the meeting

FRANCESCA

ANTONIO, HAVING HAD A CHAT with Pietro, Alessandro, and the Godfather, figures it’s best to make peace with the Bianchis, who seem more than ready to bury the hatchet.

We know their weak spots, after all. They’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. Neither of us is itching for a fight, but we’re not the type to back down either.

My husband, for instance, leads his troops from the front, always with a few tricks up his sleeve.

We bring Angelina, blindfolded, to a hotel on the edge of our territory, right where it meets the Bianchis’ land.

Looks can be deceiving, and words even more so. Even though Angelina seems honest, I can’t trust her. She’s the enemy. She’s a Bianchi.

Antonio plans to give Angelina back to Vincent. The deal is that in return for Angelina and Vincent’s family, Vincent will join forces with Antonio to bring down Luciano Lambardi’s regime.

It’s a deal based on honor. Vincent has to agree to help. He stands to gain the most, too. He’ll find his stepmother and stepbrother safe and well protected.

“Antonio, I’ve been thinking,” I start. He looks up from his phone. I play with his blazer that I’m wearing as we wait for the Bianchis to arrive.

We’re a bit early, checking out the arrangements to keep the risk of casualties low.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” he teases.

I shoot him a glare.

He chuckles. “Kidding aside, what’s on your mind?”

I blush a little. “Instead of risking everything like this, why can’t we call a Commission meeting?” I ask.

Antonio gives me a soft smile at my question. ~He’s so handsome~. “Because the Commission involves other Mafia Families as well, not just the ~Nostra Vita~ Families.

We don’t want Chicago or Boston to know the details of our disputes. If they get wind of it, they’ll take advantage, sweetheart.”

“But why can’t it just be between the ~Nostra Vita~ Families? I mean, we don’t need to involve them. It’s none of their business anyway.

The Godfather is a Giordano and the Lambardis are in the wrong. Why can’t we just take them down instead of starting a war?”

“It’s not as simple as it sounds. We can’t just wipe out a Family and expect no fallout. We have trade in their territory.

“And if we don’t inform the other mob bosses, it would be offensive. ~Bambola~, don’t worry about all this. Leave it to me.

“I wouldn’t have brought you here and risked your safety if I didn’t need to,” he says, cupping my cheek.

I get what he’s saying. Basically, he’s telling me to mind my own business. I don’t want to be here either, but we’re supposed to hand Angelina over to Vincent.

It’s safer if I come along, so both Vincent and Antonio will be restrained from fighting. So, if anything goes wrong, Angelina and I are the safety nets.

It wasn’t our idea to bring me. It was the Godfather’s suggestion. Antonio, being the dedicated mafioso, agreed.

Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to be this man’s only priority. I know it’ll never happen.

I watch him lean back lazily on his arms. He smiles at me and a small dimple appears in his cheek. I grin as I poke it.

He chuckles softly and pulls me closer onto his lap. It’s a romantic moment as we hold eye contact. I love every second of it.

I lean forward so he has to fall back on the bed as I straddle him and grab his hands, pulling them beside his head and pressing them down.

My breasts brush against his clothed chest as our breaths mingle in the short distance between us.

He watches me with curiosity, but doesn’t push me off. I feel in control, but it’s the control he’s giving me. I don’t mind.

It must be tough to always be looking over your shoulder and never trust anyone, wife or not.

He tries to pull his hands out of my grip but I press them down tightly. I yelp as he flips us over.

Grabbing my hands together and holding them above my head in a firm grip, he lightly squeezes my throat. “You started this, I’ll finish it.”

His lips trail down my neck, pressing soft kisses before crushing his lips onto mine. I want to kiss him, taste him. I want all of him, every part of him that’s out of reach.

It’s a desire that goes beyond the fog of lust.

I let out a small moan, and right then there’s a knock on the door. “Toni, the Bianchis are here.” It’s Dante’s voice.

“Don’t moan,” he hisses. “I don’t want him hearing you.”

