Page 52 of Married to the Mafia

I think about Max. It did me good to be around him until my father shot him in the face. I vowed never to have another dog after that day, vowed never to get attached to anyone.

That’s the real reason I never saw myself getting married. Get attached and you can get hurt. You open yourself up and you become vulnerable. Not me. Not happening.

“Maybe you could let the shelter stay up,” she’s saying.

Too late for that. Too late to fix any of this. All I can do is clean up the mess as best I can and move on. Once Ricardo’s dead, it’s best I get rid of her.

I’ve already gotten too attached and look where that’s led me. Into Don Belucci’s country estate. Walking into the lion’s den with none of my soldiers by my side.

Will he honor his side of this agreement?

I give her to him? In exchange for her father’s life. That’s no choice at all.

I’ve picked a third option. Save them both and get the fuck out of there. I don’t care what it takes. I’ll get this done.I just hope Ricardo has come out of hiding to slather all over her. I can shoot his nuts off and end this today.

I drive up to the house and park. No guards outside. Maybe he is going to be honorable for once.

Don Belucci is standing on the doorstep. He looks tiny against the immense mansion. The white stone is glaring in the sunlight after the rain. I put a pair of shades on. Hides my eyes from the light and hides my intentions from him.

I get out and the Don nods my way. “Two families coming together at last,” he says. “It’s good to see you again, Dino. How long has it been?”

Not long enough, I think as I hold open Rose’s door. “You got your gun?” I mutter.

She taps her jacket. It’s denim and not form fitting, helps hide the weapon from view. I gave her a hip holster, and we spent a couple of minutes before setting off working on her draw. She’s not fast, but hopefully she won’t need to use it.

We’ll see.

“Come on inside,” Don Belucci says, waving us over. “We’ve got a lot of things to talk about.”

“Where’s Mr. Silver?” I ask, not moving.

“Inside, ready for the meeting. Come on, there’s no danger here.”

I’d be a fool to believe him, but I let him think I’m relaxing. I take Rose’s hand, and we walk up the steps together. The house swallows us up and I think of a spider inviting a fly into its web. The door closes. “Down this way,” Don Belucci says, moving in front of us. “I laid out some coffee, and it’s Colombia at its finest.”

He walks into a spacious lounge but his poor taste is showing in the decor. Reproduction art. Reproduction furniture.

Coke in a neat pile on a mirror by the sofa. “Coffee?” he asks, taking a line. “You never used to touch the merchandise,” he adds, sniffing loudly. “How’s that working for you?”

“Where’s Mr. Silver?”

“Please, sit.”

I lower myself onto the sofa, keeping my hand near my gun. I can see the bulge in Don Belucci’s jacket. He’s got some hand cannon in there, but in this confined space he’s as likely to miss as hit. I brought a snub nose and I’ll make every shot tell when it comes to it.

Rose sits close to me, and her breathing is steady. She seems calm. I know it’s eating her up to think about her father, but she’s hiding it well. She’d make a good soldier.

Good poker player too. Keeping her cards close to her chest. Nothing given away in her face. I get a sudden urge to kiss her, but I ignore it.

Don Belucci sits in the armchair opposite us like we’re interviewing him. He crosses his legs at the ankles and sighs. “I’ve been watching your house,” he says, pointing at Rose.

“Been waiting for him to come back and you know what? I was just thinking maybe he isn’t coming back. Then just an hour ago he walks in bold as brass. It was a piece of cake to grab him and bring him here. For the Capo dei Capi he’s a dumb fuck.”

He laughs, sniffing again, his feet jiggling like he’s only just keeping himself under control. “All the time he’s been here, he acts like he’s no idea why I took him, you believe that?”

He whistles and a door at the end of the room opens. Two men drag Rose’s father in. He’s been beaten pretty badly, but he can still walk. Just.

He’s limping and wincing with each step. He looks as if the slightest breeze might blow him over. He stands glaring at Don Belucci. The Don smiles back at him and then turns his attention to us once more. “There he is, safe and well.”

---