Property of Don Donovan

Chapter 2 - The Pedigree

It’s been almost an hour since I met the Don - Dante Donovan, and I’m still wondering “what sort of business in the world could an ordinary waitress like me have with a man like that???” I’ve been brought to a room that feels more like a dungeon than a place of rest. It is a spacious room, finely decorated, with a king-sized bed sitting beautifully in its center but somehow, I’m longing to be back in my own ugly bed, at least then I’d be able to sleep peacefully. I’m tossing and turning like a restless child. I move to sit on the edge of the bed, holding a pillow so tightly like it could actually protect me because every creak in this massive, silent house sounds like a gunshot. I sit like that all through the night; miserable and scared out of my mind. And then finally, the morning comes. I notice the sun peeking through the heavy curtains and jump to go spy what’s outside the window. I’m not sure I can see any thing.

Now it’s exactly 6:00 AM, the door swings open. Nobody knocked, I just heard the door click open and heavy thud of boots following.

The guy from last night walks in. He has changed into a black button-down shirt, with the sleeves of the shirt rolled up, revealing his forearms which are covered in tattoos. Up close, in the daylight, he is even more intimidating. He is easily 6’2 ft tall and looks like he was carved out of granite and bad intentions.

He comes straight to the corner of the bed where I’m seated, and grabs me by my arm. His grip is so painful, it feels like I’m being held by a beast.

"Move," he says, with a voice so commanding and disrespectful.

He doesn’t even say “Hi”, or “Hello” or even “how’d you sleep?”… Such a rude brute!

I scramble to get up, my legs still shaky. "Where are we going? And who the hell are you?" I ask.

He stops, turning his head just enough to give me a side-eye, making my stomach do a backflip. "I'm Dante. And I’m the only reason you aren't in a ditch right now. Keep your mouth shut and follow me."

He leads me down to a massive office that smells like expensive tobacco and old secrets. We enter the office, he proceeds to sit behind a desk that looks like it belongs to a king, gesturing for me to sit in the leather chair opposite him. I feel like a kid in the principal's office, only that this particular principal looks like he loves to kill people for fun.

"You think you’re just some waitress from a dead end town, don't you, Selene?" he asks lighting a cigarette, the smoke curling around his sharp features.

"I am a waitress," I whisper, picking at my fingernail.

"You are wrong." He says tossing a file onto the desk. It slides across the polished wood, stopping right in front of me. "Open it."

I flip the first page open with trembling fingers. I’m seeing photos. Photos of my mom, looking younger and happier than I ever remember. And standing or sitting beside her in the photos is a man. A man with the same cold, sharp eyes as Dante.

"Your mother didn't 'run away' from a bad marriage, Selene," Dante says, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "She ran from this. She was the wife of the heir to the Vitale throne. When she disappeared, she took the true lineage with her when she took you”.

My heart skips a beat. "What are you talking about?" I ask, my eyes widening.

"You aren't a nobody," he sneers, though his eyes linger on my face a second too long. "You’re the legitimate blood. My father… the Don of this family, has been hunting for his 'lost princess' for twenty-four years. He wants a legacy. And unfortunately for both of us, you’re that legacy."

Now I’m feeling so confused, feels like all the blood has drained from my face. "This is crazy. I'm just... I’m Selene."

Dante stands up, leaning over the desk until he is right in my space. The smell of his perfume and cigarette is overwhelming, making my head swim.

"You’re a Vitale," he corrects me with a voice that sounds like a harsh whisper. "Which means you’re either the most powerful woman in this city, or you’re a target for every rival family looking to settle a score. And since you’re currently about as tough as a wet paper towel, I’m the one who has to make sure you don't get us all killed."

He reaches across the desk, his fingers hooking under my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye.

"The Old Don, my father wants you to be a Queen, although I think that you're only a liability. But until I decide which one you are, you belong to me. Do you understand that?"

I can’t even answer. I’m too distracted by him… staring at his mouth, wondering how someone so beautiful could be so terrifying.

"I said, do you understand?" he repeats, his voice louder this time.

"Yes, sir,” I respond with tears filling my eyes.

"Good." He lets go of my chin like he is bored of me. "Now get out of my face. A tailor will be here in an hour, so make sure to burn these rags you’re wearing. Try not to cry on the silk. It’s expensive.".....