DELUCA

EIGHT

Francesco's Boxster made a screeching sound, he barely had even parked it before he climbed out of the car, Enzo following close behind. Francesco shoved past the security walking directly to where Giselle said he would find them.

"Francesco!" Giselle exclaimed in relief. She was standing over a passed-out Eleanor who looked to be sleeping peacefully. Isobel and Josefina stood over her fanning her while other confused women stood around with concerned looks in their eyes.

Giselle began to explain that Eleanor hadn't been drunk but something else had happened. Her words faded as he knelt, checking Eleanor before lifting her into his arms and making his way back toward the car.

Enzo pushed through the crowd, making way for Francesco and the women to follow them outside.

"Francesco, will you say something?" Giselle asked after he gingerly placed Eleanor in the back of Enzo's truck.

"Go home," Francesco demanded, calling over Andreas who watched the scene from the outside of the club, Francesco had called him first.

"Francesco,"

"Go home, Giselle," Francesco said, stepping close enough to intimidate her, even so, Giselle hadn't listened because she was obedient, it was more so her concern for the girl.

Enzo shut the door for Giselle and sent the ladies off in the van as Andreas approached. "Roofies? In Coppio?" Enzo asked.

"No one else sells here, who is distributing this shit." Francesco turned to Enzo, "You have been here tonight, this is your shit."

Andreas only shrugged.

"I would answer in full sentences if I were you," Enzo warned.

Their attention had been diverted for a moment when a man came out of the bar holding a woman who could barely stand on his shoulder. Francesco made his way towards him, but Andreas stopped him. The man was a blonde childlike man. He had a blonde woman who was laughing and chuckling as he tried to help her stand.

Maybe he hadn't been able to get lucky with Eleanor and opted for another.

"This him?" Enzo asked Andreas, "I could kill him now without a second thought."

Francesco grunted in agreement before turning to Andreas, "You recognize him?"

Andreas hesitated for a moment staring at the guy as an older man walked out behind him catching a glimpse of the group before stumbling away. Andreas gave a stiff nod and Francesco, and Enzo went to follow him as he escorted the girl to the taxi.

Enzo grabbed the man on his shoulder before he could soon follow into the cab. "He won't be following," Francesco said, tapping the cab twice before it pulled off.

"What the hell dude?" The guy exclaimed, sounding like a whiny teenager. He turned to the security guard for help, "You are just going to let them rob me?"

Enzo chuckled at Rob, "I have more cash in my pockets than you've earned in your life, my friend. We do not want your money."

Francesco opened the trunk to his vehicle before Enzo shove him into the trunk, again the man attempted to plea to security. Soon his words were muffled by the trunk closing over him.

While Francesco climbed into the driver seat, Enzo paid the security guard to forget about what he had seen that night. Meanwhile, Andreas stood on the sidewalk looking like an i***t.

"In the car, Andreas," Francesco demanded. The kid was green as hell, but if he was going to grow in the shadow of his father, it was time that he got some... experience.

Andreas snapped out of whatever had him in his head and climbed into the back seat followed by Enzo.

"We are bringing the kid?" Enzo asked in confusion.

Understanding, Enzo's confused looked turned into a grin, "Awe, Il piccolo Andreas sta mettendo le ali."

'Little Andreas is about to grow his wings.'

"Shut up, Enzo," Andreas muttered as the vehicle pulled off.

Their words at that moment meant nothing, playing as fodder as Francesco could only hear and see red. He hardly paid attention to the traffic, watching as the city went by in a blur of lights, soon fading to the abandonment leading towards the town.

Francesco road until their vehicle had reached the overlook showing the city and its waters.

A normally beautiful view that Francesco had paid no mind to, as he rarely used it for the beauty it provided, more so for the jagged shoreline that rested below, quickly lapping anything to fall on the rocks and dump them into obscurity. Just as obscure as the location itself.

Francesco stopped the car, leaving the lights to illuminate their surroundings. Stepping out of the car, it was a quiet night so far up from the still bustling city. Yet the city looked minuscule from so high above. Sometimes it made Francesco feel like a king.

"You sure you want the kid on this? We don't want tonight to come back and bite us in the ass if he has another panic attack." Enzo referenced the last time Francesco had trusted Andreas – yet that time Andreas was only fifteen, ten years had passed since then.

Francesco only gave a nod to Enzo, "Bring me the cargo." Enzo acted without any further questions, seeing the resolute determination on Francesco's face.

Francesco followed Enzo who stood in front of the still-frozen Andreas, remembering this is a teaching moment as well.

"Are you sure we have to kill him?" Andreas asked, trying to seem like he didn't care.

Francesco had known Andreas his entire life. He could remember the day his aunt and uncle had brought him over for the first time.

While he was six years younger than Francesco, they grew up closer than any of Francesco's other cousins. When his aunt died and his uncle sacrificed his freedom for the bottom line, Andreas had been around more often. He was always made to have the same ranking as his father, but the kid was... stupid.

