Capitolo IV

The moment I finished reading the entire contract, I looked for Lucas De Marchi on the internet. I cannot fucking believe that this man had already signed the contract before I did. It makes me think that he's eager for something other than actually saving me and my father from humiliation.

The page loaded with a lot of news about Lucas appears. Headlines like, Lucas De Marchi found Hand-in-Hand with former Playboy Model; De Marchi's New girl or New Toy?; Mystery Woman with Mr. De Marchi not so mysterious anymore and; De Marchi caught in a Bar Fight.

I don't actually know if Lucas will save me from being an outcast or he'll embarrass the fuck out of me as his new play toy.

I clicked one of the articles about his tantrum in a bar, which was the most recent one. The article loads with his picture. He was wearing a shirt—Kiton, if I'm not mistaken—and he was frozen in place as he attempted to punch a man wearing a Batista uniform. Poor man, I thought, caught up with the troublesome world of Lucas. Lucas looks young for his age. If I was a normal female, I'd say he's fascinating. I'd fancy him. But I am not the typical female and faces like his, I hit them during training every day.

I read through the article. Says Lucas was too drunk to function right and when the Barista gave his date a free drink, he went wild. There were charges pressed against him, but of course, being a CEO, and secretly a Mafia, those were so easy to let go.

I turned the desk chair around and it made a soft squeaking sound. I need to buy a new one tomorrow. The only light that glows is from the lamp on my bedside and the laptop behind me. And despite it, I can still clearly see the interior of my room; white walls, white ceiling, white king-sized bed with a maroon accent on the pillows and comforter. A white carved-up door to the right signifies the bathroom and on the opposite side directs to the closet. The wall against the bed is made of glass, overseeing the night lights of New York.

I take a deep sigh and wonder how stupid I was to agree to this. The Mafia might despise me and my father, but I don't really care. We survived without their help. And although their threats of killing us are becoming more frequent, it doesn't bother me at all. I'd fight with what I got and if I'd die fighting for our blood, so be it. I will fight for my family's name until my very last breath.

I spun my chair back to face the laptop and I closed all the tabs I'd opened just to check on Lucas. I wonder if he had done his research on me. I wonder what he'd seen. I opened a search tab and, not being a narcissist, looked up myself.

Caterina Santelli, I typed. I tried my best to compose myself. In the outside world, I was one of the advocates who promoted women's rights around New York. And yes, I am a feminist and that is why I had despised the idea of being saved by this arrogant Lucas. A job I am more capable of doing. If only my father was patient enough.

A few articles showed about my recent campaign volunteer in New Jersey and another in Arizona. I was relieved to find out that I have no issues like Lucas. My issues lies beyond the Mafia. In the Mafia world, despite our bloodline being hated, I was one of the most notorious shooters. I can shoot a man miles away right between his brows if I want to. And despite all my achievement in the illegal drug trade industry, I prefer being unnoticed. I let my father handle all the transactions. However, I volunteer if they ever need a cover up.

I finally closed my laptop and finished the glass of red wine on my desk. I stood and went to the closet for my nightdress. I put on a silk robe and tie the rope around my waist. I'm not one to tidy up my mess, but I wasn't eager to go to bed yet. Especially when I can't get Lucas' face off my mind. So I took the wine glass from the desk and left my room.

The house was eerily quiet. Everyone might be asleep. Of course, except the security team in the basement and a few security inside and outside the mansion that is yet to be seen by a naked eye. Except for me, of course. I can feel their eyes and I assigned some of their current positions. One was stationed outside the main entrance. One was outside the guard tower, eyeing me with a sniper. Was he going to shoot me? God, no. They just check every movement from inside and outside the mansion. And since there's a floor-to-ceiling window in the living room, my movements are clear as crystal.

With bare feet, I continue walking down the double stair and turn right for the kitchen. There was a dim light and the soft clatter of plates awakened the area. When I enter, I see one of the help bringing out our vintage plates outside its cabinets.

"What are you doing?" My voice sounded like a bomb in the mere silence. The maid jumped and the stacks of plates she was holding almost fell, but did not, as she swiftly dragged them on a surface with a loud clack. She was wearing her white uniform and a pair of expensive clogs. Her hair was tied up into a chic bun that made her neck look longer.

"Ms. Santelli," the maid started. "I did not hear you come in. “Mi dispiace." She turns towards me and bows her head. I like the discipline around this house and the servants around don't disappoint me.

"Si. My fault, not yours. No need to apologize." I walk around the counter to the sink. "What are you doing?" I repeated.

"Your padre has requested me to clean the new plates. He said there'd be visitors coming." The maid does not look up. I rinse the wine off the glass and squeeze some dishwashing soap onto the sponge. "Miss Santelli, please let me."

