What the fuck? A column of angry fire rises in the middle of my chest so rapidly that it makes me lose my voice for a moment. Who does
this bastard think he is? While Raul speaks, I hear some of his men snicker behind my back, and it makes me clench my fists. The urge to punch him is so strong I even step forward-and his men immediately move into my
way.
I don’t care about them. My eyes are set on Raul’s stupid face, and my hands are itchy to wipe this arrogant smirk off his lips.
“I am Riccardo Messina’s sister,” I say in a voice so low and threatening it comes out as a hiss. “And if you expect everyone to bow to you, you are going to be very disappointed, Senor Raul. Chicago has its own kings and queens, and you are not one of them.”
Raul holds my gaze for a moment, studying me with renewed curiosity, and I almost expect him to ask something. Instead, he huffs,
completely unbothered by my speech, and shrugs. “Not yet. So, are you going to guide us out of here, Riccardo Messina’s sister?”
God, what a douchebag.
Without another word, I turn around and walk to the exit leading to the parking lot. If he doesn’t like how I address him and his men, I’m not gonna talk to them at all.
It works out quite well, actually. The recruits meet us by our three cars, and unlike me, they are willing to show Raul all signs of respect, and it seems to satisfy the De Lugos. Raul even gives me a pointed glance, but I roll my eyes and get into the car. The recruits’ positions oblige them to do so. Mine doesn’t. I’m not a goddamn pawn in the Messina clan to be treating my future husband like a fucking king.
Of course, Raul decides to use my car-probably to piss me off even more-along with the leader of his bodyguards, Ruben. Well, I am of a higher rank, so I should be responsible for his safe arrival, not the recruits. Still, I feel all tense in his presence, expecting to hear another complaint or inappropriate comment. But all the way to the hotel, Raul and Ruben keep quiet, talking to each other in voices too low for me to hear. Good for them.
When we arrive at the hotel Matteo has booked for the De Lugos, Giovanni welcomes us by the entrance. I still refuse to talk to him, though, so while he shakes hands with Raul and Ruben, not even trying to smile, I walk past them to the entrance. There’s not an ounce of excitement left in me. In fact, I’d like to have a drink.
“How did it go?” Paolo meets me by the door leading to the hotel restaurant, and I grimace and wave a hand.
“It was fine.” I pause and glance behind me. “He’s an asshole.” Paolo chuckles. “That much I’ve heard.”
He pats my shoulder as if inviting me to come into the hall, but I feel his support in the gesture and it makes me feel better. Even if Raul
wants to treat me like nothing, I know my own place, and I know my own value. I am a Messina, and whether he wants it or not, Raul has to learn how to respect that.
The Messinas have booked the whole restaurant just for the dinner with the De Lugos, of course, and our men are all around the perimeter.
Riccardo and Olga Pushkova are already by the table, so engrossed in their own discussion that they don’t even notice me. Elena does, acknowledging me with a small smile, and Louis waves a hand over Sasha’s back.
Just being here already makes me feel better, so I breathe out my frustrations and focus on our plan. I’ve always known Raul is an asshole, right? So I just have to accept it with a new perspective and move on. God, where’s the bar here?
While I’m getting myself a drink, Raul finally walks into the restaurant, and Riccardo and Olga turn as if on cue to give him their best fake smiles. The Mafia leaders are no better than politicians when it comes to diplomacy, but I believe they are at least more honest in their promises.
With greetings and introductions, the three of them take their places around a round table-to not make anyone seem more important than the others, I assume-while the De Lugos spread around, keeping a cautious eye on the Italians and Russians. At the same time, waiters bring appetizers and glasses of champagne, and it marks the beginning of dinner.
I linger by the bar, watching the scene before me with a smirk on my lips. God, what a comedy. Riccardo, Elena, Paolo, Olga, and Raul take up one table in the middle while the rest are left to their own devices, allowed to take any available seats at other tables. But none of us are used to this kind of posh dining, so everyone is just scattered all over the hotel restaurant, watching each other from the corner of our eyes.
Louis, Sasha, and Irina join me eventually while Giovanni and Liss enthusiastically dig into their dishes at the table closest to Riccardo. Sergei, Olga’s son, is on the other side of the restaurant, watching the dinner with a detached expression on his face, and the couple of Russians by his side
share the same look. I bet they’re bored as hell, but well, aren’t we all?