He was constantly making mistakes and behaved like a moody teenager rather than a man – and Francesco had given him more than enough time to sharpen up, now it was time for third-party intervention.

Francesco sighed, "When someone crosses you as he has, you do have to kill them, that is something that is not new to you, Andreas."

"If you kill someone every time, they piss you off, then you'd just end up in jail," Andreas argued.

"Plus, he didn't even do anything to Eleanor – and think, you hardly even know her she is a pawn."

"Kid, do you now know when to shut the f**k up? That is the first lesson your cousin should have taught you." Enzo said, pointing his finger at Andreas.

"Funny coming from you." Andreas snapped back – just like the child he had always appeared to be, and Francesco had enough.

Francesco grabbed Andreas' shirt by the collar and dragged him over to the edge of the cliff face. "I have listened to your whining and complaining for two decades."

Andreas tried to back away, but Francesco's grip was stronger than his will to live, "You complain about money, you complain about family, you complain about your status."

"I am sorry!" Andreas apologized quickly, "All I did was ask a question." "That was your first error." Francesco said, "You do not question me. When I say jump, you ask how high, si?"

"Yes! Yes! Just let me go."

Francesco pushed him away from the cliff causing him to fall on his ass. Francesco straightened and walked over to Enzo who was busy still beating the man they had picked up. Enzo stopped once he noticed that he had a show, waving his hand.

"You like? I got these from the governor." Enzo bragged.

"Of New York?" Francesco asked in shock.

"You'd be surprised how many politicians in the U.S. have me in their black book." Enzo said, admiring the iron knuckles on his hand, "Steal plated in gold, he's smart."

"Please, I didn't do anything." The man's voice cracked as he coughed up a small amount of his blood. Despite his injuries, he attempted to crawl away.

"Drugging women is something to me." Enzo said sarcastically, "Look at the determination in this kid, it's admirable, no?"

Francesco cracked a small grin in response.

"So, are we doing heads 'n' tails, or rock paper scissors?"

"Neither," Francesco looked at Andreas who was standing as though Francesco had hung him from the cliff upside down, "Andreas will do it."

Francesco silently thanked every deity who might be listening as he managed to close the ancient, creaking door of his room without so much as a whisper. The feat was an achievement worthy of praise, but he was content with his own satisfaction.

He slipped out of his jacket, his eyes quickly scanning the pitch-black room.

He knew the layout by heart. With careful steps, he made his way to the bathroom. He cracked the door just enough to let a sliver of light through, then flipped the switch.

The sudden brightness cut through the darkness, and Francesco's breath caught in his throat.

There, sprawled out in front of the toilet, was Eleanor. His heart pounded. "Eleanor." His voice was firm, though laced with relief when she jolted awake, her eyes wide with fear.

"I'm sorry," Francesco said, his voice cracking slightly. "I thought you were dead."

He knelt beside her, offering his hand. Eleanor took it, and Francesco helped her up, his anxiety palpable. "You scared the hell out of me," he said, his words tinged with both worry and relief.

"Likewise," Eleanor murmured weakly. "How am I feeling?"

Francesco glanced at her. Her pallor was ghostly, her eyes sunken and hollow. The roofies had taken their toll, and her state was more than troubling. "You look terrible," he admitted, his voice rough. "But at least you're awake. We've got time for this crap to wear off."

"I feel like I was run over by a bus," Eleanor groaned, her voice barely a whisper. "I don't even know what Giselle gave me."

"Giselle?" Francesco's tone was sharp, though he struggled to keep his anger in check.

"Yeah," Eleanor said, shivering as she tried to steady herself. "We were drinking, and I didn't think I was anywhere near blackout territory. The last time I drank this much was prom, and I woke up on my friend's lawn at four in the morning."

Francesco's mind raced. Eleanor was clueless about the drugging, thinking it was just a heavy night of drinking. The realization made him want to laugh hysterically or shake her for her naivety. Instead, he guided her to the bed, where she collapsed, her breathing ragged. "I think I'm going to throw up again," she said, her voice strained.

Francesco sprang into action, grabbing the small garbage pail he kept in his room and placing it strategically beneath her chin just in time. He forced himself not to gag, his stomach churning as he held the pail and fussed with her hair.

"Ugh! Get this away from me!" Eleanor exclaimed, her voice filled with disgust.

"I've seen worse," Francesco said softly, his own discomfort hidden behind a mask of calm. He held her hair back, trying to offer comfort amid the chaos. Eleanor took the bucket, sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes vacant.

"I'm never drinking again," Eleanor declared with a weary sigh.

"I've had many nights like this," Francesco said, his tone sympathetic. "We may drink all day, but we're not invincible." He took her hand and led her back to the bathroom. "But out of all the disgusting tonics and gallons of water, nothing helps like this."

