“What did you say?”
“I’m having some food delivered to the house so you can eat while you go through the funeral home’s options.” He’s lying to me. I have no idea how I know, I just do. Conveniently, I don’t really give a fuck. I’m tired already, but more than that, I’m determined to give Mr. Bobby the best goodbye he could ever imagine.
CHAPTER NINE
RIVER
The house we pull up in front of is unassuming and kind of disappointing. I was expecting a lavish spectacle of a home, with balustrades and electric gates and gargoyles on the spires. Okay, that may be a little far, but as Marco opens my door and offers me his hand to help me out of the car, the building we’re standing before kind of blends in. It is directly opposite Central Park though, so I bet the views from the third-floor windows are something to behold, especially at sunset.
Marco’s grip on my hand is firm as he taps the top of the black Lincoln before it takes off to fuck knows where. Probably a lair somewhere deep underground. I know the Mancini family is involved in some shady shit, which was—surprisingly—not something that I accounted for when making my decision to do this job. Although, I’m pretty sure I never completely agreed, it’s more like I was bulldozed into it.
The front door opens as soon as we get close, and a short, white-haired Italian man stands in the doorway, his arms open wide.
“River, bella mia, so nice to finally meet you. Come give Stefano a hug.”
We’re close enough that he is able to take me by the arms and pull me in. He smells of nicotine, like he’s smoked within the last few minutes. It’s not the worst smell in the world, but it’s also not my favorite. Marco’s hand remains firm in mine, with my arms by my sides in the most awkward hug ever.
“Let me look at you.” He holds me in front of him before pulling me in again to air-kiss either side of my face and letting me go. “Oh si, Signore, she is good. Luca made some fresh taralli, it is in your office. The lawyer arrived due minuti fa, and Vincenzo is keeping him company until your arrival. I told him hands off the taralli, that is for the lady of the house.”
Stefano talks a mile a minute, his heavy Italian accent making it barely audible to my ears, but there’s something about this little man that’s endearing. He has a wonderful, happy energy. Completely opposite to the grumpy asshole holding my hand.
“Grazie, Stefano. Is everything else organized?”
“Sissignore. Exactly as requested.” He has a glint in his eyes as they flicker to me briefly when he answers.
“Bene. Take the afternoon off, Stefano.”
I don’t see his face, but his tone is a lot lighter than the one he uses with me. Stefano bows his head slightly before turning and walking away. And holy mother of all that is beautiful, I’m only now noticing how grand this place looks. What looked like nothing but a few terraced houses on a busy street, is actually a humongous goddam mansion inside. I may be exaggerating again, but only slightly.
The walls are all white, but they’re decorated with colorful pieces of art, which goes really well with the shiny black marble flooring. The splashes of color give the whole place a modern vibe, but in a really stylish way. I expected gaudy and showy, but I guess Marco isn’t as predictable as I’d assumed.
“Ready, Dolcezza?”
“For what?” I turn to look at him, and his gray eyes are boring into mine. It’s almost as if he’s holding back from speaking. The intensity of his gaze says everything and nothing at all. “Are you going to answer me, or continue to stand there like a mute?”
His right eyebrow flicks up, and one corner of his mouth tilts in a semi-smile—if you can even call it that. It’s more like a smirk.
“Sei un peperino oggi. The lawyer is waiting.” He pulls me toward the stairs, practically dragging me behind him.
I still don’t know how or why Marco has arranged this appointment, and I’m really not ready for it, but my choice has been taken away from me. I’m being thrown into the deep end with this shit, and those annoying fucking warm feelings come back.
“You don’t need to pull my arm off, Marco. I can walk by myself. I’ve been doing it for the last twenty-six years, you know. I’m actually quite good at it.” I try to gently untangle my hand from his grasp, but he doesn’t let up.
“Considering the number of times you’ve fallen, I’d say you’re not as good at holding yourself up as you thought.” He speaks through gritted teeth and I turn to read his face, but I can only see his profile as he continues to lead me up the stairs.
Fucking asshole.
His words are like a punch to my gut.
“How fucking dare you.”
He pauses at the top of the stairs and turns to look at me, something akin to hatred in his eyes. If I annoy him so much, I have no idea why he wants me to work for him in this way. But fuck it, it kinda makes it a little more fun for me, and that feeling of gut-wrenching pain inside me lightens a little at the knowledge.
“Oh, Dolcezza. I dare. The question is, do you?”
“You know I do. Or are you forgetting our little game at dinner the other night?” My gaze is challenging, and I’m focused on annoying the fuck out of this man rather than the lawyer who I’m sure is on the other side of the door we’re now standing in front of.
Without answering or removing his eyes from mine, Marco opens the door and almost pushes me inside. I stumble, but only a little as I make my entrance with him following closely behind. Before I can turn to give the asshole a piece of my mind, a tall, athletic looking man stands from the deep-red couch by the wall and addresses Marco.