Chapter 3 THE GUT FEELING

{FRANCESCO}

My eyes drifted slowly to the booth and my lips spread in a thin smile.

Women had always been a way to dispel the tension and fear that often rose inside of me – just a pleasant and momentary distraction – like a kind of toy to calm a wailing child.

I didn't respect them.

I never cared for their names.

I never really remembered what they even looked like.

But not this petite, slender one with brown hair and a perfect, curvy body. Her image was already drafted in my mind.

A pleasing blend of fear and excitement was what I had seen in her sparkling eyes.

The taste of her had felt like some crazy addictive hard drug. If I could have an overdose of the taste of her lips and die, then I would have died an happy man.

"She left," Julio said, looking at the empty booth also. "You know if you didn't ignore the other one, perhaps she would still be here."

I turned to him and gave him a pointed look. I had been around dumb sluts and golddiggers for long enough to know one even from a distance. And the blonde in the pink dress who had come up to me with such cheeky confidence easily fit into both categories.

"You know if you really wanted to fuck her so badly then you could just–"

"Kidnap her?" I interjected with a smirk before grabbing my glass of whiskey from the bar. "Now, why the fuck would I do that?"

"Well," Julio shrugged. "You like her."

"I don't know if I like her," I said.

I knew I Iiked her. But I still had to maintain my status as a casanova who only tasted ladies once and then let them go for good.

"I'm not sure if I like her. There's just something about her that makes me...curious."

"Curious?" Julio echoed and laughed.

I knew it sounded strange that I was curious about a lady of all things in the world to be curious about.

He studied me for some extra seconds, then went on, "You being curious about a girl means progress, considering you need to marry soon."

A sinister smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as I lowered my glass.

"Do a background check on her and give me a full report tomorrow morning," I gave the order.

"Wait a minute..." Julio said slowly, his eyes widening with surprise and a sort of anticipation. "You seriously consider her, don't you?"

I shrugged.

"And if you ask her, you think she would just agree?" Julio had his fair share of unbelief.

"It's all about finding the right leverage," I said with a knowing smile.

"And in her case?" he inquired.

"Don't know yet," I shrugged, placing my empty glass on the bar. "Just give me a full report on her tomorrow morning and I'll know which buttons to push."

"I begin to feel sorry for the girl," Julio said.

"I want the report by seven," I said, pushing my stool backwards and heading towards the exit.

"You realise it's damn nearly three already!" he called out.

"Which means you have less than four hours," I said, ignoring the cuss words he muttered in response to the ridiculous time I had given. "I'd hurry if I were you."

..........

I probably should have cancelled all of today's meetings or rescheduled them, to afford myself extra time for rest or sleep.

Choosing the sofa in my office instead of my cosy bed wasn't a wise idea either.

I was used to sleeping less than four hours a day but with the recent attacks and the insane amount of work I had on my hands, I was thoroughly exhausted. I needed one peaceful day to recover but I had a biting feeling that it wouldn't come soon.

My muscles protested as I forced myself up from the sofa and staggered to the bathroom for a quick shower.

I pulled off my yesterday's suit and my tank top and stepped out of my boxer shorts, hoping that a cool stream of water would help me.

I needed to secure my position as head of the Italian cartel in Manhattan soon. For all those Italian suckers, the status meant everything. And all I had was nothing. My wealth and manpower was only worth shit to them.

Of course I should have known there was bound to be a catch, a condition in my grandfather's will. The great Massimo Giacomo wouldn't leave the entire empire to his half-blooded grandson without putting some fucked up rules which would be difficult for a rebellious blood like me to adhere to.

But, surprisingly, so far I had met all of his requirements.

All, except one.

I had to marry.

To sit behind the throne, I had to walk in a tuxedo or navy suit with a pretty damsel in sparkling, sequined white wedding gown.

According to the will, I would get the title and the other assets on my thirtieth birthday, which I should celebrate with a wife by my side.

Sometimes I wondered if Massimo hadn't written that stipulation so that my uncle, Lentini, could get the chance to screw me over.

Assassinating me could have been easier, but

I wouldn't be surprised if I found out he was the one behind all the recent coordinated attacks on my clubs. They would surely be part of his plan to keep me occupied and too distracted from finding a wife.

I turned the faucet and the water stopped pouring. Then I grabbed a towel, hurriedly moping my wet body before entering into my walk-in closet. I had finished buttoning my shirt when I heard the door to my office open and close. I grabbed a tie and stepped out just in time to see Julio striding towards me, a folder in hand.

He tossed the folder over.

"There!" he said. "Your goddamn report."

I glanced at the picture in front and a thin smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

"Get yourself an espresso," I said, motioning at the machine. "For a job well done."

"Screw you, Francesco," he grunted and I chuckled.

He was the only one who had the nerve to talk to me this way. We had been friends for over two decades and he was one of the very few I trusted. He was the only one I deemed worthy to occupy the enviable position of my second.

As he walked over to the machine, I slumped lazily into my chair behind my desk.

"Stephanie McMahon," I said out loud to myself, as if hoping that her name would drip onto my tongue and fill it with sweetness. My dick twitched in response.

"She's an outsider," Julio said, waiting for his glass to fill with the refreshing liquid. "She's not part of our world."

I shot him a look that could curdle milk. "I can read."

"Just saying," he said with a shrug. "Doubt if she'll live long enough if we drag her into a whole new world."

I turned another page slowly and let out a chuckle. "She will. I know that."

Julio scratched his chin. "She's not from a mafia family."

"I told you I don't want another fucking princess!"

"You're aware that by 'marrying', your grandfather meant marriage to someone of pure Italian blood, right?"

"Too bad he didn't mention it expressly in his will," I said. "If he wanted so bad for me to marry an Italian, he should have stated it clearly in his will. He didn't, which means I am free to marry whoever I choose."

"You won't form any alliances if you choose her,"

"I went down that road once, remember," I reminded him. "And you remember how that 'alliance' went."

He stared at me for a moment and sighed.

I was so hard to convince.

He walked towards the sofa, his head tilted backwards as he held the cup to his mouth, filling his mouth and lubricating his throat with the black coffee. When he got to the sofa, he had drained the cup so he slumped idly into the sofa, an empty cup in hand.

"Oh, and lest I forget," he said. "Her family's business, the Ol' McMahon is on the verge of bankruptcy.

"Oh, I have no intention of dealing with Mr," I said, smiling. "I'll make her come to me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's your plan?"

I didn't answer him.

Instead, my lips stretched into an evil grin as I pulled up my phone and dialled my secretary.

I put her on speaker for Julio to hear.

"You said something the other day about a wedding in the McMahon's mansion?"

"Yes, Mr Giacomo," her voice sounded. "You received an invite to come for a wedding. The ceremony will be held this Saturday."

"Call them and confirm my presence," I said with an even wider grin.