He looks into my eyes. I kiss his lips, biting his lower lip. It probably draws blood, but that’s not my fault. I’m just following orders.

If I can’t moan, then I have to do something. I suck on his lower lip, hoping it’ll soothe the sting. He pushes his tongue into my mouth and we fight for dominance.

It’s as if he’s fucking my mouth with his tongue.

“Toni, that guy wants to see his wife.” Dante comes back. Or maybe he never left.

Antonio pulls away from me with a sigh. He stands up and tucks his slacks and shirt back into place. “Sorry for the…uh, delay.”

He clenches his jaw as he shoots me a glare. “This is all your fault, Francesca,” he snaps.

“That’s why I said sorry,” I retort smugly.

He leans down and yanks me toward him by my brown locks. I hiss. “Careful, sweetheart.” He smiles darkly. It’s terrifyingly beautiful.

“Next time, try not to pounce on me before I have a meeting.”

“You could have said no,” I say. He’d consented.

He gives a casual shrug. “I could’ve, but then you wouldn’t have tried this again. It would’ve shattered your confidence, and I love you just the way you are. Plus, I did enjoy it.

“It’s pretty captivating to watch you.”

“Why?” I ask, intrigued by the many facets of this man. Facets that only I get to see. It makes me feel cherished.

He simply shrugs again and pulls me closer by the waist, eliciting a gasp from me. “I don’t know, ~bambola~. I might not love you, but I love your love for me.”

His eyes darken, taking on an obsessive, almost vicious glint. “I love how you change when you see me. I love that when you look at me, you don’t just see me, but your life with me.

“Your tiny, subtle reactions when I’m near, the way your eyes light up, your unwavering loyalty to me. Even if I were to stab you in the heart, you’d find a way to justify it.

“A scratch on me feels like a burn on your heart. I love that obsession. It’s like a drug, and it makes me feel loved.” His eyes soften, and there’s an undeniable spark of honesty in them.

I raise my hand to cup his cheek, but he steps back as Dante knocks again. I swear, one of these days I’m going to frame Dante for murder if he keeps this up.

I bristle with annoyance. The moment is ruined.

“Ace!” Dante never uses his brother’s mob name, Antonio. This must be serious.

“We’ll talk about this later. You need to leave now.” I straighten my dress. “I’ll get the door. You go fix that.” I glance at his crumpled vest.

The confrontation is overwhelming. It feels sudden and unexpected, even though I’ve noticed changes in him when he’s around me.

I’m not ready to fully accept it, afraid it might just be another test.

He reaches up and fusses with my hair, trying to make me look less like I’ve just been making out with my husband.

He sighs. “I don’t want anyone to see you like this.”

“Like what?” I ask. Most men love to show off women bearing their marks, but my husband is different. “I thought you liked it.”

I do remember him telling me never to cover the marks on my neck early in our marriage.

He tilts his head. “I do. They show my dominance in the relationship and while that’s great, I’ve realized there’s no need to put on a show and disrespect my wife like that.”

For the umpteenth time today, he leaves me speechless. “You think it’s compromising my dignity and honor?” I ask for confirmation.

“Isn’t it? Don’t you want to cover them up? You think I don’t know? You’ve wanted to since the day I first marked you and made you flaunt them,” he admits, looking away. Is he feeling guilty?

He never cared before. Now he does.

“Don, please. Things might get out of control.” This time it’s another man.

“Go,” I urge. “Wait, wear this.” I hand him his blazer and straighten his tie.

“Take your time. I’ll ask Fabio to escort you to the dining hall,” he says before giving my lips a quick peck. “Don’t leave unsupervised and bring Angelina with you.”

“This conversation isn’t over,” I tell him.

“Of course, I look forward to it.”

I nod and he leaves. I hurry. If Vincent thinks we’ve tricked him, things could turn ugly fast. If Antonio gets angry, nothing could prevent a bloodbath.

Both men have huge egos and I really don’t want to be caught in the crossfire.

