Page 36 of Under the Influence

“All taken care of, Godfather,” he says in a mock bow.

“Does Sophia know her honeymoon will consist of someone else’s wedding and baptism? She will hardly see you.”

“That is where Lucia comes in. I guess Sophia already figured out I won’t be around much, having Lucia around will ease the boredom. Being the daughter of the Mafia, I guess she already knew a vacation is just working away from New York.”

“How are you enjoying married life so far?” Damon asks, smirking.

“A walk in the fucking park,” I say rolling my eyes.

I lean up at him, fully expecting him to cave into my offer and for just a second, I see him soften, but before I know it, he reneges. He detangles himself from me so quickly that I nearly fall forward when he steps back. I should have known he wouldn’t be so easy to persuade. The only bright spot is that he hasn’t told my parents what happened but the negative being he probably has spent the night with someone else. Not only have I unwittingly wrecked the start of my marriage, but I also have sent my husband into the arms of another woman on the first night.

Several hours later, we are aboard Rocco’s jet. Rocco is sitting opposite me, reading his newspaper and barely looking up. He only pulls his eyes away from the paper when he wants to speak to one of his men. Lucia sits behind me chatting to Rocco’s consigliere, Franco animatedly. Once I realize Rocco plans to ignore me for the duration of the ten-hour trip, I shift my body towards the window and put my AirPods in and my sleep mask down, trying to block out what is going on around me. The melancholy chords of Daddy Issues by The Neighbourhood funnel through my ears until I fade into an uneasy sleep.

My mind slips back to Anton. Would it be easier if it were him sitting opposite me? Everything seemed to be effortless with him, there didn’t seem to be the cat and mouse game that haunts my relationship with Rocco. After last night, I know I royally screwed up and with a crushing realization that Rocco doesn’t need to consummate the marriage to me until he wants children, especially since he has a plethora of other women to sleep with until then.

I’m jostled awake by somebody lifting me up. I immediately know it’s Rocco by his scent—nicotine and sandalwood. I’m sure he can sense that I am awake, but he never says anything. When I wake up again, I am in a bed except we aren’t in a hotel but a grandiose villa. I reach beside me, and realize I am alone. It is at that point in the night where it’s too late for nightfall yet too early for dawn, so the sky has knitted between lightness in the dark. I hadn’t checked the time difference beforehand, so I wasn’t sure whether I would be feeling the aftereffects of jet lag.

I hear the distant sound of low chatter and laughter. When I walk towards the balcony, I can make out a male and female silhouette sitting closely together. My heart churns nervously as I squint to see whether it is Rocco. I take the set of stairs by the balcony and walk down them two at a time, my chest thumping noisily. When I approach, I recognize it isn’t Rocco but his consigliere, Franco and Lucia. She seems surprised when she sees me and gives me a startled look.

“I thought you were out for the count.”

“I was, but I heard voices,” I say trailing off, and she gives me a knowing look.

“I think Rocco is in the office at the top floor,” she says observing me meaningfully.

“I’ll go and talk to him. Sorry to have disturbed you,” I say giving her an equally meaningful look.

I don’t think Rocco will be thrilled with Lucia absconding with his consigliere but then again, I am not the expert on what makes Rocco De Luca thrilled—only pissed off.

I walk back up the stairs to the bedroom and riffle through my suitcase picking outthe skimpiest lingerie I could find. After a quick shower and laborious use of under eye concealer, I nervously make my way up the flight of stairs to where Rocco is. The door is slightly ajar, and I can see Rocco working, his head bent down as he furrows in concentration. I make my way to the door and clear my throat nervously, making him look up quickly.

“What are you doing up here?” he asks sharply.

“I could ask you the same thing. I woke up and I was alone,” I finish weakly, almost embarrassed for how needy I sound.

“I have work to do,” he says returning his gaze to the papers in front of him.

“You’re punishing me,” I announce to nobody in particular. “I get it, if you don’t want to sleep with me. I guess I’ll have to find someone who will,” I say, folding my arms.

“Be my guest,” he says, looking up. “You’ll end up the same way Angela Rossi did.”

“What did you do to her?” I say angrily.

“She’s dead. Her body was found outside the city earlier today.”

“Angela,” I say slowly holding my chest.

“You might want to rethink that plan,” he says smirking and leaning back on his chair.

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuckyou,” he says standing up angrily.

I pick up a glass tumbler from the shelf next to me and throw it at his head, which narrowly misses him by inches. I turn on my heel to walk out but Rocco grabs my wrist and yanks me back, pushing me against the wall and pinning both my wrists over my head. Fury is etched all over his face and his glare burns into me so intensely that I feel I may burst into flames. The tension between us has finally come to a head.

“Stop it,” he says firmly.

“Stop what,” I say through clenched teeth.

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