Filed to story: The Mafia Boss’s Regret (Ava & Dante)
I watched him closely. I bet after that little incident with the pool and me shoving Ava into it, he’d locked that man’s signature right down.
I had nothing against Salvatore, but there was something about sharing the same title with a man close to half his age he didn’t like. And I was fucking richer than him. He didn’t like how far my reputation stretched, and the details of said reputation. But after today, he knew he couldn’t afford to get on my bad side. We’d found the Mexicans involved with the drive-by, but there were still a few members that needed to be taken care of.
Frankly, I had more men on the streets than Salvatore. Even men on his, who I’d used to find the men responsible for today’s shooting. Salvatore hadn’t liked it when I’d used that card. I didn’t play by the rules, and the straight-laced don didn’t trust me. He needed me, though. I thought that was why he disliked me the most. He also just really didn’t want my Moretti hands all over his favorite daughter.
“Who?” The question escaped me, and I fucking prayed he wouldn’t answer.
His gaze narrowed as he took a sip of whiskey. “Oscar Perez. Colombian.”
We stared at each other, and the cold bit into my chest.
“This problem with the Mexicans has fucked some of my connections with suppliers. Oscar has been an… acquaintance for a while. He has good product, but he wants Ava.”
Salvatore was trying to convince himself, it sounded like. Oscar was the kind of man the godly-rich with a twisted sense of ennui bred. Fitted with a malignant stain he’d try to rid with Ava.
I got up, buttoned my jacket, and turned to leave. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. It’s late.”
“And Lydia?” he said as I opened the door.
I hadn’t shown much desire in getting revenge on the man who dared to fuck Dante Moretti’s fiancée, but only because I’d been fighting the possibility of her sister.
“Her phone records. They’ve contacted each other,” I replied, before walking out.
I didn’t care so much about who Lydia had slept with while engaged to me.
It was just the fucking principle of it.
It was eight o’clock in the morning as I sat on the couch, in a pink oversized Yankees t-shirt and shorts. I ate a bowl of Cap’n Crunch while the blonde newscaster filled me in on current events.
I watched the news every morning and night. There wasn’t much in the world that was reported on that I didn’t know about, from the Korean child labor crisis to the botchy Botox injections being given in L.A.
When a familiar face appeared on the screen, my pulse stilled. And when the words “Oscar Perez” followed by “found shot execution style in front of his apartment,” passed the reporter’s ruby red lips, I choked on my cereal.
Not ten seconds had gone by, before “SON OF A BITCH!” came from my papà’s office.
My eyes widened.
As I was sinking into the couch with the relief of Oscar’s death, the noise of Dante entering the foyer with my brother filtered into the room. They were talking about Lydia’s phone records. My heart dropped. If the report showed all of my sister’s messages, it would take little effort to find Ryan.
Tony and Dante had found something in common now? Disgust twisted in my stomach.
They headed past the living room doors to my papà’s office, while I watched the news, narrow-eyed and simmering.
Papà’s anger drifted down the hall like fog, and I wondered if I was going to hear gunshots, but another five minutes passed before his shout filled my ears.
“Ava! My office, now!”
I hesitated, but then got to my feet and padded barefoot toward his office. Dread sank into my skin with each step.
I knocked on the doorframe before entering the room. Papà was behind his desk, Tony sat in the chair across from him, and Dan leaned against the wall near the window.
I stood in the middle of the office, my fingers playing with the hem of my shirt. The sun warmed my clammy skin.
“Congratulations,” Papà bit out, his eyes a dark storm. I swallowed, having never seen my father so angry. “You’re getting married.”
A cold sensation crawled down my throat and filled my lungs.
Slowly, I glanced at Dante to see he watched me with indifference. Keeping his gaze, I let out a shaky breath and asked, “To who?” but I already knew. I hadn’t imagined this outcome, and I wasn’t sure why.
“To Dan.”
My heart beat so fast I fought not to choke on it.
Silence filled the room-deep and loathing from my papà, thoughtful from my brother, and apathetic from my no longer future brother-in-law but fiancé.
The silence I felt was instinctive, like how prey quiets to avoid capture. A survival instinct kicked in, and I shook my head.
“No,” I whispered.
A spark flickered through Dan’s eyes.
My papà shuffled some papers on his desk. “It is done, Ava.”
That must be the contract in his hand.
Dante could sign for me, and “it was done?” Of course, this was how it always worked, but something tasted bitter about Dan doing it.
This news was like a slap to the face. How could I process him being my sister’s fiancé to mine in less than five minutes?
That wasn’t only it.
I had never wanted a husband like him. He was everything my body thought it needed and everything my brain knew it didn’t. I would lose myself in Dante Moretti, and I wouldn’t know where to come up for air.
My heart would fall for him and he would crush it beneath his feet. I could live a loveless life. I couldn’t survive a broken one.
I gave my head another shake. “Papà-“
“Enough, Ava! It is done. Now, go pack a bag. You’re staying with him until the wedding.”
My eyes widened.
“What?” I breathed.
He directed a sarcastic gaze at me. “It’s not like you’re a virgin, Ava.”
“Papà,” Tony snapped.