Page 23 of Love Me (Touch of Death 3)
He lifts a brow. “That’s quite a speech.” He says it without a single trace of mocking in his tone.
“If my verbal agreement is not enough for you, then we cannot make a deal. I will not be a pawn in another man’s game, no matter how honorable you insist your intentions are.” I sit back down. “If you are truly as noble as you claim, then you will date me and win my affection the traditional way.”
“Win your affection?” That smile crosses his lips again and makes me feel like I’m missing some joke. “Well, I’m confident I could at least do that. But as you know, betrothals are not about affection, Ms. Bianchi.”
I inhale a deep breath. “It’s all I can offer you. I would like your help but not at the cost of my freedom.”
“I appreciate that. I only want to support you.”
I lock eyes with him. “If that is true, then be different. Be better. Offer me help based on our mutual, verbal agreement and our families’ long-standing friendship.”
On a sigh, he pushes to his feet and re-fastens the buttons of his jacket, nipping his narrow waist once more. “I must consult my father.”
We both know what that means. Mafia’s are run by old men through young men. Their traditions and values are unshakeable. His father will never agree to this. For a moment, I almost re-consider, because I really do need his political ties.
But I remember what brought me here, to this decision. I’m fed up with having to barter myself based on my name, my marital status, what’s between my legs… If I’m to truly take the Bianchi seat, I can’t rely on all that comes with being a woman. I have to step up and demand to be treated as they would a man. Few women in the mafia have managed it, my sister being among them, but some…the most ruthless, have. That is what I must become.
Matteo turns toward the door.
“Matteo?”
He pauses and glances over his shoulder at me.
“I will take the Bianchi seat, with or without you, and when I do, I will remember those who helped me. And I will remember those who tried to take advantage.”
His lips twist. “You cannot take it without allies, Adelina.”
I smile back and tilt my head to the side. “Oh, you think you’re my only option?” I laugh. “No. I have allies, they’re just…a little bloodthirsty. My coming to you…that’s me trying to do this the nice way, the political way.” It’s true, with the right political alliances, I wouldn’t even need to kill anyone. I could have the entire Bianchi mafia behind bars. Nero, however, isn’t a man of mercy. Bullets are faster than negotiations, after all. “Without you, well, this all becomes a bit messier.”
Matteo’s smile falls, and his eyes narrow. “Perhaps you are more of your father’s daughter than Gabriella.”
I cock a brow. “Perhaps.”
He jolts his chin in a small nod and leaves the room. His bodyguard follows suit, and the second the door closes, I release a long breath.
Turning my chair, I stare up at the picture of Daddy on the wall. I wonder if he would be proud of me or simply disappointed by my failures.
8
Sasha
The Riviera Hotel is the tallest building on the beachfront, and Sergio, of course, has the penthouse suite on the top floor. There’s absolutely no way to get a clean shot from any of the surrounding buildings. I could get him on the street, but killing a mafia boss in public is considered poor taste. It would undoubtedly come back on Adelina and Nero badly, so I’m forced to get up close and personal.
I walk into the hotel, tugging at the tie that feels as though it’s choking me. When I broach the front desk, the girl behind it offers me a wide smile.
“Ciao,” she says.
“I have a room reservation. Mr. Wilmsford.”
She taps away on her keyboard before looking at me once more. “I just need your identification and credit card,” she says with her heavy accent.
I hand her fake copies of both, and a few minutes later, she hands me a room key.
“Enjoy your stay.”
On a nod, I make my way to the lift, rolling the small suitcase behind me.
On the thirty-second floor, I exit the elevator and make my way to one of only two doors on this level. Inside is one of the smaller suites. An entire wall is made up of windows, casting a panoramic view of the Mediterranean ocean. The sun has almost set, painting the water’s surface in orange and pink.
The interior is as luxurious as expected, but I barely even acknowledge it. Tossing the suitcase on the bed, I unzip it, revealing the contents: one set of clothes, three knives, two handguns, and several clips. It’s all I need. I check my watch. Five o’clock. After a few days of surveillance, I know that Sergio goes for dinner in the restaurant at six and handles business meetings. He’s then usually back in his suite by nine. I’m relying on today being just like any other day.
