Page 1 of The Hitman's Rose

Chapter One

Rosaline

The dark cloud that has loomed over me for the past six months, grows with each passing day. My visit to the Tacchelli Family never had a return date; however, I had hoped it’d be a month tops. Maybe it would have only been a month. I’ll never know now because my father and those around him were killed in cold blood. These viscious murders sealed my fate to the Tacchelli Family compound.

I debated many times on running away. It wasn’t that my godfather, Giovanni Tachhelli, or anyone around him mistreated me. No. They all treat me like a princess. Everything is handed to me on a silver platter, but it isn’t home.

Everything had happened so fast. My sisters and I were separated after the wedding fiasco in Miami. Sofia was sent to Vegas to stay with our Uncle Tino. Our oldest sister, Adrianna, was supposed to go stay with the Rossii Family; however, that never happened. She had only pretended that our father was sending her away too.

Papa had never planned for his beloved daughter to leave his side. She was the spitting image of him, only female. It was only proper that she remained in Trenton, watching his every move so that she could one day take his place.

With our father’s untimely death, Adrianna was now the head of our family– The Romano’s. She now bared the family curse and accepted all of our enemies. I had been such a child to think that our father’s lifestyle wouldn’t affect our lives.

“Idiot,” I thought, shaking my head and kicking at the grass beneath my feet.

“Signorina Romano, dinner is ready!” Patricia calls out from the balcony terrace.

Patricia is the Tacchelli Family housekeeper. She has worked here since Giovannia Tachelli was a little boy and he’s pushing sixty. She has given the Tachelli’s her time, loyalty, and devotion.

“Signorina Romano?” she repeats.

“I’ll be in shortly,” I call out, glancing over my shoulder at her.

She is standing in the doorway, wearing her normal knee-length, long-sleeved, black dress. Something out of the 1800s, if you ask me. Her black and gray hair is pulled back into a tidy bun. She isn’t wearing make-up, yet she looks flawless. I hope I look that good when I’m sixty plus.

She smiles politely at me as though she read my mind, nods, then disappears back inside the house. Leaving me out in the garden with the two goons who have vowed to protect my life– Jacobi and Mikael.

The garden has been the only place that I have found peace. It’s quiet. Rarely used. And, it is the one sacred place in the whole compound, other than the small chapel over the hill, where cursing and guns out in view is prohibited.

“Compound,” I scoff to myself.

It’s more like a damn fortress. Even though I don’t see them, I know there are snipers on the rooftops. Tacchelli has taken every precaution to ensure his family’s safety and mine. No expense has been–

Someone clears their throat. I look in the direction and find Jacobi, gesturing at the door. This earns him a frown from me.

“I guess I’m not allowed two seconds to myself,” I smile sweetly.

“The boss doesn’t like it when people are late for dinner,” he replies coolie. His eyes are lowered to the ground. A gesture out of respect and loyalty towards his boss– Giovanni.

“Let’s go,” I say, walking over to the door. Jacobi walks in front of me, leading the way. While Mikael walks protectively behind me. As we approach the double doors, they are opened by the two men guarding from the inside.

Everyone acknowledges me as I walk down the hall. It’s as though I’m royalty. My stomach knots and cheeks warm each time because I’m nobody. I’m bottom of the food chain in my own family and a mere guest here in the Tacchelli home.

“Rosaline.” Giovanni’s deep voice cuts through my thoughts. He towers in the doorway to the dining room. He smiles brightly at me.

I haven’t seen him in weeks. He’s been gone tending to business somewhere. It’s all been very hush hush.

“Hello, Signore Tacchelli,” I lower my head out of respect; however, Giovannia slips his hand under my chin and lifts it gently. He smiles when our eyes meet.

“Now. Now. None of that.” He lowers his hand. “My goddaughter doesn’t lower her head to anyone. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Come. I’ve had the chef make your favorite,” he grins then loops his arm through mine and leads me inside. The room is filled with his associates, who quickly stand and acknowledge us as we enter the room.

“I feel like we haven’t shared a meal in weeks,” Giovanni states as though there’s no one else in the room.

“You’ve been busy with business,” I reply softly.

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