Page 57 of Immoral

His eyes turn to slits. "Take care of your own house. I'll take care of mine."

"And what else do I need to know about?" Papà questions.

I refocus on him. "Nothing. Let's get back to Luca. He's not compromised. There is a paper trail to back up my purchase. The Abruzzos aren't any wiser."

"Jesus. 'My purchase.' Listen to yourself," Tristano says.

"Get out!" Papà roars.

Massimo huffs. My two younger brothers leave the room. Tristano slams the door shut.

Papà goes over to the bar. He pours two fingers of Sambuca and drinks it then spins toward Dante and me. In a quieter voice, he states, "We're already low on men. Luca has been invaluable over the years. If he is no longer able to infiltrate the Abruzzos, we have major issues."

"Except they'll all be dead soon," I vow.

Dante shifts on his feet next to me. I don't need to look at him to know he disapproves of my statement. Not because of what I said but because of the consequences of saying it to my father.

Anger resurfaces on Papà's face. He holds his tumbler out and points at me. "You don't make any moves without my approval. Do you understand me?"

Dante interjects, "He does. He was just—"

"The war has started. There is no question what needs to happen. It's us against them," I insist.

Papà slams his glass on his desk. "It's always been us against them. You will not—"

"Two thugs tried to kill my wife and me.My wife.I made it clear she was mine. They still attempted to take her out. The rules no longer apply. It's us against them, and we either strike first, or there won't be any Marinos left," I state.

Papà steps closer. "And who's fault would that be?"

Not willing to back down, I raise my chin higher. "This is not my fault. We've been on the edge of an all-out war for a long time. When they kidnapped Arianna, we should have attacked then. And that's on you."

The mix of emotions that always crosses Papà's face whenever Arianna's abduction is mentioned arises. He takes several long breaths, and I count to twelve. He finally says, "I am tired of continuing to explain why we needed to wait. And I do not owe you explanations. It's clear to me that no matter how much I try and set an example of how to lead this family, you don't have any intention of learning."

"That's not true. I've learned everything I know from you. But I will not sit back and let those goons destroy my wife or anyone else in this family. Enough is enough," I claim.

Papà exhales loudly. "And now, because of your actions, we have no choice but to be in a full-on war."

"It's overdue, and you know it."

Papà shakes his head. "Giuseppe is still training men to send here. We do not have the backup we need."

Giuseppe Berlusconi is the head of the Italian Mafia. He lives in Italy. Over the years, he's been less and less of an asset to us. The amount of money my father pays him is insane for the services we receive. And it's not just me who sees this. None of my brothers thinks he's added any value to our situation in years. I blurt out, "He's been promising to send us reinforcements for months. They are never coming, and Giuseppe is stringing you along. We should sever from him as well."

Papà slams his hands on the wooden surface of his desk. "You are wrong. And do not speak ill of Giuseppe." Papà points in my face. "Your stupidity and lack of respect are going to get you killed one of these days."

There's no point in this conversation, much like most of the time my father is pissed off at me. I reply, "Did something happen with the Abruzzos other than them trying to kill my wife?"

Papà gives me another look of death but stays silent.

I nod. "When there's something to discuss, let me know. My bride is upstairs. Don't interrupt us unless it's urgent." I spin, catching Dante's neutral expression. There's no doubt he's upset with me, but he does a good job hiding it from Papà.

I leave, going directly to my wing of the house and into my personal suite. I lock the door and go through the sitting room, bedroom, and then into the bathroom.

Steam fills the air, creating a beautiful silhouette of my tesoro behind the glass. Soft music plays. The outline of my tesoro rinsing shampoo out of her hair is a vision of perfection.

Gratification expands in my belly. She's finally here, in my house, as my wife. Without hesitation, I undress and step in the shower behind her, sliding my hand around her waist.

She jumps. Tilting her head up, she says, "What—"

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