Francesco turned on the shower. Eleanor stiffened behind him, her confusion palpable.

"I promise, it's nothing untoward. Enzo calls it doccia di ghiaccio," Francesco said with a reassuring smile. When Eleanor's expression remained puzzled, he added, "Ice shower."

Eleanor hesitated before stepping into the shower, then yelped as the icy water hit her skin. "Jesus!" she shouted, dancing on the spot to escape the frigid blast.

Francesco's laughter bubbled up despite himself, but his amusement was cut short when Eleanor reached out and dragged him into the shower with her. Francesco's yelp echoed hers.

"Misery loves company," Eleanor said, sliding down the shower wall to sit on the stone bench, her teeth chattering. "I'm sorry about tonight. I know I probably embarrassed your family name back at the club."

"Oh, no worries," Francesco said dryly. "We've got Giuseppe for that."

Eleanor managed a small laugh. "I'm serious, Francesco. I don't want to mess up anything you have here. I don't want to intrude."

"Why would you think you're intruding?"

"You had to leave your night to come take care of your baby sister and your..."

"Fiancée," Francesco corrected sharply.

"Fake fiancée," Eleanor said, underscoring her own insignificance.

Her words brought him back to the agreement they had made on the first night she arrived. Their arrangement was meant to be a choice, but Francesco knew that if he backed out now, Paolo would have Eleanor killed the moment she landed in America without his protection. Here, he could safeguard both her and her family, ensuring Paolo wouldn't touch someone under his protection.

Marrying Eleanor would justify the security detail. Francesco might even fabricate a story about it being part of his job.

Eleanor would get her family's protection and financial security for life, while Francesco would sacrifice his own happiness for a woman who deserved so much more.

It was the ultimate sacrifice—one Eleanor was willing to make, but it left Francesco feeling damned no matter his choice.

"Okay, I know this is part of your plan to make me feel better," Eleanor said, pulling him from his dark thoughts, "but if we don't get out of this shower soon, it'll be a funeral instead of a wedding when I die of pneumonia."

Francesco emerged from the shower after Eleanor, grumbling internally about the soaked floor. "I'll change in the room," he said, gesturing to his closet. "Take a shirt."

As he closed the door behind him, he forced himself not to imagine Eleanor undressing. He quickly dressed in dry clothes, his mind spinning with dark scenarios of Eleanor's death or her family's harm. He hadn't even noticed he was standing at the dresser until Eleanor spoke.

"What's on your mind tonight, Mr. Brooding?" she asked, her voice carrying a note of curiosity.

Francesco turned to find her arranging pillows in the center of the bed, preparing for sleep. She had braided her dark hair and donned the shirt he offered. Seeing her in his clothes brought him a rare moment of genuine joy amidst the turmoil.

"The wedding is next week," Francesco said, sounding as though he was discussing a business deal. "We need to make a decision."

Eleanor froze for a moment before continuing to climb into bed. Francesco followed her, his mind heavy with unspoken words.

"Oh really? And what's your decision?" she asked, her tone challenging.

"I've made it clear that the choice is yours," Francesco said, his voice resolute.

"I'm not marrying myself," Eleanor said, frustration creeping into her voice. "Marriage takes more than a unilateral decision. We're tied to each other for life. Have you thought about that?"

"I have," Francesco said, his tone flat.

Eleanor rolled her eyes. "And?"

"And what?"

"I've made my decision. I'm asking you for yours."

"What's your decision?" Francesco asked, his patience wearing thin.

Eleanor sighed, clearly exasperated. "It's stupid, but I thought you might change your mind."

"Change my mind?"

"Yes, it's stupid. I should just sleep," Eleanor said, sounding defeated.

"Eleanor," Francesco said, his tone softening. "It's not pathetic. I wouldn't be pleased if men from your past kept showing up. They'd be dead. But I don't want you to worry about that."

"So what? Am I supposed to expect you to be a saint now that you're in a loveless marriage?" Eleanor laughed bitterly. "I've met three of your exes in less than a month."

"Only one was my ex," Francesco said, correcting her. "But none of them should affect this conversation."

Eleanor sighed heavily. "Look, I'm okay with marrying you. What I'm not okay with is women I barely know telling me they're sleeping with my husband."

"And no one will survive telling me they're sleeping with my wife," Francesco said coldly. Eleanor laughed, unaware of the deadly seriousness in his tone.

"It's not about possessiveness," Francesco told himself. "It's about my ego."

"So, we're getting married then?"

"Yes," Francesco said, his voice firm. "Can we sleep now? It's already four in the morning."

"Yes, Your Highness," Eleanor said with a sarcastic eye roll before turning off the lights.

As Eleanor fell asleep almost immediately, Francesco lay awake, plagued by the tangled web he had woven. His mind raced with thoughts of how to navigate the mess he had created, searching for a path through the chaos.