Page 27 of Mob Queen

“Frankie,” I hear the fucking old man’s grating voice.

I take a few steps toward the door, refusing to back down from a ridiculous request like relinquishing our weapons. “Call me when you’re ready to be a fucking man,” I say from over my shoulder. I know my words could cause a bloodbath, but I’m Frankie DeLuca and no one tells me what to do.

“Frankie,” he calls, his voice angry.

I don’t stop advancing toward the door.

I hear his heavy footsteps rushing toward me. I hold the smirk, because I know he must need this if he’s tripping over his own feet to get to me. “Don DeLuca,” he calls. His proper address makes me stop and turn. I lift my head so I’m looking down my nose at him. Petro instantly slows his walk and clears his throat. “There must’ve been a misunderstanding.” He looks to his right, and jerks his head toward the guy with the security wand. His guy takes out a gun and shoots the one who waved the wand over us in the head. “My apologies for the misunderstanding.”

Fucking Petro killed one of his own men for following his directions. There’s no doubt in my mind that Petro gave the orders, but now he has to save face. Unhinged bastard. I look at the dead guy on the floor and glance toward G whose high shoulders tell me he’s on red-alert. “Apology accepted.” I give G a small nod to make sure he’s watching everything.

“I’ve got you,” G says as he extends his hand for me to take so I can step over the body.

Petro is talking shit about something that I’m not really listening to. G and I follow him down a narrow hallway and up a set of stairs that opens up to a massive office. It’s seedy as fuck up here, with a money counter on his desk, a set of scales with white powder residue and packets of condoms are scattered around. The furniture is dated and disgusting.

“Sir, Don Sacco has arrived,” Petro’s man says.

“Good, good, show him up.” He looks to me and gestures for me to sit. I scrunch my nose, absolutely disgusted that he thinks this is a good place for a meeting of the Dons. “Drink?”

“No.” What I want to say is no fucking way will I touch anything you offer me, because I’m afraid I’ll have to get a rabies shot. Or get poisoned from how filthy this place is.

The door opens, and a meek girl steps in. She’s wearing a tiny dress with heels that look ridiculously high. Her hair hangs like a blanket over her down-turned head. I can’t see her face, but she looks so fragile. “Ah, Elena, I’m glad you arrived.”

Elena? As in his daughter? She looks so much thinner than the last time I saw her. I scan her bare arms to check for any kind of marks, but other than a couple of bruises on her upper arms I don’t see much. I want her to lift her head so I can make sure she’s not being beaten. “Elena, it’s good to see you again,” I say as I step forward and offer her my hand to shake.

Her arm trembles as she reaches for mine. Elena’s cold, petite hand lands in mine, and she limply shakes it. “It’s good to see you too, ma’am,” she says in a small voice without lifting her chin. Her hair continues to conceal her features.

There’s a shooting pain in my jaw as I carefully read the room. Petro is pouring himself a drink, while Elena peeks out from under her hair. “Why’s your daughter here?” I ask, hoping to get rid of her before we talk about business.

Petro lifts his glass and brings it to his lips. “Do you need a wife, G?” He jerks his head toward his daughter. “She’s pure.” I hate how he’s still trying to marry her off.

He makes me fucking sick. “No, he doesn’t,” I reply with venom. “Perhaps the girl should be at home.”

“Elena needs to stay,” Petro replies with his own annoyance.

I lift my brows and nod once. Sorry kid, I tried to get you away from here.

The door opens and Don Sacco struts in and scans the room. He walks over to me, and gives me a double cheek kiss. “Being the Don agrees with you,” he says.

Dominic, his underboss and nephew approaches and kisses me on both cheeks. “Don DeLuca,” he acknowledges with respect.

G stands protectively beside me, and he too shakes Dominic’s hand. The room is tense while we wait for Vitale to arrive. There’s small talk about each of our businesses, although no secrets are being shared or spilled. It doesn’t take long before Vitale enters the room with two of his sons. His underboss – Alessandro ? and his middle son Michael. They greet me with the same respect as the Sacco men.

“Ah, Alessandro, Michael, have you met my daughter Elena?” Petro walks over to her, wraps his hand around her upper arm and jerks her toward the brothers.

“We met, when you tried to marry her off to me at Don DeLuca’s restaurant. God rest his soul.” Alessandro makes a cross over his body.

“Yes, yes, God rest his soul.” Petro makes a quick cross, then looks to Michael. “I have a bride for you, Michael. She’s a good girl, pure and ready to give you heirs.”

Michael arches a brow and clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. I glimpse toward Elena and see her shoulders shaking. He’s trying to sell the poor kid off like she’s fucking cattle. “You called this meeting, what do you want?” Michael asks.

I love his audacity. Petro snarls toward his daughter, and motions for his man to take Elena out of the room. His man grabs her by the back of her neck making Elena shriek in pain and he pushes her out of the room. “Get your fucking hands off her,” I say and step in front of the girl. The guy looks to me and turns for further directions from Petro. He doesn’t release Elena. Through a tight jaw, I repeat, “Get your dirty fucking hands off of her.”

The Sacco men unbutton their jackets and step forward, Vitale and his sons stand to their full height as they too move in toward me. G is right by my side. “Cool it,” G whispers.

Petro is on the spot. If he doesn’t give his man the order to stop manhandling her, he’s going to end up dead. It might be my gun that takes him out, or it might be one of the others. Either way, he’s outnumbered.

“Get your hands off her,” Petro says with forced ferociousness. There’s no doubt in my mind, he’s mistreating the kid. Fuck, he’s still trying to pimp her out to whoever will take her.

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