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.

My long dress is not the perfect bar outfit

and spot the dim lights and mirrored

which is closest to

make my way closer to the bar where I sit down. The bartender is a handsome bulky

get for

anything black will do,

wood finishes. Hundreds of bottles of

Jameson Jacob.” The deep voice comes from the other end of the bar and my eyes fray to the man

you the manager or something?” I am

something.” He is hidden in a shade of light so it is hard to make out his face but his voice is deep, dry. He must be one hell

my guards start approaching. I send them a signal with my fingers to relax. I don’t

that coming. I’ve never

and

yourself to this fine dine,

I thought I would dress up and leave my castle and have a drink with a handsome man. And not that it makes an inkling of a difference to you, but I am actually Italian.” His face is clean-shaven. His head is

and as I take a much-needed sip my

at?” He asks me and a laugh bubbles

will let you know

an ordinary Italian, you sound

yes and no. I came to visit some family. I thought I would surprise my cousin, and he would be all smiles to see me but I missed him. It seems like he left for London with the intention of