Page 36 of Damiano De Luca (The Five Syndicates)
His disappointed sigh struck me as he shook his head, then walked away.
The worst part was, I deserved his disappointment—and worse.
Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides.
André Malraux
Functioning alcoholics.
Every mafioso was a functioning alcoholic.
At least, they might as well have been with how many excuses they found to drink over the course of the funeral processions. After the peace meeting, the accords needed to be signed in front of an audience of upper-level Camerino, Andretti, Rossi, De Luca, and Romano members, followed by a toast and a round of drinks at L’Oscurità.
I kept to myself after sprawling my signature across the accords album and taking the requisite shot. Another shot slid in front of me, and I took it, too. I liked having control. Growing up in a mafia environment encouraged me to find power anywhere I could, and that started with myself. So, the urge to get drunk and forget about Damian caught me off guard.
I couldn’t be the first to leave, so I found a corner table booth and cradled a single malt between my palms—one-hundred percent aware of how I looked and unable to gather an ounce of care.
“They say you’re a big, bad Vitali,” a soldier slurred as he slid his way into the booth beside me, probably ten shots past drunk. His dad was a capo, maybe. “I have something big and bad to show you.” He leaned into me, the scent of alcohol and jackass invading my personal bubble.
I raised my hand to push him off the bench, but a shadow approached the table, and he was unceremoniously yanked out of the booth and onto his ass.
The soldier looked up to Damian from the floor and scrambled to get up, stumbling along the way. When he finally settled on both legs, he stood level with Damian’s shoulder. “I’m a fucking Camerino. Do you know who my dad is?!”
“No, but I know who I am.”
“Who are you?”
The boredom in Damian’s icy tone layered tension in the air as he looked down at the soldier and spoke, “I’m Damiano De Luca,”—the soldier’s eyes widened, and I could practically see him sobering by the second—“and you’ll show me respect.”
The soldier’s mouth opened, and he floundered for something to say before accepting the lifeline one of his friends threw him when they called his name from a few tables down. Neither me nor Damian watched as he stumbled away from us.
Our gazes never wavered from one another. The silence between us throbbed, expanded, and engorged until I finally broke it.
“Damian.” I pulled a lock of hair away from my face and raised a brow. “This isn’t a werewolf romance, you aren’t my alpha, and you don’t get to mark territory you don’t own. I don’t need you fighting my battles for me.”
“That was hardly a battle, Princess.”
“And it was hardly your business, Damsel.”
He cut to the chase, “Eventually, this push and pull will get old, and you’ll find yourself wondering why you bothered putting up a front in the first place. Give in, Renata. You have so many walls up all the damn time, always so scared. Take a leap for once in your life.”
I raised my chin. “I take leaps.”
He looked unimpressed as he stood in front of me in the corner booth, his body providing privacy from lurking eyes. “Name one.”
My eyes narrowed, and I tilted to the side to fully face him, my legs dangling off the edge of the booth bench. “This.” My hand reached out, and I gripped onto his belt buckle.
“Princess…” His voice started as a warning but trailed off as I slid my fingers down and stroked him through his pants. “What are you doing?”
Good question.
Was I trying to prove something to myself or him?
Either way, I didn’t stop. He grew hard in my palm, and I wanted to feel him skin to skin, but I was all too aware of the crowd of people behind him. His hand stopped my movement, and he took a step back. I dropped my hand to my side and studied him.
He reached out and cupped my chin between his thumb and pointer finger. “This isn’t you.”
I pulled away from his touch. “So, first you want me to take a leap, and then you tell me that it’s not me when I do. Which is it, Damian, because even whiplash would struggle to keep up with you.”
