The Mafia Boss's Assistant

Chapter Four : Alessandro’s POV

Chapter Four

Alessandro’s POV

The men quarreled in heated rushes of Italian, each one exchanging their own version of colorful words to the other.

Their beef was clear: the majority of them were not particularly excited about the news of my father retiring his position as CEO of the company. The majority of them thought I was not ready, or should I say competent enough to handle the responsibility of leading this company.

I pressed my thumb against my forehead as the argument persisted, silently counting down the seconds before I dragged out my pistol and accidentally pulled the trigger on one of these old bastards.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to lift a finger.

My father thundered with a threat to cut off one of their tongues if they didn’t shut the hell up, and that managed to quieten them.

It shouldn’t be brag-worthy, but my father had a terrible temper, similar to hurricanes and tornadoes hitting in a catastrophic sync.

I smirked. No one would dare utter another sound of the alphabet and test Mario Morano’s wrath. That was unless they the taste of an early grave.

“I didn’t ask for anyone’s f*****g opinion,” My father snarled, leaning forward with clenched fists. “We wouldn’t even have to put s**t to a vote of it weren’t for formalities. There’s a lot more business I have to keep an eye on. Morano Groups will move on fine without me. I’m stepping down. Alessandro’s taking over and you all better give him the respect he f*****g deserves. Finito.”

“Yes, boss,” they chorused in unison.

Then one of men decided to chip into the moment and voice his opinion that absolutely no one asked for.

His name was Antonio. Amongst all my father’s men and business partners in the cartel, I liked him the least. There was always something to complain about, and even if there wasn’t, he’d create one.

With his shifty beady eyes, he faced my father. “You’re the most feared and revered, Capo. I believe I speak on behalf of all of us when I say we respect your decision to vacate the seat for Alessandro. But you know the rules,” Antonio said in Italian. “You set them.”

My father groaned into his hands and raked his fingers through his hair. “He knows what to do. It won’t be long.”

“But does he know?” Antonio asked the question, looking directly at me.

Frankly, I was tired of restraining myself. My patience had worn thin hours ago, and the only thing that stopped me from snapping was the respect of my father’s presence in the room.

I sat forward, cinched my jacket tighter, and glared at the old man.

“If you have something to say to my face, why don’t you go ahead and f*****g spit it out? Or what, are you shaking in your boots? Scared that I’m going to hurt your pretty face, rip it to shreds, and feed it to the dogs?”

Antonio’s face grew redder than overly ripened tomatoes. Unable to contain his anger, he slammed clenched fists on the oval table and glared at my father. “Mario, your son is a f*****g psycho!”

In a flash, my brother, Giovanni, and our cousin, Fabio, pulled out their Glocks and aimed at Antonio’s head. Tension hung in the room like a wet blanket. The other men gathered sat still on their chairs, no one moving.

They looked at my father, all waiting for his next move.

I gave the old man Antonio some credit seeing that he barely flinched. But I didn’t miss the uncertainty and fear that lingered in his gaze as he glanced between Giovanni, Fabio, and my father.

After a heavy moment of quiet, my father finally broke the silence.

“Fabio. Giovanni.” When they looked at him, he motioned for them to drop the guns. “Antonio, you’re grasping at straws here. You’re at the end of the rope. One more word from you disrespecting Alessandro, and that’ll be your one-way ticket to the afterlife. I’ve told you, he knows what to do, and it won’t be long. The Moretti’s and I have begun making plans for the wedding. Their daughter demands that it be grand and the extra details have caused some frustrating delays. But I will make it clear again: Alessandro will take over the executive seat of this company, effective immediately. When the wedding happens, it will...”

Giovanni tapped my shoulder and leaned closer to whisper. “There’s someone at the door.”

I frowned, searching his eyes, before I whispered back. “You’re sure?”

Withdrawing into his chair, he nodded, and pinned his gaze on the door while my father barked at Antonio. “There’s been movement for about two minutes now.”

I focused on the door and didn’t catch anything. But if Giovanni said there were movements, then there were movements. Between the both of us, he had a sharper eye for detail, and always paid closer attention to everything.

I narrowed my gaze at the door and abruptly blurted, “there’s someone at the door,” in Italian.

The room fell into a sudden silence. Antonio looked like he swallowed whatever he was about to say and my father faced me, eyes already burning with fury and a desire to burn something to the ground. He questioned me silently and I affirmed with a curt nod.

“Giovanni caught lingering movement,” I said very quietly.

“Been there for a few minutes now,” Giovanni added.

My father turned to the door and signaled Fabio to open it but keep his gun hidden between his belt.

Fabio didn’t hesitate; in one swing, he grabbed the door handle and pulled the door wide open, but his towering frame blocked the view of the eavesdropper.

Fabio practically growled like a hungry wild predator. “Can we help you?”

“I…I think I’m here for the interview.”

It was the voice of a woman and she sounded petrified. I couldn’t blame her; Fabio had that effect on every stranger. If his six-feet-six-frame didn’t throw you off, his deep dark barks would certainly keep you at bay.

The woman said she came for an interview. If she ended up here, she must have mixed up the rooms.

“Secretary?” I asked. Hopefully, my voice travelled high enough above Fabio’s shoulders, to snap her out from whatever fright spell he’d cast her under.

“Yes… yes, sir.”

I shared a look with my Father and released a shrug. “Fabio, let her in.”

It took a minute but he stepped aside to allow her into the room. Fabio shut the door and her gaze went straight to my father, lingered for a second, before it landed on me.

She stood frozen, her hand grasping a bunch of files close to her chest, her eyes wide with fear. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips trembled slightly as she took a deep breath. Despite her obvious nerves, she attempted to compose herself.

Her appearance was neat and clean; a simple blouse and skirt that didn’t particularly catch my eye. To be honest, she didn’t meet my usual standards of attractiveness. The kind of women that flocked around me were louder, more refined, more polished. This one seemed... different.

“Do you have a name?” My father questioned her coldly and everyone in the room just watched the interaction with suspicious interest.

She stepped forward and fumbled with the files. “Ava, sir. Ava Clarke.” She presented a paper but he didn’t take it; just repeatedly threw questions at her.

As she stammered out her introduction, I watched with interest, sizing her up more out of habit than genuine curiosity; and when my father’s gaze met mine, a brilliant idea hit me.

I kicked back my chair, rising to my feet. I was tired and bored of going back and forth with my anti-supporters. Hopefully, what I was about to do would drive the nail to the head and finally put an end to this conversation once and for all.

“Ava Clarke, was it?” I asked the girl, who now surprisingly looked younger than I’d first guessed.

She nodded.

“How old?”

She regarded me with a guarded expression, and not once did her stray from mine. “Twenty-three years, sir.”

“Good.” I smiled, looking straight into Antonio’s eyes. “You’re hired, Ava Clarke.”

Someone sounded like they’d choked, and I wasn’t sure if it was the girl, or the old geezer. “He can’t be serious,” Antonio looked to my father for help but didn’t get any. “You can’t be serious. You’re barely on the seat and already—”

One look from my father shut him up.

Giovanni had a brow raised, Fabio didn’t even blink, and the rest of the men in the room weren’t sure whether or not to make any comment. My father, however, looked unsettled. To another, his tensed shoulders and creased brows weren’t obvious, but I’d grown up around him long enough to know when he wasn’t on board with a plan.

Right now, I honestly didn’t give two shits what anyone thought, him included. I needed to get out of here and this girl had presented herself as a worthy excuse.

Frowning, I walked up to her, looking down on her bright blue eyes and slender frame. She gulped and took a tiny step backward.

“Welcome to Morano Group, Ava. You resume office, effective immediately.”