Lorenzo Beretta Read online

  “Yep.” Christian leaned on the arm of one of the sofas, his hands in his slacks pockets. “They sent me in to see if you’re ready.”

  Inhaling a breath and closing my eyes to gain clarity, I replied, “I’m ready.” It was a lie, and I had a feeling Christian knew that, but there was nothing either of us could have done about it.

  Christian didn’t say another word as he walked across the office and opened the door, letting everyone in. Ma was the first to step inside, her emotions carefully put aside for the moment. She’d been the perfect wife to the head of this family, and I wondered if she’d miss it now. She wasn’t just mourning for the loss of her husband, but also the place in the family she’d held for so long. Uncle Alonzo and Uncle Antonio followed behind, and bringing up the rear was my brother, Dante. He shut the door behind them all, and I knew then that this would be the meeting before the official meeting.

  No one said a word as Ma and my uncles sat on the sofas. Christian and Dante stood to the side, watching and listening for what was about to happen. The words were coming, I knew they were, and as soon as they were spoken, nothing would be the same. It wouldn’t be my dad everyone looked to for answers, but me.

  My heart hammered in my chest, and I wasn’t sure which of them to look at while I waited for everything to change.

  “We have a problem,” Ma started.

  I whipped my attention to her. Those weren’t the words I’d expected to hear.

  Ma looked to Uncle Alonzo, and once he nodded, she continued, “Your dad wanted you to take over the…business.” I blinked. I’d known this since I was a little kid. It wasn’t like the prospect of me being head of the Beretta Mafia was new to me. I’d been taking on more responsibility lately, almost as if my father knew something nobody else did. “But…there are rules.”

  “Rules?” I snorted, not expecting that word. “What kind of rules?”

  “Rules for you to become boss,” Uncle Alonzo said, his deep voice gaining my attention. His dark-brown hair was peppered with gray, and even though he was sixty-one years old, he didn’t look a day over forty.

  “What the fuck you talkin’ about?” I stood, the bottle of whisky held tightly in my hand. “Dad died, and I’m the oldest son. That’s all anyone needs to understand.” I stormed from around the desk and toward the door. I wasn’t going to sit here and listen to this. I’d buried my dad hours ago, and now they were telling me I had to follow some fuckin’ rules I’d never even heard of? Fuck that. I was the new boss of the Beretta family, whether people liked it or not. It was my birthright. I’d been a captain of my own soldiers for years, I was used to dictating what would happen around me, and I wasn’t about to change that now.

  “Wait,” Ma shouted, her tone frantic. “Wait, Lorenzo.” I halted, my gaze focused on the office door. I couldn’t turn around, not with how I felt at that moment. I needed time to process everything that had happened over the last few days. And I needed to drink this entire bottle of alcohol, and possibly another one just to numb all of my swirling thoughts.

  Rules? Fuckin’ rules?

  “Lorenzo,” Dante said, his voice so much like mine. “Listen to what they have to say.” Dante had always been the calm brother, the one who took it easy, but that was because he didn’t have to do what I did. Things weren’t expected of him, the second son. He hadn’t seen what I had, but now Dad was gone, and he wouldn’t have a choice but to do more, just like I hadn’t for my entire life.

  “Three rules,” Uncle Antonio said. He was the stricter uncle. The one who didn’t take an ounce of shit. He was also married to the gentlest woman I’d ever known, my auntie Vivianna. Both of my uncles weren’t blood-related but were married to my dad’s sisters. They’d come up in the business and knew it inside out, but they were also in here, trying to steer me in a direction I had no idea existed.

  I took a breath, trying to sort through my scattered thoughts. I took another gulp of the burning alcohol, winced, then turned to face them.

  “The Enterprise needs to agree to you becoming boss,” Uncle Antonio continued, standing. He brushed off the lapels of his jacket, his lips spread into a thin line. He looked stern now, but I knew how quickly that sternness could turn to terrifying anger. I’d watched him torture a man for twenty hours straight without a flicker of emotion. “They have all agreed, as we knew they would.” I nodded, trying to take it all in. I’d known The Enterprise had to be unanimous because my father had already told me that. The Enterprise consisted of five bosses of differing organizations, each working in tandem with each other.

