Page 12 of Bianchi

I go through the motions of getting dressed, and as I’m buttoning up my black dress shirt, there’s a knock at the bedroom door.

Massimo walks in as I stride out of the closet. He inclines his head before moving over to the armchair by the window. He sets two glasses and a bottle of scotch on the small table.

Fastening my cuffs, I come to a stop next to him. “Have you slept?”

He finishes pouring the amber liquid into each glass before he turns, holding one of them out. I take it from him and he collapses into the chair, tipping his head back and exhaling a long, tired breath.

His eyes are small slits, giving me my answer before he even speaks. “Not yet, but I will later. You have a reservation for two at eight. As requested, the paparazzi will be there to welcome you. And two girls will be here at six to do her hair and make-up.” He takes a sip of his drink before he asks, “Do you own any clothes that aren’t black?”

Cocking a brow, I tease, “Are you trying to give me fashion advice?”

“I mean…” He looks me up and down. “Someone should.”

“Right, because you’re one to talk. We’re practically wearing the same thing.”

Massimo shrugs, smothering another yawn. “Right, but mine goes with the name.”

I can’t help but chuckle at that. Massimo has the nickname ‘The Crow’. He picked it up when he was younger and would take shiny things that caught his eye. It’s a badge of honor for him now, even if he doesn’t steal things anymore.

“So I should try out some pointy horns and wear all red?”

“Some color wouldn't hurt,” he quips back.

I’ve missed this. Having someone to be myself with and not constantly on guard. Every interaction I have is shrouded in darkness. And even though I can accept that it comes with the territory, sometimes there needs to be a hint of light.

Brushing off the melancholy thoughts that have no place in my world, I step in front of the mirror. I tuck my shirt into my pants and fasten my belt before meeting Massimo’s gaze in the reflection and replying, “Maybe another day.”

With my suit jacket on and my phone in my pocket, I walk to the bedroom door with Massimo trailing behind. I hold it open and when he’s on the threshold, I say, “Callum called. He’s got a lead, but it might come to nothing. I’ve asked him to email it over.”

Massimo’s eyes widen and he stares at me with accusations in his gaze. “You could have led with that, Rome. I’ll get started on it tonight.”

I clap him on the shoulder, applying a light pressure that gets him moving. Closing the door, I fall into step with him as we walk down the corridor and toward the stairs.

My tone is authoritative, brokering no argument when I say, “You won’t. I didn’t tell you this so you can do something with it. I told you so we have the same information. Get some sleep. We can pick this up again in the morning.”

Massimo stops at the top of the stairs, turning to face me. A look of determination fills his face and he takes a step forward, his jaw set. “Rome, I appreciate you looking out for me, but I won’t rest until we find out who did this. It’s the least I can do for the men we lost.”

I blow out a breath, smoothing a hand over my jaw. “All that will lead to is your death, and that’s the last thing we need. You can’t protect your men when you're dead. I say this as your don, Massimo, and I won’t tell you again. Get. Some. Sleep.”

Disappointment rounds his shoulders, a stony expression coating his features. I get it, but he’s only likely to make mistakes if he’s not rested. Huffing out a breath, he inclines his head before stalking off in the direction of his room.

The banging of a door in the distance concludes Massimo’s exit, and I flick my wrist, checking the time. With one problem person solved, it’s on to the next. We have an hour until her clothes arrive and if I’ve read Aurora right, she won’t have showered like I asked her to.

It’s about time I show her exactly who she’s dealing with.

Chapter 8

Aurora

Waves of hostility crash into me, pulling me from my dreamless sleep long before the creak of the heavy door penetrates the haze. My eyes flutter open and I stare at the gray brick in front of me, confused as to where I am.

You’re in a prison cell, Aurora.

Right, because I got kidnapped by some insane mafia don, who seems to think I know where my father is. Maybe if I go back to sleep, I’ll wake up in my own bed and all of this will have been a dream. Or a nightmare. I squeeze my eyes shut, but his angry breathing and the hostility choking the air don’t dissipate.

“What are you doing?”

It’s a growled question, full of threat and meant to intimidate. I’m sure it’s had the desired effect on others; people who have wanted to fight for their lives. But I want nothing more than for him to make good on his threats. For him to put me out of my misery.

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