“We. Are. Leaving,” he whispers in fury.
I glare up at him. “Are your ears painted on?”
His eyes bulge from their sockets. “Don’t piss me off, Francesca, I am too fucking busy to have to fly here to babysit you because you skipped your guards.”
“How do you know I skipped my guards?” I snap.
“Marcel Marso called me to tell on you, that’s how. Turns out he is useful for something after all.”
My mouth drops open in horror.
What?
That traitor, he knew I needed this. Maybe Anna is right about him. “Nobody asked you to babysit me.” I sip my drink as I act casual; the waiter arrives with another margarita. “Thank you, I’ll have another one, please.”
The waiter looks to Giuliano, “What would you like, sir?”
“He’s leaving,” I snap. “He doesn’t need a drink.”
“I’ll have a Blue Label scotch,” Giuliano says dryly as he pulls out the chair and sits down opposite me.
“That seat’s taken,” I snap.
“I know. By me.” He glares at me over the table, and I glare right back.
The waiter’s eyes widen as he looks between us.
“What?” Giuliano snaps up at him.
“Nothing.” The waiter fakes a smile and scurries to the bar.
I try to rein in my temper, it’s all I can do not to throw my drink all over him.
His dark eyes hold mine. “Why the fuck would you skip your guards when I specifically told you not to come to Rome?” he growls.
“I don’t want guards anymore.”
He rearranges the serviette on the table. “Nonnegotiable.”
I roll my eyes. “Go back to Milan to your girlfriend, Giuliano. Unlike me, she likes taking your orders…and her turn,” I mutter under my breath.
His cold eyes hold mine. “Trust me, sitting here looking at you is the very last thing I want to be doing.”
I can’t believe this is the same man I used to know, he’s not even on the same planet as the beautiful boy I once loved.
My sanity rubber band snaps and I can’t even act cool anymore. “I come to your mother’s funeral to support you as a friend and you have done nothing but be a fucking asshole to me ever since.”
“I don’t want you as a friend, I have enough friends,” he spits. “And stop swearing, I don’t like it.”
“I’ll say fuck as much as I want, and the term you are looking for is groupies.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t have friends, Giuliano. You have servants.”
He glares at me.
“Name one friend that you have that isn’t on your payroll or waiting in line to suck your dick?”
There, take that. I sip my drink triumphantly.
His eyes hold mine.
Guilt fills me.
Too far.
That was mean, I shouldn’t have said that. Damn it, this man brings out the worst in me. “I just wanted to be your friend,” I say in a disguised apology.
“I don’t want to be yours.”
My heart drops as I stare at him.
Wow…and there it is.
How does someone go from loving you so much when they were young, to hating you with such passion? Suddenly, I feel overemotional. Ever since I saw him at the funeral, I’ve been second-guessing every one of my choices, most of all my relationship with a perfect man. And for him to sit there with so much hate for me, breaks my heart.
“Every time I see you…. You hurt my feelings,” I whisper.
His eyes hold mine.
Stupid tears form in my eyes, damn it, why am I such a cry baby? “Please,” I whisper. “Just…leave me alone.”
He looks out over the people in the restaurant, he seems miles away. Or maybe it’s just that he’s detached from the situation and I’m not.
Either way, his silence cuts like a knife, eventually he speaks. “You think you know it all…don’t you?”
“It’s not hard to work out, is it?”
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with, Francesca.” He sits forward and lowers his voice. “Do you have any idea what a Ferrara woman’s scalp is worth?”
Huh?
“The people that murdered your grandfather, the same ones who murdered your father…and your brother Enrico. They live here in Rome, they have the authorities on their side, all crimes committed by them are overlooked.”
My face falls.
“I cannot protect you here,” he whispers. “You are a walking target…and by bringing me and my men here, you have put us all in danger. Because unlike you, I cannot go unnoticed, everyone knows who I am.”
Fear rises in my throat as my eyes search his.
“When I told you that you cannot be here. I fucking meant it,” he growls furiously. “And to sit there with that smug fucking look on your face…” he continues.
“Drinks,” the waiter interrupts awkwardly.
Giuliano sits back, affronted. “Thank you.”
I look up to the waiter as the blood drains out of my face, speechless.
What? I’ve put him in danger.
Oh my God.
I glance up to the door of the restaurant, suddenly panicked. The waiter puts the drinks down and I stare at it on the table as the need to run escalates.
The waiter leaves us alone and Giuliano picks up the full glass of scotch and drains it in one go.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper.
He smiles sarcastically, as if I’m an idiot and maybe he’s right, because at this moment I feel completely stupid.
“I didn’t want to scare you and I thought you had more brains than this,” he replies.
With a shaky hand I pick up my drink and take a large gulp.
“Who do you think we are, Francesca?”
I stare at him, unsure of what he means.
“We are the descendants of the most vicious men in Italy’s underworld history.”
My stomach drops.
“Our blood is a trophy. Our death is a sport.”
I think of my beloved father and brother, tears fill my eyes.
“Never…ever, has a Ferrara woman walked the streets of Rome on her own. Why do you have guards everywhere you go? Do you honestly think that it’s just for fucking fun?”
“You should have told me.”
“I’m telling you now,” he spits.
I look around in a panic as the walls begin to close in around me. “What do we do?”
“We leave.” He puts his hand up for the bill and the waiter nods and disappears to get it.
I pick up my cocktail and down it in one go. I’m flustered, I’m half drunk…okay, maybe three quarters drunk, and now, I’m scared to death.
Definitely too young to die.
“What happens if someone sees us?” I whisper.
“Then we’re fucked.”
“Define fucked?”
“Dead duck.”
My eyes widen. “Dead duck fucked?”
He smirks, then breaks into a smile, before throwing his head back and laughing out loud.
“This isn’t funny,” I whisper as I kick him under the table.
“Dead duck fucked is pretty funny.”