  “Okay,” I ventured, stepping toward everyone. “What else?”

  Uncle Antonio kept his gaze locked on to mine. “You need to be thirty to take over as boss.”

  “What?” I sneered. “Why?”

  “Have you heard of the 1924 massacre?” Uncle Alonzo asked, and I frowned. Dad had told me about it once upon a time. The Mafia boss who killed his wife and two young kids. He’d said the pressure of being boss at twenty-four was too much, right before he pulled the trigger and killed himself, leaving behind a bloody mess that authorities couldn’t explain, at least not publicly.

  “Yeah. Dad told me about it.” My shoulders drooped. It made sense, but…

  “I don’t turn thirty for another three weeks.”

  “It’ll give us the time we need,” Uncle Alonzo said, a small smile on his face.

  “Time for what?” Everyone was suspiciously silent, their gazes flickering everywhere but at me. They’d said that there were three rules, but they’d only told me two, which meant they knew I wouldn’t like the final rule. A rule I had no choice but to follow if I wanted to continue my father’s legacy. “Tell me,” I demanded, using the tone that I knew would get me answers.

  “You have to get married,” Ma blurted out. I blinked. “To an Italian girl.”

  “What?” I wasn’t asking her to repeat what she’d said, but she did anyway. I couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Bullshit,” I growled. “That’s fuckin’ bullshit.”

  “Doesn’t change the rule whether you think it’s right or not,” Uncle Antonio said, his voice easygoing for the first time. It sounded so unlike him. “Arranged marriage. It’s the old rules.”

  “Wait.” I laughed and stepped toward them. “You’re saying that it has to be arranged?”

  “Well, I’m guessing you don’t have anyone ready to marry you, son,” Uncle Alonzo said, wincing at the last word. He’d always used that name with me, but it held more right now—more on this day, more when my father dying meant I had to get married to a good fuckin’ Italian girl.

  I didn’t want to be weighed down by a woman at home, waiting to see if I survived the violence I faced every day. I didn’t need her to be in the back of my mind as I was dishing out punishments to men who tried to break our rules.

  Fuck.

  Rules. It shouldn’t have surprised me what was happening right now, not when we were surrounded by rules and hierarchy.

  “Fine.” My nostrils flared as I agreed to it all. “Bring me options, and I’ll get married on my goddamn birthday. Then we can get on with business.” I paused, realizing that until I turned thirty, I couldn’t be boss. “Who’s gonna take over until then?”

  “Me,” Uncle Alonzo said, and it made sense. He was my dad’s right-hand man, he had been for more years than I’d been alive, and most importantly, he was the underboss. You couldn’t jump ranks in the business, so he was the only one who could be acting boss. “You keep doing what you normally do, and I’ll just act as boss until you can take over.”

  “Good.” I stared at each person in the room. My younger brother, whose life would change more than it ever had. My mother, who had lost the love of her life. My uncles, who were determined not to let the business get into someone else’s hands. And finally, my best friend, the man who had been by my side every step of the way. But right now, I didn’t want to look at any of them.

  I needed to be alone.

/>   I needed to drown my goddamn sorrows.

  I spun around, leaving them in the office that would be mine in three weeks.

  LORENZO

  The roar of the engine vibrated through me as I pulled through the open, vast, metal gates and into the property that was now my home—again. I looked around, trying to see if the truck delivering all of my things from my penthouse had turned up yet, but from the looks of things, it hadn’t.

  The mansion we’d all grown up in was now officially mine, but if I was honest, I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to be back in my own living room, looking out at the entire city with my floor-to-ceiling windows. Ma’s words echoed in my mind: You need a house with protection. The penthouse apartment I’d lived in since I was eighteen wasn’t good enough, apparently. No. I needed a mansion now to house the staff, security detail, family, and of course, my new wife.

  So, here I was, back in the same place I grew up, only now things were different. I was the boss—well, nearly. Thirteen days. I only had thirteen days to get married and turn thirty. Then I would become the boss. The head of the family.

