Union Of Death (Secrets of The Famiglia Part 2)

America, the place where dreams come true, and white picket fences are a must.

“Miss Moretti, your grandfather sends his apologies but he will not be coming to your birthday. He said to enjoy the evening.”

“Couldn’t he have just called and told me that himself,” I say to Ridwano, my 2nd bodyguard, or was he the first?

“Scusi Signorina.” Sorry, Miss.

I sigh but say nothing else, as the car continues to travel along the road of no real destination.

There is pros and cons that come with the title of Dante Moretti’s granddaughter.

Pro’s were far and few between because the con’s always slapped me right in the face. Today is no different, only today instead of wasting this chance I am embracing it.

“Can you drop me off at the hotel?”

The driver doesn’t question me and I don’t turn my face from the street lights and bustling cars of Washington DC. I’m 23 today. 1 year to add to my growing hate of my Grandfather and another year to add to the loss of my parents and brother.

We arrive at the hotel just before 8 pm and in a way, I am glad and relieved to just get inside. Sliding out of the Bentley, a standard car if your Grandfather is the Godfather of the underworld, I rush to the door.

“Miss Moretti, you are back early, did you enjoy your dinner?” The doorman asks me as he opens the door to lead me in. He is a short chubby man, around 50. He reminds me of someone I met on my trip to Alaska last September.

have a bar around here?” My long dress is not the perfect bar outfit but it is

door he’s ushering me to and spot the dim lights and mirrored beams before I enter

is closest to me to tip the guy.

make my way closer to the bar where I sit

get

will do, 16-years or

a pyramid of cherry wood finishes. Hundreds of bottles of alcohol are stacked around

The deep voice comes from the other end of the bar

something?”

so it is hard to make out his face but his voice is deep, dry. He

chair and make my way toward him as my guards start approaching. I send them a signal with my fingers to relax. I don’t want

a soldier? Wow, I didn’t see that coming. I’ve never met an American

but when I sit next to him and smile, he stares at me with dark intense eyes.

yourself to

drink with a handsome man. And not that it makes an inkling of a difference to you, but I

this side and as I take a much-needed sip my eyes stain

Italians in a bar. What are the chances? Like what you looking at?” He asks me and a laugh bubbles

let you know when I

an ordinary Italian, you sound and look British, are

would be all smiles