I dash to the bathroom, slip on my new flats, and apply a bold shade of red to my lips to hide their swelling. I have makeup in my bag, so it’s easy to cover up the marks on my neck.

Then I’m ready to go.

Fabio waits patiently, but I can tell he’s worried. “I have to get Angelina.”

He nods and we race down the hall. The bodyguards on either side of her room push the door open. I sigh in relief when I see she’s okay, just watching TV.

“Angelina, let’s go,” I say.

She blinks. “Vince is here?”

I nod.

She lights up like a Christmas tree and jumps up from the couch. “Let’s go!”

I feel bad for her. Vincent might be in love, but he’ll have to punish her for this disobedience. If he doesn’t, his honor will be tarnished.

He’ll be seen as a man who can’t control his woman. It’s very patriarchal and sexist, but that’s the way it is.

If I were Vincent, the smart thing to do would be to punish her, save face, and then ask for her forgiveness in private. Or at least pretend to.

We walk down the hallway toward the large dining hall where I know the meeting is being held. I’m tense and nervous.

What if things go wrong? What if Antonio gets hurt? What if I get hurt? What about my child? There are so many ways this could go.

“Did you meet him yet?” Angelina asks. Her voice suddenly sounds weak and fearful.

“No,” I answer briskly. “But you will meet him now.”

“He’s not going to be happy,” she mutters under her breath.

Exactly, I think. Of course he won’t be happy.

“I was only trying to help,” she continues.

I sigh. “Angelina, if this goes down peacefully, then I’m sure you’ll be fine.” I don’t know Vincent well enough to guarantee this, but it seems to calm her nerves a bit.

That’s enough. We can’t have her paranoia messing with our plans.

With Fabio and Angelina, I walk into the empty room. Other than those involved in the deal, no one is here. There’s no staff either.

I don’t know how Antonio managed to do that in just a few hours. He probably didn’t and must’ve ordered Pietro to handle it.

My husband is easy to spot. He always is. He’s a leader, and leaders have a way of standing out. There are eight men in the room, four from Vincent’s side and four from ours, plus Vincent and my husband.

Pietro is standing next to Antonio, just like Vincent’s underboss. The rest are scattered at the back of the room, hands clasped in front of them. I know they’re all armed.

“Vince!” Angelina’s voice rings out, full of joy as she rushes forward to hug him.

I keep my emotions in check. If she loves her man so much, she shouldn’t have risked his life by bringing him here. It’s reckless.

For some reason, she reminds me of the female characters in those unrealistic novels I used to read in college.

Sophia would sometimes lend me her phone to read books. The stories were always a welcome distraction, a reminder of how different reality can be.

Antonio gives me a nod as I walk toward him, positioning myself a step behind his large frame. Our positions reflect the power dynamic in our relationship and his higher rank in the mob.

It’s a form of respect I have no problem giving him.

A green pool table separates us from them. It’s supposed to be a truce, but things could turn bloody at any moment. The table is like an unofficial border between us.

Vincent turns to us. “What do you want in return, Giordano?” he asks, his tone dripping with disrespect.

“I gave you your rightful property that you were so desperate to fight for, Bianchi.” Antonio’s words are almost a taunt.

Vincent glances at Angelina before pulling her behind him. Her eyes meet mine, and she gives me a small smile. I return it with a slight nod.

It’s best to keep her somewhat on our side. After all, she was originally from this family, even if she is the daughter of a new associate.

“And in return, what do you want?” Vincent snarls again.

“Just to give you a little piece of information. You suspect the Lambardis, but we have the proof,” Antonio says.

I can see where this is going. Antonio isn’t demanding anything yet. He’s building suspense, creating tension.

He’s putting pressure on Vincent, letting him stew in his own paranoia about what’s going to happen next. It’s a smart tactic if you want to trick your opponent into making rash decisions.

“What do you mean? What’s the proof?” Vincent asks, curiosity written all over his face.

“Mya,” my husband answers.