Omertà ✔️

c h a p t e r - t w o

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆☽Ⓛ❈Ⓒ☾⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

POV: LUCCA

Rocco slides another drink my way. I give him a nod of gratitude. Valerius and Marcello emerge from the elevator, their subtle nods in my direction signaling that the job is done.

One less thing on my plate.

I take a sip, my gaze sweeping over the room from behind my glass. This so-called party is just another one of Lewis Stanton's attempts to butter us up. He wants us content and on his side. Can't say I blame him, we're not the sort of folks you want against you.

Stanton owns the biggest private port and as such, it's important that he's in my pocket to ensure my shipments arrive without problems. I don't like associating myself with rich pricks like Stanton, but I need my guns and I need my drugs and I need them without the pesky inspections that take place at commercial ports.

I don't mind his attempts at flattery, he knows better than to try it with me, but I'm bored. The usual women are circling us like desperate sharks, their eyes filled with dollar signs and dreams of fame. They're looking for a sugar daddy, someone to fund their designer wardrobes or land them a role in the latest blockbuster. I don't hold it against them, they're just trying to survive, but I won't be their golden ticket.

Everyone wants something from me. It's tiring, constantly fending them off and searching for someone genuine. My parents are on my case to settle down, they want me hitched. I'm twenty-five and apparently, that's the perfect age to pick a wife.

If only it were that simple.

I'm not like my associates; I don't enjoy bedding just anyone. Don't get me wrong, I love sex and I've had my fair share of fun. But it's so...empty. Meaningless sex doesn't get you anywhere. I'm still left feeling hollow and unsatisfied.

I yearn for someone to come home to. Someone who will listen to my problems and stand by me. I want someone to have real conversations with. My men can't hold an intellectual discussion to save their lives. There's only so much I can take of these buffoons I call my caporegimes. I'm bored and, though I'd never admit it out loud, I'm lonely.

My attention is drawn to two women who've just entered the party. They're younger than most here, but alarmingly, not the youngest. They must be legal, which means they're over eighteen, thank God.

My gaze lands on the regal blonde. She's too much of a Daddy's girl for my taste. I know her, she's Lewis Stanton's daughter and that's a definite no-go. I may not like Lewis, but I'm not about to make an enemy out of him by sleeping with his daughter.

My eyes shift to the brunette beauty beside her. I recognize her instantly. We've crossed paths twice before.

The first time was over a year ago. I was visiting Lewis one evening when his daughter and her friends came tottering down the stairs in skimpy dresses and sky-high heels. The brunette, the same one standing before me now, was wearing an 18th birthday sash.

The second time, I met Lewis at a restaurant for a meeting. His daughter showed up with the brunette, wanting the helicopter for a shopping spree. The brunette looked uncomfortable the whole time, like she didn't belong. Lewis wasn't pleased that his daughter had interrupted our meeting. I think he only gave her permission to take the helicopter to get her out of his hair.

That was a month ago. I was just as smitten then as I am now.

She looks nervous and out of place. Her eyes scan the crowd, and she bites her bottom lip. She looks like a fish out of water, something tells me this isn't her usual scene. She's wearing a pricey dress that clings to her curvy figure and showcases her long, model-like legs. Her chestnut hair is straight and so long it reaches her waist.