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 but

way.” I move toward the door he’s ushering me to and spot

is closest

way closer to the bar where I sit down. The bartender is a handsome bulky man, maybe

can I get for the

anything black will do, 16-years

cherry wood finishes. Hundreds of bottles of alcohol are

deep voice comes from the other end of the bar and my eyes fray to

you the manager or something?” I am genuinely curious.

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

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

I didn’t see that coming. I’ve never met an

sit next to him and smile, he

English woman like yourself to this fine dine, dressed like

I am actually Italian.” His face is clean-shaven. His head is cropped short and a tattoo is visible on his scalp but the dim lighting in this particular area makes him seem like a

brings my drink over to this side and as I take a much-needed

the chances? Like what you looking at?” He asks me and a laugh bubbles in

looking, I will let you

strike me as an ordinary Italian, you sound and look British, are you here for

he would be all smiles to see me but I missed