Mafia Kings: Adriano: Dark Mafia Romance Series #2

Since we were already close to the old part of Florence, we decided to go back there for dinner and to discuss our next steps.

In our baseball caps and sunglasses, we blended in effortlessly with the thousands of tourists walking around. Natural camouflage.

As we looked for a restaurant, I was reminded once again that the old part of Florence really is beautiful.

You have medieval buildings looming over narrow streets…

Masterpieces of Renaissance sculpture around every corner…

Gorgeous public squares like the Piazza della Signoria…

Glorious structures like the Duomo, a massive domed cathedral – and the most recognizable building in Florence…

The ancient bridges crossing the Arno river…Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

It all would’ve been terribly romantic if mafia hitmen weren’t hunting us.

We settled on a restaurant that looked good but was filled with tourists, which allowed us to hide in plain sight.

Adriano and I sat in a booth. He watched the doorway and had me watch the rear of the restaurant in case anyone suspicious came out through the kitchen.

“Tell me more about your father,” he said as we ate. He was having papardelle al cinghiale, or wild boar pasta; I was having tagliatelle funghi porcini e tartufo – pasta with truffle and porcini mushrooms.

“What do you want to know?”

“More about his job – besides the things he does with judges,” Adriano said euphemistically.

“I think he schedules court cases. That’s how he has so much access to the judges and lawyers – he’s constantly contacting them with changes to the docket, so it’s no big deal for him to call them or drop by.”

“Would any of his co-workers know where he is?”

“I don’t even know any of them. He never hung out with them – he only went to the gambling parlors. And when he tried to go straight, he would just come home to my mother.”

Suddenly I was overcome with fear. My eyes welled up with tears.

“What’s wrong?” Adriano asked.

“What if he’s already… gone? What if he’s buried out in the woods somewhere – ”

Adriano grabbed my hand across the booth and squeezed it. “No. Don’t think like that.”

“But he’s only called me once. Why hasn’t he returned any of my calls or my texts?”

“Maybe he had to ditch his phone. Maybe he lost it. Maybe it got taken away from him.”

“But – ”

“Bianca,” he said calmly. “We’re gonna find him.”

“How do you know?” I whispered.

I knew, deep down, that he didn’t know –

But I desperately wanted hope, because all of mine was slipping away.

More than anything, I wanted him to tell me it was all going to be okay.

“Because it’s my number one mission,” he said – then paused and raised an eyebrow like he’d changed his mind. “Well… number two.”

“What’s number one?” I asked in irritation, sure it would be something about his family business.

“Making sure nothing happens to you,” he said as he stared into my eyes.

I cried a little, but I smiled through my tears.

He smiled back the tiniest bit –

And then his phone buzzed.

He pulled it out and read a text. Then he tapped the screen, and his face darkened.

“What?” I asked nervously.

“Niccolo sent me a link. The story hit the newspapers.”

He handed the phone to me.

COSA NOSTRA WAR?

There was a picture of a burnt-out mansion, a giant structure of blackened stone with a caved-in roof.

I scanned the article.

The fire claimed the life of Dominic Agrella, a notorious local figure linked to organized crime. Other victims were members of his family, including his wife Amelia and brother Bautiste. Police believe the fire was intentionally set.

Agrella’s brother Carmine also died last night, killed in the mass shooting at the Patrician Hotel.

The simultaneous nature of the deaths has led police to speculate they were the result of a war in the Cosa Nostra, and that rival families might be behind the murders.

“Your last name’s Rosolini, right?” I asked.

I remembered it from the notification on my phone when Adriano sent me the 5000 euros for Emma.

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t mention you guys. That’s good, right?”

“Not really. They wouldn’t dare name us until they have proof. They’d be too scared.”

“But they pretty much say the Agrellas were in the mafia.”

“Because they’re dead,” Adriano said drily. “So there’s nobody left to sue them – or firebomb their offices.”

“Maybe they don’t know your family’s involved.”

“The police know. And they’ll be banging on our door before you know it.”

“I thought you… had friends in the police,” I said, employing my own euphemistic phrasing.

“We do, but it only goes so far. Something like this can’t be swept under the rug… which makes me think that when they didn’t get us last night, they resorted to Plan B.”

“What’s Plan B?”

“Pinning it on us.”

“…oh…”

I handed the phone back and Adriano put it away. Then he sighed.

“Fuck this. Let’s forget all about it for a while and talk about something else.”

“Just a guy and a girl out on a date?” I asked with a smile.

He smiled back. “Just a guy and a girl out on a date.”