  Christian’s car pulled up behind mine, and I stared in the rearview mirror as he got out, but I didn’t make a move. Instead, I just stared at him as he waited patiently for me. He’d done that all morning while I took my frustration out on a soldier who’d tried to double-cross us. He’d thought that my father’s death would allow him to jump on opportunities presented to him from other organizations. He was wrong. And he’d learned that lesson slowly and painfully.

  I’d left the underground bunker near Uncle Antonio’s house feeling some of the pressure lifting off my shoulders, but as I stared at Christian, it all came tumbling back, almost taking my breath away.

  My morning may have been full of relief, but my afternoon was going to be full of yet more prospective women brought my way. I groaned, already fed up with today and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. For the last eight days, I’d been presented sixty-two women—sixty-two prospective wives—and not one of them was right. I needed someone who didn’t want attention and wouldn’t use the family name for her own agenda. It was a delicate balance, one that was proving more difficult than I ever would have thought.

  The most important thing was that she would be in name only. I had no intention of being a loving husband to a good Italian woman. She’d want things I wasn’t capable of giving. Like babies, a family, a life where we held hands and I bought her flowers.

  I wasn’t that person. I’d never be that person.

  Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, schooled my features into the mask everyone expected of me, then pushed out of my car. I didn’t take one look at Christian, knowing he would follow me inside while also watching my back.

  The large double doors opened as I came within a few feet, and there, in the circular entryway, were four women, lined up, ready for me to see.

  “No,” I said, flicking my hand in the air in a shooing motion. It took me two seconds to look in their eyes and know whether they were right or not. And none of these were right, not for me anyway.

  “You’re too damn picky,” Christian groaned as several sets of heels clicked on the tiled floor and outside. Not one of them said a word as they were ushered out. They knew better than that.

  “None of them are right,” I told Christian simply as I turned around to face him. “Whoever it is is gonna be around for years. She’s gotta be the right person.”

  “You have thirteen days left,” Christian reminded me, his brow raised. “You may be Lorenzo Beretta, but that don’t mean shit if you turn thirty and you don’t have a bride for the wedding your ma is already planning.”

  I growled, frustrated at the whole situation. I hadn’t committed to anyone for a goddamn reason, but now, in one fell swoop, I was going to become the boss and a husband. Fuck. I couldn’t deal with this shit, not right now. The high from this morning had well and truly dissipated into nothing.

  “I need a drink.”

  “Lorenzo,” Christian snapped, but I ignored him and made a beeline for the kitchen at the back of the house. I hadn’t been in my dad’s office since the day of his funeral, and that was where the good stuff was. Right now, alcohol was alcohol, and I knew exactly where I could find some.

  The side door to the kitchen was open, but I didn’t take any notice of it as I headed for the top shelf of the secret cabinet Ma kept. She thought no one knew about it, but we all knew that was where she kept her favorite drinks. They weren’t the same kind of expensive alcohol that was in my dad’s office, but even a weird-flavored vodka was better than nothing right now.

  I huffed out a breath. Christian was right. I’d never find a wife, not with the people they kept bringing to me. Maybe I just needed to settle with one of the women and call it a done deal. Maybe I was being too picky.

  I sneered at the light-purple color of the vodka, twisted the top off, and took a swig. “Fuck.” I slammed the bottle down. “That’s disgusting.” I darted for the sink, slammed the faucet on, and filled a glass with water, hoping that would take the awful flowery aftertaste away.

  “I think you’re meant to mix that with something else,” a soft, lyrical voice said from behind me. “Like, you know, a mixer.”

  My back straightened, my nerves on edge. I was always aware of what was around me, and yet I hadn’t even noticed someone coming into the room. Slowly, I turned, wondering if another prospective woman had been sent my way. I was about to open my mouth, to ask her what she was doing in a part of the house she wasn’t allowed in, when Mr. Ricci halted behind her.

