Married to the mafia King

Adriano

This was big

Potentially even bigger than the Agrellas getting wiped out.

I mean, that alone was huge

But whatever secrets Bianca’s father might be holding, they suggested a vast conspiracy my family hadn’t even known existed.This material belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

One that had rolled over the Agrellas like a tsunami

And which might destroy us if we didn’t figure out who was behind it.

“Where are we going?” I asked Bianca as I pulled the Mercedes out into traffic.

“Most of the betting places are near the Centro Storico,” she said the historic center of Florence. “One’s in Santa Marian Novella near the train station.”

Santa Maria Novella was a neighborhood in Florence west of the historic center. It had a mixture of beautiful old buildings, like the Basilica di Santa Maria Novella, and grungier areas near the train lines.

“Alright, we’ll head there first.”

She gave me a little side-eye. “I think you need to get some other clothes first.”

“What? Why?”

“You look like a gangster.”

“This is an expensive suit!” I said, irritated.

“Yeah, it’s Prada with what looks like a Brunello Cucinelli silk shirt. Which either makes you a fashion model or a mafioso.”

I glanced at her in surprise. “How’d you know that’s what they were?”

“I’m a fashion student and I want to be a designer. I know my shit.”

“You can tell just by looking at them?”

“Of course. I watch all the fashion shows online, and I know that jacket is from Prada’s latest collection. And nobody does silk like Brunello Cucinelli.”

“Huh,” I muttered. “Why couldn’t I be just a regular rich guy?”

“Regular rich guys don’t have tats showing on their necks. Except for Gianluca Vacchi, I guess.”

“Who?”

“He’s this rich old guy on TikTok who dances and never mind. The point is, he’s a rich guy with tats, but he’s trying to look like a mafioso. You’re a mafioso, but you’re trying not to look like one.”

“What does it matter if I look like a mafioso?”

“Didn’t you say the Agrellas’ people ran the gambling in Florence? Won’t they recognize you?”

“I already told you, the low-level guys at the betting parlors won’t know who I am.”

“Yeah, but if you walk in with a suit worth ten grand, they’re going to know you’re somebody, right?”

“…shit,” I muttered.

“What?”

“You’re right.”

“Ooooh, that was nice say it again,” she joked.

“Ha ha, very funny,” I said without laughing. “All they have to do is take a picture of me and text it to somebody higher up.”

And whoever they texted it to, it might be somebody from the hotel last night.

“I could go in and do the talking,” she suggested. “You can just stay outside.”

“NO. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

She got a little smile on her face like she enjoyed hearing me say it. Then the smile faded. “Is it a good idea for me to be going around asking where he is?”

“It might raise some red flags… but whoever killed the Agrellas last night, they want to stay anonymous. Which means they probably haven’t put the word out yet… which means the guys on the street shouldn’t know about you or your dad yet, either.”

“Sergio knew,” she said quietly.

She was thinking of the guy I’d shot last night the one who’d held her mother at gunpoint.

Sergio had been absolutely terrified which gave me pause.

Whoever was behind this, they must be really bad to make a hardened gangster lose his shit like that.

But I didn’t want to scare Bianca any more than necessary. After all, her father was still out there somewhere.

Hopefully alive.

“Sergio wasn’t a bottom feeder, though. He was a little higher up the food chain. No, whoever is behind this is trying to keep as low a profile as possible… which means they probably haven’t spread it around about your father.” I shrugged. “I’ll know as soon as I see the faces of whoever you ask. Which is why I need to be in there with you.”

“You could be my boyfriend,” she suggested.

I gave her a look

And she rolled her eyes. “I’m saying you can act like my boyfriend. Jesus.”

“…alright,” I said grumpily. “Yeah, it works better if they think I’m your boyfriend.”

“Then you absolutely need to ditch those clothes.”

“Why?”

“Because a chick dressed like me isn’t going to be hanging out with a guy dressed like you.”

She gestured at her outfit which I liked a lot because it showed off her curves without showing too much skin.

I mean, if it was just the two of us, I would’ve loved for her tits to be hanging out

But I hated the idea of other men looking at her.

In fact, if I thought about it too long, it started to make me angry.

“So you’re saying I should dress down,” I said.

“Exactly.”

“What are you thinking?”

“The Gap, maybe?”

“NO.”

She laughed. “We need you to look like an average guy unless you want people to be suspicious.”

“Average is fine, but I am not wearing anything from the Gap.”

She laughed even harder. “What’s the matter too big of a jump from Prada to pleated khakis?”

I scowled at her.

