Romano;
The bullet-riddled car pulls into the estate. Armed men with weapons lining their arsenal stand sentinel at the porch of the mansion.
Martin, my very skilled guard, alights. He struggles to my side of the door to get it open.
"Boss," he bows, stepping back and standing behind the open car door. He's covered in blood from head to toe, and I suspect he might have gone physical with the attackers.
"You can take a week off," I tell him. He's been with me since Poland on the assigned task I embarked on, given by the Don.
"Thanks, boss, but I'd rather stay by your side."
"That was an order." My tone leaves no room for refusal. And Martin gets it, only bowing as I walk to the other side of the car.
The pain at my abdomen is bearable and not excruciating.
I jack the handle. The door pulls open to reveal a slim figure in burgundy sweats and sweatpants,
her deep blue eyes looking up at me, her hair buried in her hood, only her bangs spilling over.
"Get down." She obeys, immediately sticking out her foot one at a time.
Once she's out, I throw the door shut, and she jerks.
Without another word, I take lengthy strides toward the mansion. She follows, and I smirk.
The entire household is in surprise as I march in, the butlers and housekeeper in line, all lowered in bowed form as I pass them by.
The girl in tow. She'd told me her name—Celeste.
Simple. The name not ringing any bell… none that I can think of.
But her story is quite sad. Too bad I lack the sentiment.
I pause mid-stride, her curious little body colliding into my back.
The sharp inhale of the housekeepers reverberates at once in fear for her.
I turn.
"Ouchie," she whines, rubbing the spot on her head that comes in contact with my muscled back.
Paying her no heed, my attention spans to the housekeeper as I give my command. "Take her. Get her cleaned up and settled."
When I face her, she's fearlessly gazing at me.
She has this dazed look whenever her eyes clash with mine, then she shakes herself back.
It's subtle, but I notice.
She seems to do that now as well.
Pretending like I don't catch the behavior, I inform her instead, "Go with them. They'll take care of your needs and prepare you for dinner."
The skin between her eyes wrinkles as she squints. "Dinner?" she mumbles, darting wary glances at the assembled housekeepers and butlers.
Dragging her gaze back to me, she blinks.
"Yes, you should be hungry after all that you went through. Aren't you?"
She sucks in her lower lip, hesitant before she nods.
"Good. I have an important meeting with my father. I'll see you later." She responds with another eager nod, and I pat her softly.
I make to go, before stopping once more. She looks at me, expectancy brimming in the blues of her eyes.
"Thanks… for your help." I grin at her.
She smiles back. "It's nothing."
She says it, but still conceals her blood-soaked hands in the pockets of her sweats.
The memory of her shaky fingers around the dagger, and her victory smile splayed across her lips when she swoops the bullet out, plays.
With my back to her, I walk away. Heavy strides take me to my father's wing of the mansion.
Hurried slaps of boots against marble draw my attention. I pause in my tracks. And so does he.
His glare cracks when it meets mine, but the heated flare behind them doesn't subside a bit. I look at him too.
Eyes similar to mine.
Words failing me. Thoughts in chaos.
It's been months. Gods!
Caruso doesn't say a word. He ambles past with his right-hand man by his side, feeding him reports upon reports that I know nothing about.
Exhaling the pent-up frustration building in my nerves, I attempt a clear head before proceeding.
Father's door stands before me. It's been months since I heard from him. Hell, since I've heard from anyone.
And right now, the door stands like my passage to life or death.
My fist rasps against it twice.
"Come in," he permits. Low and plain. Like his son has not been away for forever.
My throat burns with something vile, but I tamp it down, working it in a bitter swallow.
Grazing the handle, I twist it open. Reluctance clings to my bones, but I battle it as I step in. "Father."
"Welcome home, son." Glasses off, he regards me with that smile on his face.
I should be happy. But I know better.
"Thank you, Father," I say, trying my best to sound as indifferent as ever.
"I hear you encounter a mishap on your way back home. Any enemy you might have made over there?" His gruff voice turns serious, gaze narrowed at me.
"None. Everything goes according to your orders. I handled it all. No survivors. My men are still working to suppress the news for a while. It'll be released at your will, Father," I summarize. Sharp and precise.
Laughter filters into the atmosphere, making it thick and heavy with everything unsaid.
My knuckles blanch.
"Good job, my son." He praises, eyes lit and ecstatic.
And pathetically, I can't be more proud of myself.
"You've done exceedingly well. I shouldn't have expected anything less from my heir."
It stings, but yet at the same time, it comes through like a threat. I know it is. I've known him long enough.
Fuck. My whole life.
"Your brother is worried about you…despite his attempt to mask that part of him." He adjusts behind his desk.
"I'll talk to him later." I don't mention our encounter minutes ago.
"You should." He heaves, chest rising and dropping as he picks up his glasses from his huge desk. "We both know this, Romano."
My skin crawls every time he says my name, and I know that something sickening comes after.
"Not all emotions will take you to the heights you want to achieve. Blood ties, close allies…they are all a means to an end. You'll be better off feeling numb." A sick grin sits on his face.
But I keep silent.
"You may leave." Paperwork steals his attention, and I'm fucking grateful.
"Some things should remain confidential between an heir and his predecessor."
I know what he's pointing at. "I won't tell Caruso anything."
I make to leave the suffocating presence pressing down on me.
"One more thing—"
I feel a blinding pressure behind my eyes, plunging me into darkness.
"About what we discuss before you depart—"
Fucking gods!
"I brought someone home. I'd like you to meet her during dinner." I cut him off, putting an end to his obsession with me getting married.
"Oh," he merely drawls.
I don't wait to hear his thrilled chuckles. The door clicks shut behind me. And I can finally breathe again.