Don

12

"I couldn't agree more," Pierto nodded in agreement.

"By the way your guard-"

"Is dead."

Pierto sighed in relief.

"Thank God. Now he can rest in peace and not at his job."

The Don raised his brow in question, an amused smile forming around his unlit cigar.

"You know about Mafia proceedings, Italy?"

Pierto tried hard not to think of Melanie.

"That's actually why am I am here."

"Oh, so you weren't just here to set fire to my front lawn? "

Pierto rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile.

"No, that was a miscalculated attempt to wake your guard."

The man nodded his head in DiAngelo's direction.

"Who's Sir snores-a-lot?"

"My brother," He said shortly, "We are here as representatives of la famigila di Russo."

"All the way from the motherland, eh?"

"Precisely."

"I'm a businessman," the Don stated, motioning for a chair, sitting down when it was brought to him.

"So explain to me how this... Endeavor benefits me. More specifically, my bank account."

"The Russo Famigila is offering 2.5 mil, USD for your help in our war. We'll fly you and your men out, house you, feed you but any other expenses are up to you."

"And how many of my men do you require and for how long? "

Pierto's head dipped imperceptibly, knowing the reaction his answer would cause.

"20,000 for up to a year."

"A year!?" Giano Baccardi, exclaimed in disbelief.

"Listen, every day for the past month, I have gotten a call from my madre telling me that some I love has been tortured and murdered.

"I am going m******e those bitches-every one of them. And I'm going to do it with or without your help."

Giani didn't show it, but he was impressed. He'd made up his mind; he'd give him what he needed.

"Someone is getting 2 and half million dollars and flying out to Italy-I came to you first because you are the strongest and most numerous Borgota in the area, if not the country,"

It was true. Giano Baccardi's empire expanded from Brooklyn out into Rhode Island. His Familgia was 100,000 strong; an army if there ever was one.

"But regardless, you have to tell me whether you're in or not, I don't have time waste. Every minute I spend p***y footing around and chilling in your basement- luxurious as it may be-someone I love, dies."

Pierto said nothing after that; save for his expectant expression he showed no signs of caring whatsoever what Giano Baccardi had to say.

A few beats passed.

"You make your Padre proud, Italy."

Giano offered a devilish smirk, one that told of retribution and unspeakable massacres.

"I'm in."

Ten highly trained assassins hired as enforcers, stood anxious, shifting out of sight of the dorm room door.

Three of the ten were women; the rest were nervous as hell. Most of their minds drifted back to the briefing they'd had just two hours earlier.

"Our women are incredibly intelligent," They had been warned the second the briefing began.

"They also have an affinity for violence, if pushed. "

At that point, the team of skilled murderers and murderesses for Bacarridi justice, started getting cautious.

"But that's more Melanie than my Miranda," DiAngelo practically sang her name. "Actually," He added as an afterthought, "She'd probably just poison you.

He waved his hand in dismissal at their frightened faces.

"Just don't make her make mad or wary before a meal and you should be fine."

This news didn't bode well for the team's overall morale.

"Two of you are to accompany each girl at all times when outside the safe house. That shouldn't be often. "

There was a wary collective nod.

"At least three if you should be at the house with them at all times."

"If they ask to call us, text the number we'll give you. If we answer, you'll know what to do; if not, just tell them we'll get back to them."

"And watch Miranda very carefully," DiAngelo warned, his voice deadly, a time they'd only heard from Pierto.

"She is as slippery as a snake and 

antsy to move as a hummingbird. She will try to escape. And if you underestimate her -she will."

"And you will die," Pierto tacked on.

Seven large gulps were heard.

Neither if the brothers bothered addressing it.

"Someone should watch the camera at all times," Pierto thought back to the now dead guard who was watching the House.

"If you are sleepy, call someone else in to take your place."

"Last but most certainly not least, don't be una idiota," Pierto warned rather jovially yet deadly. "Touch our women-"

"You die." DiAngelo said enthusiastically.

Pierto finished with a smile.

"Incredibly painfully and extremely slowly. Mi prometto."

(I promise)

"So!" DiAngelo clapped happily, "Everybody excited and ready to go?"

Melanie and Miranda sat on their sofa on the edge of their seats engrossed in their movie.

The women mindlessly stuffed their faces with buttery popcorn, their eyes nearly blurring together transfixed on the screen.

Knock, Knock.

"Who is it," Melanie yelled, her eyes still glued to the movie.

