Page 1 of Bellini Born
Prologue
Matteo
“Moretea?”Themostbeautiful girl in the world held up a teapot, ready to serve me if I gave the word.
My fingers pinched the delicate handle of the teacup as I extended it in her direction. “Yes, please.”
When Bianca tipped the teapot, nothing poured from the spout, but I still brought my cup to my lips, smacking them with an “ahh” as I pretended to drink.
Crossing to the other side of the table, she reached up to fix the floppy hat situated atop my head before placing her tiny hands on my face. “Pretty Papa.”
“Not prettier than you,principessa.“ I leaned in to dust a kiss over her button nose.
Her sweet giggles created a lightness within my chest, and I found myself laughing right alongside her.
To the rest of the world, I was the big, bad CEO of Bellini Real Estate and younger brother to the Don of the Bellini Mafia. But here, inside the walls of my home, I was simply a father, free tolet down my guard and play dress up while having a tea party with my three-year-old daughter.
Though I could never admit it aloud and show weakness to our enemies and rivals, I much preferred my role as Bianca’s papa over the one where I played a shark in the business world.
Sure, fear and power were a hell of an aphrodisiac. But they didn’t hold a candle to the unconditional love I got from the little girl standing opposite me. One smile from her, and I felt like I was on top of the world.
A giant yawn split Bianca’s face, and a knowing hum worked its way through my chest. “Time to finish up our tea party and get ready for your nap.”
Her rosebud lips pursed into a pout, and she stomped her tiny foot. “No nap, Papa. I not tired.”
“All right,” I conceded. “How about we lie down and read a story instead?” I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist the call of sleep once we settled onto her bed and my deep voice began reciting the words from her favorite book.
Brow wrinkling, she mulled it over. But just as she was gearing up to announce her verdict, the door to the playroom burst open with a bang.
Instantly on alert, I was on my feet in a flash, but my knees threatened to buckle when I caught a good look at my brother Gio’s face. It bore the same grim expression as when he’d come to tell me our father had been killed.
Someone close to us was dead.
With my throat closing up, I dared to ask, “Who?”
Gio let out a sigh so heavy it shook his entire six-three frame. “Matteo—I—“ His words cut off, and he ran a hand through his dark hair.
Dread carved an icy path down my spine.
“Who?” I barked, finding my voice.
My older brother’s eyes slid closed, and he shook his head. “There was an ambush. It was meant for me. They saw my car and thought—“
“Goddammit!” I roared. “Fucking who, Gio?”
He swallowed thickly before rasping, “Allegra.”
A part of me already knew he was going to say my wife’s name, but hearing it still knocked the breath from my lungs.
Clearing my throat a few times, I placed a hand over my churning gut. “She’s . . .” My eyes darted to my daughter staring wide-eyed at our exchange, and I altered my word choice to protect her innocence. “Gone?”
Quickly, Gio shook his head, and relief crashed over me like a tidal wave.
But it was short-lived.
“She’s in bad shape. They rushed her to Windy City General.”
My feet were moving before I had a conscious thought. But the whimpered, “Papa,” behind me gave me pause.
