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He chuckles wryly. “Yes, but fuck. It’s easy money.”
The front doors open before we reach them, and I’m hit with a wave of cool air, heavy with the scent of lemon polish and something floral. Bianca De Luca stands in the foyer, regal in tan pants and a flowery blouse, and not a hair out of place. She’s slim and graceful, but her posture remains rigid, her eyes calculating and her chin jutting in hostility.
“Dante. What an . . . unexpected pleasure.” She turns to address someone behind her. “I told you he’ll be back, cara.”
My eyes slide past her to Alina, hovering uncertainly in the background, and I groan inwardly. The hurt in her eyes is palpable, but there’s something else there too, a resignation that makes my gut twist. No woman should ever be turned down the way I did Alina. But I wasn’t thinking straight that night.
“Bianca,” I nod, keeping my voice neutral. “Alina. I’m here to see Orlando.”
Bianca’s lips curve into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Of course you are.” Her words drip with venom as she turns to her daughter. “Vitelli men can never change. They’ll trample on your heart every chance they get.”
The bitterness in her voice makes me imagine—a younger, more desperate Bianca engaged to my father. Until he fell for another woman. Something tells me that if Bianca had not compelled Alina to choose me, Nico would have done the exact same thing I did to Alina. The same thing Father did to Bianca.
I push the thoughts aside, focusing on the present. “Let Orlando know I’m here.”
A gleam of hope flashes in Bianca’s eyes, but I can see that Alina knows better. Bianca must think I’m here to renegotiate the marriage deal, now that my ‘mystery woman’ is dead and the Irish are closing in on us.
“Certainly,” Bianca’s smile widens, becoming almost predatory. “Although Orlando’s been sulking like a wounded dog since he threw his tantrum in front of the entire Outfit. But it looks like it worked. I’ll go get him for you.”
I exchange a glance with Sal as Bianca saunters off, leaving Alina standing uncertainly. That Bianca resents her husband is no secret, but that she’d be willing to openly disrespect him in front of his fellow Capos is shocking, to say the least.
“Alina,” I say softly, taking a step toward the woman. “How have you been?”
She meets my gaze, her eyes a storm of conflicting emotions. “I’ve been better,” she admits in a faint voice. “But I’m managing.”
“I’m sorry, again.”
“You’re an asshole, Dante.”
“That too.”
Her lips twitch in response, and she rolls her eyes and leaves. Moments later, heavy footsteps announce Orlando’s arrival. The man who enters the room is a far cry from the proud, powerful man who stormed out of the conference room weeks ago. His shoulders are slumped, defeat written in every line of his face.
“Dante,” he says, his voice rough. “If you’ve come to ask for my daughter’s hand now that you need to bolster your ranks against the Irish, I can tell you right now to fuck off.”
Bianca hovers in the doorway, her eyes sharp and hungry. I say nothing but Orlando must see something in my eyes that makes him shift uncomfortably and turn to Bianca.
“Leave us,” he commands, but his tone lacks conviction.
“Not on your life, Orlando. The Vitellis have fucked us over for too long,” Bianca snaps, moving further into the room. “And now they’ve broken my daughter’s heart. I’m staying to see that things are made right again.”
I raise a surprised eyebrow. It’s not that I disapprove of a woman having a say in her home—quite the opposite. But I’m taken aback that Orlando, whom I’ve always thought of as old-fashioned, allows it so openly.
Meeting Orlando’s eyes, I choose my words carefully. “Orlando, is the snow fresh?”
It’s a code, one that means, ‘I need to tell you something in private.’ Orlando’s gaze flicks to Bianca, then back to me. He shrugs, a gesture of defeat that speaks volumes. He’s not going to get her to leave.
“Sit,” he says, waving toward the leather armchairs. “Say what you came to say, Dante. I doubt there’s anything left that could surprise me now.”
I lower myself into the chair. Sal remains standing, taking his guard behind me. The tension in the room heightens as I stare into Orlando’s pale blue eyes. I take a deep breath and begin.
“Orlando, your Don wants you to reaffirm your loyalty to the Outfit. Just as soon as you pay the price for your disrespect.”
Orlando’s eyes narrow. “What price?”
“You and I know you should pay with blood. But Don Vitelli is willing to take your grievances on board. So instead, you’re done with narcotics.”
The words hang in the air for a moment before all hell breaks loose.