"Pierto,"

"Annnnd DiAngelo,"

The women glanced at each other, sharing a confused questioning look. Miranda shrugged, motioning to the door as she paused the movie.

Melanie's face peeked out, until she swung the whole door open, her while body coming into view.

"Hey, Italy 1 and Italy 2. What're you doing here?"

DiAngelo murmured to Pierto.

"Think we could switch off one saturday-?"

"Don't get killed."

"Okay."

"Pack your bags, Mel." Pierto demanded.

Melanie scoffed at his nerve. "Excuse you?"

Glancing around, angrily, Pierto yanked her toward him, speaking lowly in her ear.

"Do you remember those consequences I was telling you about?

"Don't do what I tell you to, and you will find yourself f****d immobile, and carried out with my handprint on your ass. Don't try me Melanie, not now."

Melanie nodded in a trance.

He turned her around and spanked her ass sending her into motion.

"Go." He ordered, pointing to her room.

She went.

DiAngelo locked eyes with Miranda.

"You need to take your suitcase and go where I'm sending you, tesoro mio. "

She merely nodded. She knew DiAngelo was related to the mafia: she just didn't know to what extent.

Besides, she was always up for running away. Miranda rolled her suitcase out into the living room, parking it by the door.

DiAngelo produced two huge men out of nowhere.

"Get her books, all of them. Her clothes too."

"Where am I going?" Miranda asked, shifting, her feet restless for flight.

DiAngelo noticed, giving her a stern glare.

"Somewhere you are going to stay, "He replied firmly.

She dipped her head. DiAngelo knew better than to take that as a sign of resignation or submission.

He made that mistake ten years ago. She was plotting something.

He lifted her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye.

"You are going to stay in that Safehouse Miranda. "

"Okay-"

"It wasn't a question," he frowned at the fact she assumed it was.

"You don't have an option to say no. I am telling you, you are going to stay in that safehouse. So that you can stay safe. Do you understand, amore mio?"

(My love)

"Yes, I understand. But I have to-"

DiAngelo's grip on her chin tightened.

"Miranda: Do. Not. Leave. For once in your life, listen to me when I say do not leave. They will kill you, Miranda."

Her eyes widened.

More people who want to kill her?

"Those demons who you've been running from since you were 10; the ones you think are chasing you, the ones that made you run from me-they are dead. I killed them myself."

The small smile and gleam of satisfaction in his eyes told her that he wasn't bullshitting her.

Her whole body sighed in relief.

"But these demons are very much alive. And they will kill you just to spite me-and enjoy it. So please," he rested his forehead on hers, closing his eyes.

"Please don't leave," he begged. "I need you to be here when I come back. Can you do that for me? Can you be here when I come home to you?"

"Yes. I can do that for you," Miranda nodded, the fact that he may not come back dawning on her.

"I'll be here when you get back. Just...come back. Come home to me. I'll be waiting for you. "

DiAngelo smiled a watery smile, but refused to cry. He was turning into a little b***h, and it didn't set well with him.

"Thank you, Miranda," He whispered. "I thank God for you, my treasure. "

Pierto leaned against Melanie's doorway, watching her as she shoved things aggressively into suitcases.

"Is that one supposed to be my head? I feel like the level of aggression on that shirt went up a whole level."

Melanie glowered at him thunderously. Pierto raised his hands in surrender. He waved some men in to start taking her bags.

"Where are they taking my stuff?" She asked, as the man closest to her shielded his eyes fearfully, running into a wall.

Pierto nodded to himself. Good on the covering his eyes; bad on the running into the wall. But he'd address that issue later.

"Where are they taking my stuff, Italy?" 

"Where you are going."

Melanie sent him a withering look.

"You're not funny, Luigi. Where is that?"

"All these racial slurs have got to stop, baby girl."

Melanie silently blushed a bit at the term baby girl, for several different reasons.

Melanie scowled at his stupid smirking, handsome Italian face.

"Stop avoiding the question, asshole."

"A safehouse," Pierto answered vaguely, avoiding her eyes, his cocky smirk gone.

"What exactly am I being kept safe from?"

"From people who want to see me dead, baby girl."

"Why aren't you going to the safehouse instead of me then?"

"Because I can handle myself. But if they hurt you, it would kill me. And they know it."

With that, Pierto left silently, and Melanie packed just as silently as he'd left.

They both had secrets; which one those secrets were the most deadly though, would prove to be the million dollar question.

V O T E⭐️

F A N