“Alright, alright. You know, there’s a cool thrift store in Santa Maria Novella. That’s where I got this outfit. How about we go there and I find you some clothes?”

“…fine,” I grumbled.

I just knew I was going to regret this.

I’d never been in a thrift store in my life.

And I wished I’d continued that trend.

“This place is a fuckin’ shithole,” I said to Bianca as we walked in.

“Shhhh,” she hissed angrily, then whispered, “It is not a shithole it’s cool.”

I took a second look and decided that the shop was interesting enough, in a run-down bohemian way. It was in a really old building with exposed wooden rafters and brick walls. Amidst the dozens and dozens of clothes racks, old mannequins were dressed in everything from punk rock t-shirts to ball gowns.

So that part was interesting.

The artwork hanging on the wall was shitty, though. The paintings were eyesores, and there were lots of collages with pretentious phrases like ‘THIS IS ART’ assembled out of magazine clippings like a hostage note.

A five-year-old could have done better.

And don’t get me started on the clientele.

Only four other people were in the shop, but they were all artsy-fartsy twenty-somethings. And they all had piercings in their lips, noses, and everywhere else.

They stared at me with open disdain as I walked in like I was the weird-looking one.

I just ignored them and followed Bianca to the men’s racks.

“We’ll get you some jeans… ooh, here’s some True Religion… I wonder if they have any old Ed Hardy shirts?”

“What?!”

“I’m thinking I should dress you like a douchebag. Or we could do wannabe rocker… or art student…”

“How about just normal?”

She laughed. “I already suggested the Gap, and you said ‘no.’ Besides, with your looks and your tats, you’re anything but normal.”

It sounded like a compliment… but in a backhanded sort of way.

She pulled item after item off the racks and draped them over her arms.

“You didn’t ask my size,” I said.

She rattled off the centimeters for my waist and shoulders without looking at me.

She was pretty damn close, too.

“How the fuck did you know that?” I asked in shock.

She gave me one of her looks again.

“Fashion student, remember? I look at people’s measurements all day long. After a while, you get pretty good at eyeballing them.” She went back to browsing. “We should probably get you some shoes, too. Doc Martins would be good if they have them in your size…”

“What’s wrong with my shoes?”

“You can’t wear thrift-store jeans and thousand-dollar shoes, dude.”

Alright, she had a point.

“Let’s go try this on,” she said as she held up her arm-load of clothes.

We went to the back. For a store that looked like this, the dressing rooms were surprisingly good lots of space, with full mirrors on three sides and actual doors instead of curtains.

I liked the multiple mirrors…

Mostly because I could see Bianca from every angle in the infinite reflections.

Madonn, what an ass…

And those tits in that top…

Fuck.

She laid the clothes on a wooden bench.

“Okay,” she said with a smirk. “Strip.”

I gave her a smirk back. “That’s the only reason you brought me in here, isn’t it?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve already seen the merchandise.”

“You did a lot more than see it, as I recall.”

“Yeah, yeah get to stripping, mafia boy.”

I pulled off my suit jacket and hung it on a peg on the wall. Then I unbuttoned my shirt, shucked off my shoes, and pulled off my pants. By the end, all I was wearing was my underwear.

For somebody who had ‘already seen the merchandise,’ Bianca sure was giving me the once-over.

Her eyes roved up and down my body like a starving woman eyeing an ice cream sundae.

It turned me on.

Thankfully I’d busted a nut enough times in the last 12 hours that I didn’t immediately get a hard-on.

I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how she affected me.

“What’s first?” I asked.

She handed me a ripped tee a faded White Snake concert shirt from 30 years ago.

I threw it back on the bench without even trying it on. “Next.”

“Okay, don’t like the hair bands,” she said as she gave me another shirt. It was a button-up short-sleeve shirt that was way more suitable for a guy in his 40s having a midlife crisis.

“Eh,” I said as I tried it on.

“Yeah, not that one,” she agreed as I pulled it off.

As I tried on some jeans, she said, “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you helping me find my father?”

“He’s got information about who’s behind all this.”

“Yeah, I realize you know that now… but you didn’t know that in the beginning. The first time you said you’d help me, there really wasn’t anything in it for you. So… why?”

I paused.

I knew exactly why.

In fact, I knew the precise moment I’d decided to help her.

“I…”

I looked at her.

She was staring at me intently.

I turned away. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” she whispered. “Please… tell me.”

I looked back at her again…

And finally gave in.

It was her eyes…

So big and soulful…

“You were talking about your father,” I said.

She frowned. “What about him?”

“It was when I asked why he sent you to the hotel.”

She immediately got pissed off. “Yeah and you asked if he was whoring me out.”