Page 122 of Arianna

“A war for power is brewing in that city.” I know he means Detroit. “Keep her close and don’t let her step foot there. She is no longer protected by their code, and her sister does not call the shots. The Volpe scum does, and the Nicolasis are a fucking disease. Cannot be trusted. None of them. Hell, I don’t even know why you bother with enemy pussy.” He slurs the last part.

I end the call, knowing Sandoval is on a self-destructive path, and there is no point in prolonging this torture that is this conversation.

His words replay on a loop in my brain.

Keep her close…

A war is brewing…

She is no longer protected.

I know that no one can be trusted, and as much power as the new ascended Parisi boss has, it does not compare to the word of a Capo.

As long as she is under my protection, the Detroit filth won't touch her.

I spend the ride to the hotel thinking of how I will handle things in Detroit, and there is only one solution.

Shit.

I take care of what is mine, and there is no doubt that Arianna Parisi is mine.

I might have broken plenty of promises in the past, and most likely will break many more in the future, but none I have made to her.

I didn’t lie when I told her the war was over.

Pulling up at the hotel, I step out of the SUV and hand the keys to the valet with the cash I have left on me.

Ping.

A new message from Arianna pops up on my screen with an attachment notification. Tapping on the screen, I open the message and find that she sent a photo of herself and my daughter Eskimo kissing while holding a small lock with their initials standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. She follows the picture with a row of teddy bears. The ones she always sends with pictures of my daughter.

I stand there in the middle of the hotel’s entrance looking down at the photo with this strange sensation in my chest, knowing well there is nothing I will not do to keep that smile on her face.

A smile that tells me her ghosts are slowly fading, no longer haunting her as they used to when she first came to me.

A smile that no longer seems forced or awkward.

A smile that fills me with pride and fucking joy.

I type a quick message and wait for her reply while saving the photo as my new lock screen.

Me: Whose heart is it, darling?

Brat: Forever Ellaiza’s. ????

Me: Who else?

Brat: Mine. ??‍??

Me: Liar.

Brat: Tyrant.

It is funny how she calls me a tyrant when the little brat has been ruling me since the fateful day her bitch of a father sent me her photo and offered me her life.

Me: Be a good girl, yes?

Brat: Being good is not my nature, Sebastian. We established this already…

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