The Vatican - M.E. Clayton Page 0,2

pizza.”

I wasn’t sure what was going on between Geno and me, but I knew I wouldn’t mind finding out what this could be. We haven’t kissed, or gotten familiar in any way, but I saw something in him that had the potential to lead to something.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew who my family was, and I knew that not just any guy could become a part of what we were. I’d have to date someone a long ass time before he proved himself enough to be brought into the fold. It’s probably why all my relationships have always been casual. I could always tell right off if a man had what it took to date me seriously, and I’ve yet to meet a man who did.

I was hoping Geno would be different.

I laughed. “Pizza, after a long week, sounds perfect.”

“Is it okay if it’s an early dinner?” he asked. “I have to go out of town Saturday, and I need to get to bed early to prepare me for the drive.”

“No problem,” I said. “Just text me when you’re ready to come over.” This would be only the second time Geno’s been to my condo and I knew I’d have to meet him up front or the guards would never let him in the building.

“Perfect,” he replied. “Now, tell me about your day.”

We talked for an hour, and even if there weren’t any butterflies right now, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t come later. We were just friends, but…you never know what could happen.

Chapter 2

Francisco~

Cira was driving me fucking crazy.

Absolutely. Crazy.

If I didn’t think it’d upset Mom so much, I’d put a pillow over that girl’s face and put us all out of our misery. The girl wanted my job so badly, it’s a wonder she hasn’t smothered me with a fucking pillow by now.

I loved my sister.

Hand-to-God, I did.

Cira was…Cira. There wasn’t anyone else around like her. But she was fucking nuts. Sure, Uncle Ciro’s girls were bloodthirsty hooligans, but even as the brutal little mercenaries that they were, they still knew their fucking place. Yeah, this wasn’t early America, and women have come a long fucking way, but it was still a man’s world. Even when America elected its first female president ten years ago, it was still a man’s world. And it will always be a man’s world, because at the end of it all, women were not designed to protect men. It was our job to protect women, and as long as we were born, bred, and raised to know our place, this was going to be a man’s world because men were the protectors. Men were warriors. Men were the hunters and the providers. A woman could be smarter than I was. She could make more money than I did. She could not, however, take a bullet for me.

My father would fucking kill me.

And then leave what’s left of me to Uncle Phoenix and Uncle Ciro.

And because Dad had a spare in both my younger brothers, Angelo and Emilio, he wouldn’t bat an eye. Sure, Mom might mourn me, but Mom was tough. If Dad, Uncle Phoenix, and Uncle Ciro murdered me, she’d conclude that I probably deserved it.

I was the Benetti Family heir. My family was Mafia and we ruled Morgan City. In a few years, I was to take my place as the Benetti Underboss, but until then, I was learning everything from the ground up. My father ruled with an iron fist, and he did not cut his sons any slack.

Hell, none of The Holy Trinity did.

That’s what Morgan City referred to my father, Uncle Phoenix, and Uncle Ciro as. My dad, Luca Benetti, was called The Father, for obvious reasons. Uncle Ciro was called The Son because he’s always been my dad’s right-hand man and was the Benetti’s number one enforcer. And Uncle Phoenix was called The Holy Ghost because he killed unseen and was the Benetti’s number one hitman.

The Unholy Trinity was more like it.

And Aunt Frankie was called Church. She was Uncle Ciro’s sister, Uncle Phoenix’s wife, and my dad’s best friend. Aunt Frankie was special. Not that my mom or Aunt Robbie weren’t, but Aunt Frankie had twenty years of history, love, and connection with them that Mom and Aunt Robbie just didn’t have.

But that was another thing about the Benetti Organization. Mistreatment of women was a no-no. My father didn’t tolerate that shit. Even Uncle Sal treated his wife like a prize, and he was a shifty sonofabitch.