Page 15 of Shattered Diamonds

“You told a caporegime, the guy just under the underboss of one of the biggest, most powerful organizations that he has to ask your brother, his new associate, for permission to take you on a date from a bet that you yourself had the balls to make?” He throws his hand up, his voice rising with each word. “Feckin eejit!” He slams his hand against the steering wheel. “That is not how things work, Haven. Have you lost your nuts?”

“I’m not a fucking idiot! I didn’t suggest the bet, Ciarán. I just agreed to it. With the condition that he ask Cillian for permission.”

“Haven,” he says, trying to control the tone of his voice. “Cillian is not always going to be there for you. You must start using your smarts. I know you have been kept to a higher standard and under the family protection, behind massive shielding feckin walls, but you must start thinking for your feckin self. You’re not a kid anymore.”

“What is that supposed to mean, Ciarán?” My voice rises with my indignant very wounded feelings.

“It means no capo with his reach and influential stature is going to stand on your brother’s feckin doorstep and ask for your hand like it’s some feckin fairy tale. Life is not a Disney movie, Haven. The quicker you learn that life lesson, the more sound you will be. Demetri is a high-ranking capo. He and the other guy standing next to him at the end of the night when they were paying out debts, his name is Giovanni. Mr. Moretti to everyone except the boss and underboss. They are ruthless caporegimes that run groups of soldiers for the Heart organization. They are powerful, Haven. Their positions were earned through loyalty and bloodshed. Their own and the deaths of others, cuz. It’s a game, a chess match of power and position. To get that high-level position in the ranks, he is one ruthless motherfucker, Haven. Are you hearing me, cuz?”

“Cillian is just as powerful!” I fight for my brother who has worked so hard under my father’s firm thumb.

“Back in Ireland, yes! We’re here now, Haven. Cillian is powerful, but he is playing by someone else’s rules right now.”

“Why? Why did we even come here?”

“Because we had to. There was only one other option, and it was not an acceptable one.”

I watch him, waiting for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. After a minute of him stewing behind the wheel as he drives us back to the mansion, I mumble with exhaustion, “It doesn’t matter anyway. I left. Did you forget that?”

“No, I didn’t!” he explodes. “And neither will Demetri Carbone. He will pursue his winnings. And that, my dear cousin, will be you.”

The rest of the car ride was filled with silent tension, me bristling in my seat while my cousin looked to be deep in thought. I didn’t even say goodnight when I charged up the steps to my bedroom. Dropping down on my bed after changing into my pajamas, I grab my phone and pull up my search engine. Italian to English translation is what I type in. Then I sound out the two words that flowed over Demetri’s lips. I may not know Italian, but I am not an idiot. I’ve had the best education money can buy. It took me three tries, spelling it differently before two words finally pop up.Young pup.Giovane cucciolo means young pup. I stare at my phone. Anger settles in. He’s referring to me as if I’m a dog, a fumbling puppy? He thinks I’m a child just as my cousin has accused me of being?

Demetri’s words float over me from the party where I initially met him. “This is your one free pass, giovane cucciolo.”He was reprimanding me as if I was an errant child then. I breathe in so deeply with irritation, it hurts my lungs. Maybe Ciarán is right. Maybe I have been protected and sheltered so much that I don’t know what real life is about. Maybe it is time I start exploring life on my own.

The real question is—how do I do that with a bodyguard and cousin that is glued to my side during most of my free time?

I roll to my side and drop my phone next to my pillow, contemplating. My eyes become heavy with exhaustion, and so do my thoughts. I’m just about to become one with dreamland when my phone chimes. With one eye open, I grab for it, thinking it will be Paisley. I squint at the number and refocus with both my eyes when I don’t recognize the digits.

Unknown Number: Where I come from, when you make a bet, you see it through, cucciola. You should have come to my office so we could hash out the details. Now, you are to be reprimanded for your indiscretion.

I gasp,almost frightened that in the dead of night, this man has infiltrated my space with only a message. I want to ask who it is and harass his massive ego. My poor decision is made without heeding my cousin’s warning about who I am dealing with. He doesn’t know that I know who the message is from. Let’s see how he likes games. How did he think I felt tonight when I turned around and he was no longer standing at my back during the fight? Where I come from if you stand at someone’s back you don’t leave them open without protection without informing them. That is the one thing I did learn from my father and brother.

“Okay, Mr. Carbone,” I strongly say out loud to my empty room, feeling sassier than I should. “Let’s do this.”

ChapterEight

DEMETRI

“Good night.”

“Damn good night,” I agree with Giovanni, humming my appreciation as I strike a match to light my addiction. I tilt my head and squint my eyes, putting the orange tipped cancer stick in the corner of my mouth and inhaling the fresh smoke. Throwing the burnt-out match onto the bar in front of me, I acknowledge, “Ghost drew in a crowd tonight. I contracted him for next week. Let’s see what his numbers pull with a return and Zeus as his opponent.”

“We’re debriefing tomorrow morning. Am I picking you up before Antonio?”

“No. I have to marshal a meeting for an entitled girl’s peace of mind to make it easier on myself after we debrief with the boss.”

He lifts his chin. “Not sure I agree,” he expresses his bleak opinion.

“Not your decision.”

“No, it’s not.” He shifts his weight towards the bar. “She is beautiful,” he states.

“I’m aware,” I tell him before turning to Jake the bartender, and ordering my drink of choice. “Stoli Vanilla. Three rocks.” I turn back to Giovanni. “Beauty is a curse and a blessing.”

“Have you figured out which one it is yet?” he inquires as we walk up to the second mezzanine.

“Which one what is?” Antonio asks when he steps inside his open private lounge next to his office with us.

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