Follow the adventures of Santo and Didi in the following chapters.
"Don Santo," the security team members greet me in unison. I massaged my temples as the pungent smell of cheap perfumes, the thick smoke of cheap cigarettes, and the lively music hit me hard. "Santo is enough. The Don is Elio. I've only taken over his job on an interim basis," I answer coldly. Cazzo. A young woman, completely drunk, has just tried to get past the protective screen formed by my guards. "You're here!" she says with a falsely delighted look. Another one who wants to make others believe she knows me. Me ne frego (I don't care*), and I continue my progression. I want to get out of here quickly. It's almost dinner time, and I'm pissed to make this courtesy visit just before my meal. I don't have time to realize what's going on, and I feel myself being pulled back. The drunk has just grabbed the middle of the back of my tailored jacket. "Hey, handsome, you can do whatever you want with me if you take me with you," she says to me as I stagger off. I'm like
(Didi) Crac. I look emotionlessly at my Family Leader as the lifeless body collapses before me. My hand, arm, and the right side of my face received the spray of blood from my victim as I pulled the blade out. I only had to stab my knife once. This surgical gesture, repeated countless times since my early childhood, is the reason I hate what I become as soon as I get home. Tender childhood? Let me laugh. There was never anything tender about the Bonani childhood. I walked in just as this man was threatening my Don. And my body reacted by pure automatism. He and I exchange a look of respect for each other. We have the same dark brown hair color and the same lips. The only difference is that I inherited our mother's green eye color, unlike him. "My little prodigy sister is finally back home," he said as he got up from his chair to give me a hug. "Vincenzo," I murmured, closing my eyes. I take a deep breath as I smell his perfume, and I know at
"La Madona! You're a lifesaver, Didi!" exclaims Alvize, the manager of the VIP section of the casino. "These are my recommendations and photocopies of my cooking and training diplomas that I passed in Europe. I hope not to disappoint you tonight", I say coldly before raising an eyebrow at the way he looks me up and down. He realizes my cautious look and clears his throat loudly to get rid of the embarrassment: "I don't need to look at these papers, Didi. In the restaurant business, the only recommendation above all others is Dino Bonani." I can't hold back a mocking chuckle and pick up my papers again: "Dino Bonani is my grandfather. He could very well be playing favorites." Alvize raises both hands to face level and shakes his head in the negative: "Not a chance. You and I both know that your grandfather is THE reference. No chance of him playing favorites." I don't say anything more and just look at him coldly. He's still ogling me. "Alvize. I don't appreciate ho
(Santo) "Get out of here, all of you," I order coldly. I glance back. Alvize and my men back away quickly. They all know I hate waiting when I give an order. The long-legged beauty also tries to leave. However, I automatically send my hand into the doorframe to prevent her from leaving the room. With my free hand, I point at her with my index finger, silently demanding that she stay. Then I take a step forward and unceremoniously slam the door behind me. I'm stunned by the way she looks at me, completely blasé. It's the first time in my life I've been voluntarily left alone in a room with a woman who couldn't give a damn about me. I walk past her and can't help but salivate at the enticing smell of cinnamon and sugar. I sit on the main leather chair in the "office" and grab the binder containing all our profits from drug dealing. Cazzo. Her sweet perfume is driving me crazy. I look up and am surprised by her absolutely relaxed attitude. It's not a behavior I'm used to deal
(Didi) "Get out of here, all of you," Santo orders coldly in his incredibly sexy voice. I think I'll give up trying to free myself from my family and offer my services to the Ganovese. To hell with cooking! Too bad I could never be more for Santo! At least I'll be able to see him every day if I take orders from Don Elio. And, besides, I know Lucia will always be there for me and console me when I see Santo with his wife and kids. Shit, shit, shit! I've got to pull myself together. I try to head for the exit, but Santo's arm blocks my way. He points with his index finger, silently forcing me to stay, and I'm absolutely stunned by the color of his eyes. He passes me by, and I must use all the control I can muster to avoid jumping on him. But yes! I could make him a key, tie him up and do whatever I wanted with him. What I wouldn't give to get my hands on him... Hey. Stop kidding yourself, Didi. He takes his place in the main chair behind the desk and starts working withou
"Excuse me?" I answer without understanding. How much do I take? How much for what," I can't help thinking inwardly. "How much do you charge for this?" he repeats, slightly annoyed, probably because I'm wasting his time. I tilt my head to the side and look down at the tray of petits fours. Why, yes. Of course, I do. Santo must want to pay for my catering services. "It all depends on the type of contract," I tell him. He half chokes and reaches for the water carafe on the edge of the desk. He quickly pours himself a glass and swallows the liquid in one gulp. Hey, what? Does he think I'm moonlighting? No, sir, I don't. I have a work ethic. A contract, and that's it. I'm a respectable citizen with charges and taxes to pay. There's no way I'm going to risk being audited and fined for fraud."Contract?" he repeats. I start counting on my fingers without looking at him, so annoyed that he wants to do it backward: "It's all going to depend on the days, the hours... obviously, I
(Santo) I'm like a caged lion in my own home. I pace back and forth, glancing at Matteo from time to time. My little brother finally raises his head and removes the stethoscope from his ears. Then he removes the Velcro from the tensiometer around the arm of Elio, our older brother. "How's he doing?" I whisper, afraid to wake our big brother. "He's stressed," Matteo replies. "The painkillers should do their job and allow him to sleep until tomorrow morning." Matteo and I slide onto the thick carpet of the room where Elio has been taken to the emergency room. Our shoulders touch, and we sigh in unison. Matteo tugs at his tie to loosen it and gives me a sidelong glance: "You must be exhausted too. Would you like me to prepare an infusion for you too?" I rub my face with both hands: "No. I've got urgent business to attend to...". I don't know why I let my sentence trail off like that, but it's enough to make Matteo turn his head toward me. "Hey. Elio collapsed under
(Santo) Did I listen to Matteo and go home to change? Absolutely. Did I scour the net for "total boyfriend" chick mags to find out what to wear? Absolutely. Did I nag our employees for THE outfit for tonight? Yes, I did. So here I am, surrounded by my bodyguards, as we walk past everyone into the strip club-turned-nightclub. No sooner had I arrived than Alvize, the manager, ran up to me and nodded towards the VIP section of the nightclub. Cazzo. My five cousins are all here already. I can tell by the number of girls in skimpy dresses climbing the steps leading up to the room. I can hear them shouting my name when these stronzi notice me. Cazzo. I wanted to go to the "office" first, ask for Didi to serve me, and then I would have joined them. "Saaaaaantooooo" scream my cousins when I arrive. I find myself having to hug each one of them. But I'm livid because their presence ruins all my plans for tonight. One of them stares me up and down and runs his hands