  “Oh, hello, Mr. Beretta.” He gulped, his wide eyes veering from me to the woman who I now realized was holding a box filled with groceries. “I’m bringing your mother’s delivery for the week.” He shuffled from side to side, unease clearly spreading through him. “I apologize if my daughter disturbed you.”

  The woman turned to face Mr. Ricci. His daughter. I tilted my head to the side as I watched her. Her gaze lowered but remained focused on her dad. I could sense she didn’t like him apologizing for her, but she wasn’t going to say anything in front of me to him. She had respect for the people around her. Interesting.

  “It’s okay. Don’t let me get in your way.” I leaned against the counter, crossed one leg at the ankle, and clasped the counter behind me. My attention didn’t move off the woman as she entered and placed the box of groceries on the kitchen table. She stared at me out of the side of her eyes, a frown appearing on her face as she spotted me staring. Again though, she didn’t say anything.

  Mr. Ricci exited, probably going to get more of the delivery. I expected the woman to scamper after him, but she didn’t. She unpacked the box and sauntered around the kitchen, placing the items in what I was assuming were the correct place.

  “You do this often?” I asked her, feeling like my voice was too loud for the room and her ears. I was to the point, but maybe she wasn’t used to that. My wheels were turning, and for some reason, I didn’t want to scare her off. She was the first woman I’d seen over the last week that had me wondering what else there was to her. The problem was that she wasn’t brought to me. Instead, she’d stumbled upon me. Accident? Fate? Coincidence?

  “Who? Me?” The woman opened another cabinet but paused to look at me.

  “Yeah. You.” I raised a brow, waiting for some kind of comeback, but there wasn’t one. Her gaze veered down to my white shirt, and her eyes widened slightly, just enough for me to know she could see the blood splatter on the material. I wasn’t sure how I was expecting her to react. Maybe she’d clam up and get out of here as fast as she could, or maybe she’d—

  “Mrs. Beretta likes her things put away properly.”

  I blinked, and she shrugged as if that was enough of an explanation for me. She didn’t mention the blood or acknowledge who I was. It intrigued me. She intrigued me.

  She closed the cabinet, swiped her hand down her jean-covered thighs, and for the first time, I got a good lo
ok at her body. She was short, but I didn’t mind it on her. The curve of her hips was begging for my hands, and the dip in her waist called for my arm to wrap...

  Huh.

  I blinked several times. Maybe she could become an option.

  “That was the last one,” Mr. Ricci announced, standing in the doorway to the side of the kitchen. It led out into the driveway that nobody knew was there, a secret spot used for deliveries. He blinked rapidly. He’d clearly seen the blood on my clothes and didn’t want to get any closer. Where his daughter was as cool as a cucumber, I could practically see his hands shaking from here.

  “Let’s go, Aida.”

  Aida. Her name was Aida.

  She lifted her hand in a wave, and without saying another word, she exited, her dad following. I couldn’t help my feet moving toward the open door. My gaze refused to move from her, my brain wanting to know more.

  Her ass swayed as she walked toward Mr. Ricci’s truck, but it wasn’t something that she put on. It was natural, just like her. And fuck if it didn’t draw me to her even more.

  “What are you looking at?” Christian asked, his footsteps nearing as Mr. Ricci started the engine. I crossed my arms over my chest as Mr. Ricci pulled away and slowly made his way down the driveway. The farther they moved away, the more I knew. She was it. She was the answer to my problem. “Lorenzo?” Christian asked again.

  I turned to face him, lifted my lips on one side, and simply stated, “My future wife.”

  CHAPTER 3

  AIDA

  My stomach dipped, my nerves running rampant the closer to the restaurant we got. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone on a date. Maybe that was why I was so nervous? Brad hadn’t told me where we were going, so I’d had a stressful few hours deciding what to wear. In the end, I let Vida choose. At least that way, I’d look pretty enough.

  She’d paired my high-waisted, wide-legged pants with a simple white sleeveless top. To finish the look, I’d gone with a pair of heels, then shoved some flats into my bag. I was prepared for any situation—that was what I kept telling myself anyway. The reality was, I wasn’t ready for this. I wasn’t ready to be alone with Brad when I felt like I barely knew him.