“How rude would it be for me to leave?” Louis grumbles almost an hour later, watching the waiters bring dessert. His eyes light up at the sight of eclairs, and he gestures for one of them to walk over. Why am I not
surprised?
“I don’t know, but our nanny has to go home soon.” Sasha checks her watch and looks at Louis. “Sounds like a good excuse to me.”
“Hey, are you gonna leave me here?” Louis says with a petulant undertone, and I snort. He’s a grown-ass man, mind you.
Sasha raises her eyebrows with a flat look. “When did I say that?”
God, these two are one hell of a couple. I smile into my cup, taking a sip of my coffee, when my ears catch my own name.
“Isabella and Giovanni are our secret weapons,” Riccardo says with a chuckle, watching Raul with a sharp look in his eyes. “They know
everything about the Escarras-and I bet Isabella will be glad to tell you more about it.”
Glad? I grimace and look away, reaching for my drink. What is this, some kind of matchmaking? Thanks, Riccardo, but I’ll pass.
“Isabella?” Raul repeats with a hum as if remembering my name, and god, I hate how it sounds when he says it. “That’s interesting. She didn’t strike me as someone… how should I say it? Well-informed.”
I purse my lips, biting back a growl of frustration. What a jackass.
At the same time, I hear a scratch of a chair against the floor, and when I follow the sound I see Giovanni glaring at Raul, half-ready to get up from his seat. Damn, can he not be so hotheaded for once? But at the same time, I feel fond of his protectiveness, and when he feels my gaze and looks at me, I give him a small smile.
“You shouldn’t underestimate her,” Paolo says with a suddenly cold undertone, and I feel the warmth of appreciation spread through my chest.
“I will do my best,” Raul says in return, and even though I hear a smile in his voice, the low tone of it tells me he doesn’t mean it. But it
seems that Raul still wants to be diplomatic because a moment later he adds, “Forgive my bad mood. I think it’s time for us to retreat. Ruben? Have you got the keys?”
Raul looks around, pushing his chair away from the table, and I blink and sit up straight. Is that it? What about our plans? What about our marriage?
“I will meet you here tomorrow.” Riccardo gets up as well, and even though he sounds nice, I recognize a sour look in his eyes. He doesn’t like Raul either. Does anyone?
“Very well,” Raul responds in Spanish with the exact same phrase I said in the airport, and for some reason it flares up the burn of frustration in me. Is he mocking me? Or Riccardo?
Before I can figure it out, Raul bids goodbye to the rest of the table with an empty smile and walks away without a glance my way. His men get up as if on cue and follow him to the door with Ruben already handing him the keys. And that’s it? I clench my jaw and glance at Riccardo-he’s talking to Olga and Elena with a displeased frown on his face-before jumping on my feet and rushing out of the restaurant.
That son of a bitch…
“Hey, Raul!” I yell after him, running up a couple of stairs to see him properly.
The De Lugos turn to me with aggression in their postures, but Raul raises his hand to stop them from doing anything and pauses for a moment before slowly turning around. He has an amused look on his face, his eyes narrowed, his lips curled into a smirk, and I can’t tell you how much I want to ruin him.
“Is that how you treat your family in Tijuana?” I say with venom in my voice, glaring at him from the bottom of the stairs. “Is that how you
show respect?”
“You have to gain my respect first,” Raul says calmly and pushes his hands into his pockets, taking a step down. “Besides, we are not a family.
Just partners.”
“Not yet,” I say, mocking his words from before, and take a step toward him.
Raul hums with a silent question and quirks his eyebrow. What, he doesn’t know?
“We are getting married. Have you forgotten?” I chuckle at the momentary look of surprise in his eyes before it’s replaced with cold amusement.
“Are we?” Raul laughs and waves a hand as if rejecting me before turning away. “No thank you. I’ve heard more interesting proposals in my life.”
And just like that, Raul walks away, leaving me stunned in the middle of the stairs. It feels as if he just poured a bucket of ice water over me-until the burn of pure hatred breaks the spell. I growl under my breath and turn away, running down the stairs. There’s a bitter feeling in my chest, but I ignore it. I’m not gonna give him the pleasure of making me upset.
Whatever Raul Jose De Lugo thinks of himself, I know that he’s just a jerk, and I’d rather go after Gerardo on my own than think about marrying him ever again.