"No, grazie. I can manage. Please continue what you're doing," I said as I thoroughly washed the glass. I looked over my shoulder and saw that the maid looked up and was confused by my statement. Maids never talk casually to us, but tonight was the heck of an exemption. "So, we're having visitors I see? Quando?" When?

"Domani, madam," the servant girl softly said. Tomorrow? I didn't know about having guests tomorrow. And I always know about the guests coming.

"Did he say who was coming?" I asked as I rinsed off the soap with water.

"No, madam," the maid answered. And I knew that was not the truth. Sure, he did not say who was coming to her face but maids overhear things often. I'd guess some of them knew, before me, that Lucas and I are getting married.

"And you do not have information about any of it? About who's coming tomorrow?" I pressed.

"No, madam," the servant girl closed the cabinets and wiped the plates off from dust.

"The truth, missy." I can tolerate maids, but I cannot tolerate liars.

The maid hesitated for a while and momentarily said, "I overheard one of the headmaids that the De Marchis are coming tomorrow for dinner." I almost let go of the wine glass.

"Cosa?!" What?!

"Miss Santelli, t-the De Marchis are coming over for dinner—"

"Si. Si. But why?" I frowned at her. She halts from what she's doing and gradually shakes her head. I paced. "Non capisco. Non capisco. Non capisco perche. Non capisco. Mi scusi." I don't understand. I don't bloody understand why. Excuse me, I said and walked past the servant, not bothering to return the wine glass in the cupboard.

I cannot believe this! I had agreed to my father's desires, but I didn't know he'd go behind my back like this. I left the kitchen and stomped my way up the stairs to my father's office. I know he still isn't sleeping. The man doesn't sleep at all. At least not that I noticed.

I pushed the door open without knocking. Of course, my father being himself didn't even recoil in surprise.

"Come hai potuto?!" How could you?! "Why'd you invite the De Marchis?" Father did not look up from what he was writing, didn't even think about acknowledging my presence.

"Buona sera, Caterina." Good evening, he sarcastically greeted as he gently put down the pen and laced his fingers together looking so calm and composed. "What do you want?"

"Why the fuck did you invite the Di Marchis for dinner?" I walked towards his desk and slammed my fist into the table.

"Caterina, per favore," he hissed, but there was no spark of anger in his voice nor regret in his eyes. "I only invited them out of kindness," he added.

Bullshit!

"Che cazzo vuoi, padre?" What the fuck do you want, father? "I signed that contract for you more than I did for myself. Now you're inviting them for dinner without telling me? Just like the fact that you already had that fucking contact made before you can even tell me and have Lucas signed it first."

"Watch your tone, Caterina and mind your tongue." From his composed look, I can tell that I was pressing the right buttons. And I am far from letting go. "What I'm doing, I'm doing to protect you."

Again, BULLSHIT!

"Davvero?" Really? "You were trying to protect me? Just like you protected my mother? If you were trying to protect me from the Mafia and your brother, you would have done something—you. Not sending off an ungrateful man for me to marry just because you think he's so pure and worthy. But you weren't even thinking about me, were you? How I'd feel about it. A stranger on my bed every night and day. You want all of these to happen because it will save you from further humiliation. Again, you. So don't make this about me when it's all about—"

I abruptly cut when I heard a loud gunshot echoing through the walls. I, for a second, vaulted from surprise and was slightly taken aback as I heard the faint sound of a bullet ripping through skin and fabric. My eyes wide from shock rather than fear. I stared at my father who was now holding his Smith and Wesson Model 642 handgun and pointing it towards my direction.

I pant in surprise and stare at him in anger, clenching my jaw. From the sudden silence and aftershocks, I feel the pain in my left shoulder. I looked down and saw that my once-white robe is now splashed with crimson.

"Ah. Silence, at last," he said, slowly lowering down his gun, eyeing it more carefully than eyeing me. "Now, tell me about your complaints silently and moderately and maybe I might listen."

I was about to complain, but with the sudden jolt of fear, I halted. I sigh and instead say, "I have a conference tomorrow. Don't expect me to come home for lunch. Or dinner for that matter."

I held my head up as I turned to leave and with the unbearable pain in my shoulders, I cupped it with my other arm and put pressure on it. The fucking bastard was lucky that I didn't have my Bane knife. If I had, he wouldn't be awake to greet the De Marchis tomorrow.

"Caty," he started. I stopped before I could exit the room. "Mi dispiace. I didn't want to shoot you, but you left me no choice." Fuck choices. "And you will be here at 6 for dinner tomorrow."I wait for a moment to see if he still has anything to say. When there wasn't, I left his office and headed towards my chambers.

If not my father, Lucas has to pay for this.