My heart fluttered faster than a hummingbird's wings as I stared at the man in front of me.
Bernoulli remained on the ground, grunting, his hand clasped to. Francesco barely spared him a glance before locking his eyes with mine.
"Th-thank you," I forced out of my mouth. "If you hadn't showed up...he..."
"He had it coming," Francesco interrupted with an enigmatic smirk. Then he snapped his fingers.
A heartbeat passed, then two men in dark shirts and suits materialized beside him. They also sported tattoos crawling from beneath their shirt and running up their neck.
Francesco motioned with his chin at Bernoulli, and they grabbed his legs, pulling him further away from the venue.
A cold dread rushed through me. "Where are they taking him?"
He smirked. "Don't worry about it." Then he scanned me from head to toe. "Are you hurt?"
I shook my head, suddenly feeling the gold ground beneath my bare feet. I noticed my stilettos a few feet away and quickly snatched them from the ground. He moved forward as if to help me slip my feet into them but this whole situation rattled me enough not to add any awkwardness to it.
He must have sensed it too, instantly stepping back and giving me my space. But even then, his eyes still remained on me, watching me silently as I slipped my feet into the shoes.
"I should probably head back," I muttered, pointing over my shoulder with my thumb at a crowded part of the party.
He nodded and slowly lined up with me as I walked through the sandy path. His arm brushed lightly against mine as we walked, the simple touch leaving shivers in its wake. My heart began to thunder so loudly that I began to wonder if he could hear it.
Questions flooded my head.
What was he doing here? Was he doing some business with my father or was he invited here by Drake's parents? Was it a normal thing for him to break someone's arm? He has done it so effortlessly and remorselessly it looked like it was a daily occurrence to him. What did he plan to do with Bernoulli? Did they know each other before? Because it sure as hell looked like...
I mustered my courage and sucked in a quick breath. "Um...I wanted to ask you–"
"Mr Giacomo!" A man in a uniform-like black suit came running, his face pale. He glanced at me, giving me a brief, nervous smile before shifting his attention to Francesco. "We have a...situation."
Francesco's jaw clenched. "Where?"
"Tribeca...Louvres street," the man replied curtly.
Francesco muttered a curse under his breath, his hands fisting. "Summon the squad. Send them there immediately."
The man nodded and spun around quickly, running back into the party. My eyes remained on the running man. Then I suddenly felt something hot as Francesco leaned over my ear. "I'm afraid your questions will have to wait, sweet," he whispered, his breath hot on my skin. "See you soon."
What the hell was that supposed to mean? I doubted if we would ever cross paths again and yet he sounded so certain. I dreaded it. My lips parted gradually, a line of questions forming, but before I could utter a word, he was already striding away the same way his man had just run moments ago.
A grunt of frustration broke through my throat. I should probably be glad he was leaving. The one who accosted me was a freaking muscle tower, like King Kong, and yet Francesco had taken him down in seconds and snapped his hand like it was mere plastic. If that didn't mark him as fucking dangerous, I didn't know what would.
"Mind telling me why I've just seen you and Francesco Giacomo talking?" Jade's breathy voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
I looked to my side and saw my friend storming towards me, her eyes wide. Despite all the restlessness I felt, my lips broke into a warm smile as I saw her. Jade, a fragile five-feet in heels, blue eyed blonde dressed for this occasion in just as she had said she would–in black. She hated Drake for breaking up with me and she hated Becky...for being Becky. I was certain she would have never been here if her parents hadn't implored her to. All for the sake of getting new profitable contacts.
"So?" Her brows raised in question as she stopped in front of me. "I'm waiting."
I let out a long sigh. "I need a drink first then I'll tell you everything."
We snatched a bottle of scotch and two glasses from the bar. Then we found a quiet space at the far back of the garden. When we were certain no inebriated reveller would stumble up and overhear our conversation, I apprised her of how I had met Francesco Giacomo and what he had done.
Her eyes widened at nearly every word I said. I watched her turn pale as I mentioned the name of the bastard who had tried to assault me and how Francesco had dealt with him.
"I think I'll need another bottle to digest this," she chuckled when I finished, tipping her head back to take the last tot of the liquor.
"Come on, it's not that serious," I laughed. "I'm okay. Everything is okay."
Her fingers curled around her glass tightly. "Okay? I don't think you have any idea what truly happened?"
I leaned back in my seat with a wry smile tugging on the corners of my lips. "Do you think it's bad that a handsome guy tried to save me from some sick fucker?"
