Becoming the Street Boss - Hayley Faiman Page 0,18
to hear Chloe talk about finances like that.
Chloe has no idea that Irene is my father’s sister. She was never married, but my father made sure to take care of her while he was alive, and then she’s reaped from the famiglias generosity since his death and the sale of my sister.
Zeta’s gaze drifts down the entire length of my body before she brings her eyes back up to meet mine. “You’re what? A size zero in women’s?” she asks.
Irene snorts behind me. “All skin and bones. Are you sure someone is going to marry her? Italian men like curves.”
I don’t look at my aunt behind me, I refuse. She’s a bitch, always has been, to me at least. Zeta ignores her, then tilts her head to the side. I watch as she opens her mouth but snaps her lips closed when there is a loud knock on the door.
Turning our heads, we all look behind us. There is a woman with deep honey-blonde hair standing on the other side of the glass, a tall, suited man beside her.
Lenora laughs softly. “It seems that her guard isn’t going to stay in the car while we shop,” she murmurs.
“Zeta can you please let Mrs. Martinelli inside, she’ll be joining us, apparently.”
Zeta jerks her chin, then without hesitation, her feet carry her over to the door. The woman, the hulking man, and another woman make their way inside of the boutique. Zeta locks the door behind them, then follows as they approach our group.
“Your guard is joining us?” Lenora asks.
“Dante loves shopping,” she says with a grin. She turns to me, taking a step forward as she extends her hand. “I’m Nicola Ricci Martinelli,” she says, introducing herself to me.
The name Ricci sounds familiar, but I don’t know exactly how to place her. Taking her hand, I introduce myself, then also my sister and begrudgingly my aunt. My aunt is her rude ass self, but Rosana is in awe of all these beautiful people we’re surrounded by. I don’t blame her, it’s like being around a room full of models.
Zeta takes another step toward me, opening her mouth to speak when Lenora’s phone interrupts us. “Sorry,” she apologizes as she reaches for the device. She says ‘okay,’ ‘yes,’ and then ‘hurry’ before she ends the call. “Luciana will be here any minute, that was her,” she says with a smile.
“Oh shit, you got the queen bee herself coming to help you pick out a dress?” Chloe giggles.
Irene snorts. “More like she’s coming to see if you’re worthy of being in her famiglia. Hope you don’t fail the test, much like you’ve failed everything else in life.”
“Auntie Irene,” Rosana hisses.
“Why don’t you ladies all come with me while we wait for the last of our party. I have some hors d'oeuvres and champagne all set up in the seating area,” Zeta offers, breaking the tension.
All but Lenora walk away and follow behind her, including the hulking Dante. Lenora looks down at her baby, then lifts her gaze to meet mine.
“I’m not going to say anything about that woman. All I’m going to tell you is that I think you made the right choice by going to Arlo. And I think Arlo made the right choice by putting the man that he did with you.”
My eyes water at her words. “Thank you,” I whisper.
She shakes her head once, then takes a step toward me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, giving me a small squeeze. “Don’t thank me. Just be happy, and I think you will be, tremendously so.”
There’s a knock on the window and we both jump. I turn around and see the woman who must be Luciana Santoro standing on the other side. She’s dressed much like Lenora, Nicola, and Chloe. They’re all wearing dresses and high heels, their hair styled and their makeup flawless, I feel completely out of place.
Ignoring my complete awe of the woman on the other side of the door, Lenora hurries toward her and unlocks the door, then locks it behind her. “Sorry I’m late, I couldn’t get the baby to sleep. He was being fussy,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “You brought Simonetta?” she asks.
Lenora nods. “Pippa insisted,” she says.
Luciana turns to me, her face expressionless as her eyes roam over my body. “God, you look so much like her,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, I have to remember that you are not Bellarosa.”
The way she says my sister’s name, it’s as though she’s tasted something bad.