of my neck itched, but I held her stare until she looked away.
After her glare at church, I’d taken it upon myself to find out why she was unfit for marriage. Turns out the Candy Voss ran away, got sweet with some man.
I knew her lack of virginity wasn’t the reason Salvatore hadn’t offered her to me. It was only an excuse. Salvatore didn’t want me to have her, though I could hardly blame him. If I were him, I wouldn’t give my daughter to me either. It was easy to understand why Salvatore had little trouble offering his other one.
Lydia sat beside me in a black dress, one leg crossed over the other. Her brown shoulder-length hair covered her face as she leaned forward and doodled something on her palm with a pen.
I hadn’t said a word to her since she’d shown up to the table late. To be honest, I’d almost forgotten she was sitting here. I guessed it was time to get to know my future wife.
“What are you drawing?”
Lydia hesitated, but then turned her little palm around and showed me.
“A rabbit.” It wasn’t a question because that’s what it fucking was.
She pursed her lips and pulled her hand away to continue. “Mr. Rabbit,” she corrected in a tone that would have normally pissed me off. But I was already at my limit, so I shrugged it off and planned exactly what I was going to do to her brother.
“Right or left?”
Tony’s jaw ticked but he didn’t say a word, just sat in the chair across from his papà’s desk like he was at a board meeting. Blood dripped from his lip onto his white dress shirt, though he still wore a darkly entertained expression.
So I hit him. Again.
A burn traveled through my cracked knuckles.
His teeth clenched, but he took it without a sound. Tony was one of those men who were so high on their own shit they couldn’t feel pain. He’d fucking feel something before I left this room.
Rays of sun shone through the blinds into Salvatore’s office, lighting dust particles in the air. All the guests had filed out, and it was safe to say this lunch was a failure. Which only meant more lunches and parties I’d have to attend. None of the families wanted to risk acquainting everyone at such a large event, because shit like today could happen, before escalating into a bloodbath with women and children present.
Luca stood in front of the door, his cold eyes focused on the back of Tony’s head. Benito and another of his younger cousins, who was close to Lydia’s age, leaned against the wall with their arms crossed, while Salvatore sat behind his desk with a contrite expression.
I could start a war for Piero’s death if I wanted, which was probably why Salvatore was going along with this. That, and the fact that his daughter’s life had been threatened due to his son’s stupidity.
“You fucked up, son,” Salvatore said, clasping his hands on the wooden desk. “I warned you and you went and caused trouble anyway. If something would’ve happened to Ava, you’d be floating in the Hudson. You should feel lucky.”
“Lucky,” Tony mocked. He ran a hand across his jaw before saying, “Left.”
Satisfaction filled my chest.
Right, it is.
I PADDED DOWN THE CARPETED hall to the distant beat of the Misfits leaking from under my sister’s door. As soon as I entered my room, I left a trail of clothes to the bathroom. Bypassing the mirror, I turned the shower on hot and climbed in.
It burned.
Something had to wash this memory away. Today took me back to six months ago. It was the last day I’d had someone else’s blood splattered against my face.
The hot water spilled from the faucet, matting my hair to my face and shoulders. I imagined it was paint-the red running down my body and swirling into the drain. If only guilt was so easy to get rid of.
I closed my eyes.
Shouting. Cold barrel against my temple. One second, two seconds. Hesitation-Bang.
My eyes flew open.
That gunshot hadn’t been in my mind.
The back of my neck prickled. Hopefully it was only Tony shooting another one of Nonna’s vases. But until now, I hadn’t thought of the consequences Tony might face after the trouble he caused…
I hopped out of the shower and dried off as fast as I could. Leaving my hair wet and uncombed, I threw on a t-shirt and shorts before running down the stairs. The marble floor was cold against my feet as I took the turn toward my papà’s office, and once again, I collided with something solid.
A lungful of air escaped me. I’d been going so fast I would have fallen to my butt on the floor, but an arm wrapped around my waist as I teetered backward and steadied me. It was an incredibly warm and heavy arm.
“Jesus,” Dante muttered with annoyance.
My stomach tightened as it pressed against his. The contact made me tingle everywhere, but I didn’t have time to analyze the feeling more. I was spun out of his way and left to watch Dante’s back as he continued down the hall.
His underboss’s cold indifference touched me as he passed, and I was suddenly and surprisingly glad I’d run into Dante instead.
A burning sensation remained around my waist, and my heartbeat fluttered from the impact and the worry creeping in. “Did you kill my brother?”
“Should have,” was all Dante said before the front door shut behind the two men.
I inhaled in relief, but it was short-lived when Tony left my papà’s office and swayed down the hall like he was drunk. He was bare-chested and his dress shirt was wrapped around his hand. Blood dripped bright red to the marble floors.
My brother was tall, slightly brawny, and covered in scars. From the two bullet wounds to an innumerable amount of others that I could only guess the cause. Probably from the illegal fights I knew he participated in.
Tony didn’t say a word as he passed, but I followed him into the kitchen. With the swinging door pressed against my back, I watched him grab a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and struggle to open it with one hand. He eventually managed by holding it against his chest and twisting. He took a long pull before sitting at the island. “Go away, Ava.”
“You need to see Vito.” He was the vicar at church, but also had medical experience to patch up wounds. It was the Lord’s work, after all.
“I’m fine.” He took another pull on the bottle, spilling some down his bare chest.
He wasn’t fine. He was smearing blood across the countertop. And he’d appeared drunk before he started drinking like someone had just broken his heart.
“I’ll call Vito.” I went for the cordless phone near the fridge.