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“I won’t let anything happen to you, Adriana.”
She locks eyes with mine for a second, like she’s searching for something in them.
She nods slightly as she holds the doorknob and opens the door for us.
A smile spreads across her face as she walks in. I follow behind her, conscious of the stares from her father’s men.
“Beatrice!” Adriana exclaims.
I did my homework on Manny and found out he has two daughters. Adriana has a sister, Beatrice. Her only sibling and immediate family member after their mother died. They look alike with the same eyes. But just like with Adriana when we first met, I don’t know much about Beatrice.
Adriana whispers into her ears and she stiffens, staring at me.
“Father is waiting in the living room,” she says.
Adriana turns to look at me first and starts to head for the living room.
Unlike my house, the walls are light brown with pictures on the walls. A family portrait sits at the center as we walk into the living room.
“Adriana?” His voice is stern, just like a fucking asshole.
“Father,” Adriana breathes. She looks like she doesn’t want to be here.
“Where have you been, bambino viziato (spoiled child)?” His eyes are glued to the paper in his hand. I have no idea if he knows I’m here with her.
“Alessandro is here, Papa,” Adriana replies instead.
He shuts the paper hastily and raises his head up to us.
His brown eyes stare at me through his glasses. He has awfully long white hair packed into a low bun.
“Isn’t this the famous heir to the Malgeri’s empire? Welcome, son.” he stiffs a smile.
Oh, now I’m his fucking son?
“Mr. Gustavo,” I nod.
“Come. Sit. Adriana, leave us to sort out business.”
“If you don’t mind, I want her to stay. We won’t be staying for long.”
Adriana and her sister look at me, confused.
Three of Gustavo’s men walk into his house with rifles hung on their shoulders.
“I know my mother has spoken to you about the deal. Adriana and I will get married and you can have my men at your disposal in exchange for the supply. I want it tonight.”
I know I’m not letting her stay here tonight.
“No long talks, son?” Manny laughs crookedly. His potbelly protrudes inside the white shirt he has on. I don’t see any resemblance between Adriana and him.
“Very well,” Manny says. “Let us join our houses in a week with the wedding. Our two families joining hands will secure our places as the most powerful families in New York. No one will dare challenge our forces.”
I nod in agreement. One week and I’ll be tied to this man for the foreseeable future.
Manny produces a document from his desk and, with a pen, signs the document. He pushes it over to me and I review it; it outlines our agreement. I sign it.
“Perfect,” he drags the paper over, barely looking at it. “We should celebrate with a drink.”
