I need to change that.
Benny returns to his goddamn pacing as I take a seat behind my desk. Rocky returns to the same stance he had in the foyer.
I sink into the leather chair, lift my glass, and say, “Benny, sit the fuck down before I throw this glass at your fucking head.”
Benny freezes and takes a seat.
“You think it was the Lombardis?” he asks, rubbing his forehead.
Rocky snorts. “Of fucking course it was the Lombardis.”
I wish Vinny’s dumbass had chosen a subtler retaliation. Public shoot-outs are bad for press. There might be word on the street of our illicit businesses, of our crimes, but we provide no evidence to back up their claims. We’re careful, logical, and we keep our corruption in the shadows. We sure as fuck don’t shoot people in public in the middle of the goddamn day.
Fucking amateurs.
Vincent should have Vinny by the balls just for that. Benny frustrates me sometimes, but at least he has some goddamn brains. Like me, my children learned the rules of this life at an early age. There will be no fucking up the Marchetti legacy.
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “How’s Lorenzo?”
Lorenzo was hit in the shoulder during the shoot-out. He laughed it off and said Helena would be sending me his dry-cleaning bill. She’s tired of cleaning bloody shirts. Yet another reason to shoot Vinny in the head.
You don’t threaten or harm our family and get away with it. Lorenzo will want his head just as much now. Same with Helena. I already expect a call from her in the morning, demanding I make sure the man who shot her husband dies.
“Spencer fixed him right up,” Rocky replies. “He’s as good as new.”
Dr. Spencer Ashford is New York’s finest ER doctor, a pillar in the community, and the man who provides all medical care for the men in the Marchetti family.
All medical care resulting from illegal activities, that is.
I nod and point at Rocky. “Tell Helena to send Vincent Lombardi the bill.”
Benny chuckles. “Send him a bomb with the bill to save us the trouble of dealing with him.”
Rocky cracks his knuckles. “You want Vinny? I can get him for you.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What I want from you is to keep Natalia protected and your daughter to keep her fucking mouth shut.”
Benny blows out a breath, shaking his head, aware of Carmela giving Natalia trouble.
Rocky’s back straightens along the wall. “She’s upset, is all, boss.”
“She’s becoming a liability.” I relax in my chair and lean back.
Even if she’s sucked my dick, I have no problem getting rid of Carmela. She means nothing to me.
“I’ll speak with her.” His forehead wrinkles in worry. “It won’t happen again. Carmela knows her place.”
Benny scoffs. “Her place is the fuck away from here.”
Rocky shoots Benny a murderous glare, but he’d never. Everyone knows they’d die in a second if they touched one of my heirs. Not that Benny can’t protect himself. I taught him just as young as my father taught me.
Since I have better things to do than talk about Carmela, I snap my fingers toward Rocky. “In the next twenty-four hours, I’d better know the names of every man sent to kill me, their addresses, and every person on their goddamn family tree.”
Rocky pushes off the wall. “Yes, sir.” He keeps his head down as he leaves the office and shuts the door behind him.
“I vote Carmela dies,” Benny says. “I can’t stand the bitch.”
Benny has hated Carmela since she tried to fuck him when he was drunk one night. If you can’t snag the king, might as well try for the prince. That’s when I was done with Carmela.
“I vote you shut the fuck up,” I reply.
“She’ll only cause issues with you and Natalia. She needs to go.”
“Let me worry about Carmela.”
He drags his hands through his hair. “What’s the deal with Vinny?”
Benny stands, strolls to the bar cart, and pours bourbon from a decanter into a glass. He’s the only one allowed to make a drink in my office. My father would’ve slit my throat had I made myself a drink from his bar cart, but I’m not that big of a bastard. If my kid wants a drink while we talk about murdering someone, let him drink.
“I never knew he was on our radar before the Natalia situation,” he continues.
I rub my eyebrow. “The kid is a fucking idiot.”
He blinks. “He do something to you?”
“Did you forget he’s suspect number one of shooting at us earlier?”
“Before that,” he stresses, sitting down and balancing the drink on his knee.
I jerk my head toward his glass. “You spill that, and I will shoot the hand holding it.”
He tightens his hold on the glass.
“If I had an issue with Vinny before, he’d already be dead.”
“Do you want to kill him because he wants Natalia?”
I stay quiet and start shuffling through bullshit paperwork.
“Are you marrying Natalia to keep her safe from Vinny or because you want her?”
“Get the fuck out of my office.” I point at the door.
He nods, finishes off his glass, and stands. “I’ll make sure to get the video footage of the parking lot.”
When he disappears from the office, I drop my head back.
The Marchettis have rules to live by.
One of them is to shoot before saving.
Whatever came over me—the need to save Natalia—needs to stop.
She’s nothing but a pawn.
Never give a fuck about your collateral.
CHAPTER 19
NATALIA
I’m woken by my stomach growling, as if I hadn’t gorged myself with enough pasta and dessert at lunch.
I guess being shot at makes you starved.
That, along with being pleasured by a Mafia king who also happens to be my best friend’s father.
What is my life anymore?
I must’ve fallen asleep after Cristian disposed of me in bed and left. I flip off the comforter, turn on a lamp, and dress in the softest silk pajamas I’ve ever touched. Then, I venture downstairs, on the hunt for a snack.
It’s when I hit the last stair that I hear it.
Moaning and grunting.
Skin smacking against skin.
Sex.
My blood boils.
How dare he.
Cristian was intimate with me earlier, and now, he’s screwing another woman? Infidelity is why I left Vinny, and I don’t know if I can tolerate it with Cristian—saving my life or not.
And I swear to God, if it’s Carmela, all hell will break loose.
My gut tightens—no longer hungry and now nauseated—as I tiptoe toward the noise. Settling one hand on the wall, I peek around the corner and into the dining room. Relief swallows me when I see Gretchen bent over the table, her dress shoved up to her waist, as Benny thrusts inside her.
“Take that dick, baby,” Benny hisses around a loud groan. “And don’t you dare fucking stop.”
Really, Benny?
This place has ten bedrooms, and this is where he chose?
Where the family eats.
At least it’s where he sits.
Fab news for Cristian: I’ll no longer attempt to sit next to Benny.