Page 77 of Massimo

Anna sighs like I've annoyed her and holds out her hand. "I'll take your bag. Daddy and the others are already in the power room." She rolls her eyes.

"Vincenzo short on staff, Anna?"

She glances around the grand foyer that's elegantly decorated with expensive paintings, sculptures, and handcrafted furniture. There'salways staff hovering around, ready to wait on the residents and guests, but none are here now.

Anna shuts the front door. There's a flirtatious smile on her face, but her eyes are calculated and clever. "I sent all the staff scurrying so I could greet you myself."

She steps closer and places her hand on my chest, leaning close. I want to stop her from touching me, but there's a play here.

"Your room is bugged…listening devices and cameras," she whispers.

I suspected it would be. I lean closer to whisper into her hair, "Why are you telling me?"

She shifts to press against me, and it feels wrong that I'm allowing this, even though this is a show for the cameras, meant to hide her warning. I don't blindly trust her motives, though.

Gazing up at me, she murmurs, "I owe a friend, and they asked me to."

She coyly smiles and bats her long lashes as she steps away from me. "You know where to find me," she says louder.

The front door opens, andZioMarco enters. Anna is in immediate gracious hostess mode and greets him warmly, offering to have his bag taken up to his room with mine. Speaking in Italian, Marco is just as gracious as her; you wouldn't think we're a bunch of criminals here to discuss, plot, and plan for our global criminal enterprises.

My eyes scan the foyer. The upstairs landing is open and fully visible from the front door. Leaning against an arched doorway, is Renzo Nucci.

His bi-color eyes—one gray and one green—track me as I walk up the stairs and join him. "Good flight,amico?"

I nod. "It's good to see you, Renzo."

Renzo is similar age to me and took over his family in London when his father was killed by Patrick Finley and the Irish a few years ago. He's one of the Dons who voted in favor for me to end Mancini immediately and not have to stay my hand because of fucking money.

Like me, he's dressed in a tailored suit, but with visible tattoos on his neck, wrists, and the back of his hands. His dark hair is styled back, and he tilts his head, observing me with his unusual eyes.

"Watch your back in there," he warns quietly.

Again, I suspected as much.

The 'Ndrangheta families are a collective; we're allies and come together when there's a threat against the syndicate, but we're not family or friends. And with the Mancini situation, and the Dons who voted against me killing Mancini, if they found hard evidence—which they wouldn't—that I had found a way around the vote, I could be punished. It wouldn't be anything severe, since I hadn't actually defied the vote and killed Mancini.Yet.But the Dons who suspect me could feel I'm threatening their personal interests. By the laws of the 'Ndrangheta, they couldn't attack me; not outright, but I'm not naïve to think they wouldn't use underhanded means .

"How's the family?" He side-eyes me with a smile as we walk down the hallway toward the meeting room. "I hear Creed is going to be a father, and Vito has met his match."

The criminal underworld is an intricately linked network and gossipy as hell.

"I do hope I'll get an invitation to the wedding. Maybe this is my chance to visit America."

Magdalena, Renzo's mother, came from an American blue-blooded, old-money family. One that was in deep debt, and that Rufino Nucci took advantage of to claim the beautiful Magdalena. Once married, the controlling Rufino rarely let Magdalena travel and refused for her to visit the States and her family. Something I've heard she's been rectifying since Rufino's death.

"Can you tell me, will it be a spring wedding or maybe sooner?" He smirks, his bi-colored eyes glinting with the hint of devilry.

"Knowing Vito, he'll likely throw Eden over his shoulder and plop her in front of a priest within the week."

Renzo's thumb scratches under his lip, and murmurs, "Well, there's an idea."

I half-grunt, half-laugh. "You got nuptials on the brain?"

He purses his lips, then smiles. "No more than you."

There's boisterous laughter from the room we're approaching, which pulls my attention from Renzo. My teeth grind that I need to face mypeers who voted against me, and need to pretend that I don't want scoop their eyes out with a spoon.

"Easy,fratello." All traces of joking are wiped from Renzo's face. "Put your unreadable mask back in place."

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