She gave me a look and dragged her palms over her face. "First, it's not only any handsome guy. It's fucking Francesco Giacomo!"
"Okay..." I said slowly with a nervous chuckle.
"This dude owns over a hundred high-end night spots around New York, and is an unofficial don, the-yet-to-be announced head of the Giacomo family.
My throat worked hard on a swallow, having a sudden epiphany. "You mean the guy I kissed is a fucking mafia head?!"
"Hell yes!" she replied, nodding. "And there's more."
I waited with my heart in my mouth.
"You know that Francesco needs to marry soon and ia actively searching for a wife, right?"
"Yes," I confirmed. "What about it?"
Her lips formed a smile. "He needs the marriage to acquire all of his grandfather's wealth and establish himself as the full-fledged don. He needs to marry before his thirtieth birthday, but everyone says he might have a problem finding a wife."
"Why's that?" I inquired, even though I had an answer already. Only one who had a death wish was willing to marry someone like him–if he was really the way Jade portrayed him. "To me, Francesco doesn't seem quite the bad guy. He's hot, he's rich. He would be married with kids by now if he wanted to."
"Of course," Jade agreed and sighed, watching the amber liquid swirl in her glass. "But it's because of the rumours." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "They say he had three wives already and they all died in their first year after the marriage."
A shiver snaked along my spine. "Died? Does he have a curse or something?"
Jade rolled her eyes. "Isn't it obvious how they died? They were murdered. Francesco Giacomo is only half Italian, and now he's about to become family head of one of the most influential crime families. It's only natural that his wives automatically become his enemies' targets."
I bit the inner side of my cheeks, thoughtfully digesting her words. Guess that makes sense," I muttered.
"And the best part," Jade squealed, a mischievous grin stretching her lips. "Judging by the description you gave, the other man is Bernoulli Bernini."
"Is that name supposed to mean anything to me?" I blinked.
She gave me a look. "Of course. You should at least learn the names of people you cannot piss in this city."
I raised my hands in surrender, my lips forming a sarcasm-dripping smile. "Sorry I missed the latest edition of 'New York's Most Famous Mafia Men'," I sneered. "Do you mind filling me in?"
She flipped me a bird but then smiled. "Bernoulli Bernini is the youngest son of Vinci Bernini. Their family is quite powerful and they were never fond of the Giacomo family–Francesco especially. If anything happens to Bernoulli, it might lead to a war." She looked at me, and as if it was anything to be happy about, her lips formed a smile. "And you, my friend, would be the cause of it."
***
Jade's words rang in my head long after the wedding party was over. Could Francesco Giacomo really risk a war because of me?
"He had it coming."
I could still vividly remember the rage and disgust in his face, and I knew that even if he had beaten the hell out of Bernoulli, it could not have been only because he was messing with me.
Letting out a long, tired sigh, I picked up my nightgown. It had been a long day and I was glad it was over. I had barely passed the threshold of the bathroom when I heard a knock.
I groaned inwardly. Well at least someone could knock first.
When I opened the door, my father was standing there, a faint smile on his lips.
The smile was disturbing, to say the least.
"We'll have dinner tomorrow," he announced.
"We?" I echoed, barely able to contain the shock. "I mean–with Rousey and Becky–?"
"No, with me...and my guest," he replied.
"What guest?" I asked, curiously, almost nervously, a frown on my face.
"You'll find out tomorrow," he replied enigmatically.
"I want to know who," I pressed.
"Look, baby, it's just dinner," he said exasperatedly. "Although it's a really important dinner for me. I want you there."
Baby. That was new. He never called me anything tender or cute. If he was using such sweet words on my now, then...
"What if I refuse to come?" I dared to ask, folding my arms over my breasts.
His lips twitched. "Alright, let's put it this way...you come to this dinner with me and I won't ask you to do anything else. I'll pay for your mother's treatment immediately after the dinner. What do you say?"
Alright. He hooked me already.
But I still had my doubts. There had to be something he was not telling me. But I couldn't delay my mom's treatment. If attending some lavish dinner with my rich dad and a stranger was the price to pay, then fuck it. I would go for the dinner.
"Fine," I said flatly. "I'll go to the dinner."
He clasped his hands with a big, grateful smile.
"Six o clock. Be ready," he said and turned
I watched him disappear behind the corner and a surge of anxiety rushed within me.
What exactly did I agree to?