Page 12 of From Dust To Don

I followed her gaze, the grandiosity of the building before us almost intimidating. I’d been spying on this place for months now, but fuck me, this place was no manor. It was a damn palace. A mansion. So much more than my tiny one bedroom where I’d taken Elena last night.

I had robbed her of all this. I stripped her from the luxury she was accustomed to. From the possibilities. From opportunities. With me she’d be the wife of a mere soldato. A pawn Don Moretti would surely try to use to his advantage. I owed him a lot, but I wasn’t blind to his perversity and wicked ways.

Fury settled in my veins, making me ball my hands into tight fists.

Over my dead fucking body would I let him sink his rotten teeth into my wife. Maybe this was a mistake after all. Maybe my stupid impulses had made me shove Elena into a kind of danger I couldn’t save her from.

There was no time to dwell on past waters. What was done was done. Besides, whatever weak spot Elena dug in me needed to be replaced by my usual confidence now that we were standing in front of her front door.

I looked at her, and after her confidant nod, I knocked three times. Steady, heavy and equally spaced knocks even when my desire was to kick the fucking door in.

When ever had destruction knocked three times? The gesture alone was a mockery of what was to follow. The politeness was a cruel irony that made my chest shake as I chuckled to myself, knowing that in just a few minutes, I’d be poisoning the Battaglia reign with a ring and a promise of forever.

When I looked back at Elena, her face was placid and calm, as if her father wasn’t about to disown her. As if we weren’t about to spark this mafia war again when it hadn’t even died down in the first place. But suddenly, the shine of the winter sun blinded me as it hit the right spot around her neck and my shit eating grin disappeared just as fast as it had come. With one look at her, I was filled with that bloodlust all over again.

“I thought I had told you to get rid of this fucking thing,” I grunted, wrapping my fingers around the golden necklace that held the damn signet ring Don Bartolini had given her. The sight of it had me biting the inside of my cheek to keep myself in check. I stepped closer, towering over her small figure, my hand now wrapping around the damn thing while she covered my hand with hers, trying to steady my grip against her skin. “How dare you wear the claim of another man when you have a husband?”

She had taken it off last night, I was sure of it. Why she was wearing it again was beyond me. But something in that gesture had me seeing red, bloodshed and destruction all around me.

“I need to give it back. It’s the token of his Òmerta. You know how much it means.”

“It still doesn’t mean that you have to carry it over your damn heart as if he owns it,” I said, my face coming a mere whisper away from hers before I stopped at the sound of my own words and asking. “Or does he?”

Elena kept her silence. Her words last night could have been spoken out of lust, and Elena coming after me could be nothing but a trap. Revulsion churned in my gut while enough rage soared through me to start a damn fucking war. But I had no army, and the spoils could still not be there if, by some miracle, I won.

Before I could yank it off her neck, the door flew open, and we were met by the inquisitive yet dire stare of Don Armando Battaglia. The closeness of our bodies was revealing of our intimacy. Whatever that meant. But still, Don Battaglia looked past it as if he didn’t catch us almost ripping each other’s throats out or kissing until our lips were raw.

“Where the hell have you been, Elena?” He harshly asked, pulling on her arm to bring her inside the house before turning to me and punching his fist into his pocket. He took out a few bills and threw them at my chest. “Thank you for bringing her home. Your services are no longer needed.”

Don Battaglia swung the door to shut it in my face, but before it could click, I stuck my foot in the gap and held it with my palm before opening it all the way back.

Slowly, in a calmness that didn’t match the speed of the boiling blood pumping through my veins, I bent down and picked up the money he’d flung at me like a dirty whore.

“I don't need your money, Don Battaglia,” I said, shoving the bills against his chest and walking into the manor uninvited.

His head quirked to the side while his eyebrows raised in both surprise and scorn. “I don't recall allowing you to enter my house.”

“I believe it’s as much yours as it is my wife’s,” I replied with a venomous smirk before gesturing to Elena since, going from the expression on his face, he wasn’t getting my hint.

Don Battaglia turned around to face her, taking in her smile that was as fake as my good manners. Soon, it faded into the grimace she tried to cover. It was clear that panic was coursing through her, her hands clenching on her dress on each side of her body.

Her father was almost as tall as me, broad and strong despite his age, towering over her in a menacing stance. As the joyful news sunk in, Don Battaglia's expression grew darker, and I didn’t miss the wince Elena tried to hide as he came to stand closer to her, towering over my wife with his massive figure.

There was no fucking way he would try to strike her. I’d kill him before a single digit grazed her skin, even if that meant I’d be leaving this mansion in a body bag just as tight as his.

“This has to be some kind of joke,” he said, an eerily false smile on his face that slowly disappeared as we both kept our silence for a while. He hadn’t heard the best part yet, and I was all too eager to deliver that punch, but I needed to pull Elena to safety first.

I circled Don Battaglia, pulling Elena behind me and coming to stand between the two. After she was safely tucked behind me, I extended my arm to greet him, dirty sarcasm and the glee of victory spreading my lips in a smile that blinded him with rage. As if on autopilot, his hand raised to take mine.

“I’m Giancarlo Moretti,” I shook his hand firmly, “Your new son-in-law.”

His face grew pale and stiff as my words hit his ears. The fake courtesy was meant to sting, and fuck did it pierce him like a thousand blades.

I watched as destruction spread through his veins, my smile growing wider as his face turned to stone.

“Giancarlo?” His brows furrowed for a second before he stood straighter and turned to Elena. “You married Moretti scum?” He roared towards his daughter, letting his words hang in the air for a while before resuming. “Bartolini has been pacing in my study for twenty fucking minutes, waiting to marry you, while the damn priest eats his weight in biscotti, and you walk into this fucking house telling me that you’re married to the enemy?”

“Papa—”

---