Page 92 of Captured Fantasy

“You’re leaving?” she whispered.

“I must. You stay here, Mrs. Russo, keep the doors locked just in case. My credit card is on the counter if you need to order food.”

She took hold of the front of my shirt, pulling me close. Her lips brushed mine. “Do you still want to be married?”

I laughed. “Of course.”

“Then you must stop calling me Mrs. Russo.”

“I’ll stop the day I make you my wife.”

There was tenderness in her gaze. “Go on then. If you’re going to be right hand to the boss, I suppose I’ll need to get used to waking up alone.”

I kissed her mouth, not disagreeing because she was right. I left the house and went down to the garage, zipping my motorcycle jacket up to my chin and putting on my helmet. It was going to be fucking cold riding in the middle of winter, but it felt right.

There was a row of cars parked outside the Esposito mansion when I arrived. I made sure my guns were strapped beneath my jacket before I climbed the steps to the front door. It was partially open and when I stepped through, one of the underbosses, Peregrine Calo, stood there smoking in the hall. He was a prominent underboss of about thirty with a reputation for being one of the handsomest men in the outfit. His forehead was creased in thought as I paused beside him. The scar running from his jaw to his eye tightened.

“What the fuck is this?” he muttered to me. “Went to bed drunk as fuck and woke up to an insurrection.”

“Where’s Lucien?”

“He’s with your father in the living room.”

“Who else is here?”

“Duran Esposito, Amadeo Calabretta, Ahmed Salah, Federico Antonucci, myself, Andrea Venetti, Lucidius Di Meo, and I think Vano Cazacu.”

“Really? Vano is here? The hit man?”

“He came up last night, I think Lucien wants him to provide some intimidation for the men who aren’t as willing to come over to his side.”

I studied him. “Are you one of those men, Calo?”

He breathed a short sigh. “I’m on the fence.”

The door swung open and Lucien appeared, dressed in his signature gray Italian suit. My father stood behind him, his appearance taking me by surprise. He looked older, more worn, but then it had been almost a year since I’d last laid eyes on him.

“Didn’t Jesus say he would vomit the fence sitters out of his mouth?” Lucien intoned, his gaze falling on Peregrine.

“Are you Jesus Christ now?” my father said, glaring daggers at the back of Lucien’s head.

Lucien rolled his eyes, working his jaw, but he didn’t turn. “Get the fuck out of my house, Rosario.”

My father pushed past him, not bothering to look at me as he burst through the doors. There was a short, awkward silence broken by Duran walking out of the dining room with his wife, Iris, at his side. She was a slender, tanned woman with calculating eyes. I’d never really talked with her, but I knew her to be pleasant and intelligent.

“Amadeo and Ahmed just left to gather the soldiers at the Romano house,” Duran said. “I’m heading there now to secure the perimeter.”

“Good man.” Lucien stepped aside to allow him to pass. He raised a hand and beckoned me. “Barone, a word.”

I followed him into the living room and he shut the double doors. Silence reigned for a minute before he went to the bar at the far side of the room and poured a glass. I remained quiet, watching as he inspected it.

“I’d like to formally offer you the position of my right hand. Second-in-command,” said Lucien. He turned, fixing his cold gaze on me. “Will you take it?”

“I will,” I said.

“With it comes other responsibilities.”

“Do you mean marrying the Antonucci girl?”

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