~Chapter 73~
The bar was a big space, located just a short stroll from the dinner hall.
It was a popular haunt for my n, open twenty-four hours a day, and catering to their every whim.
The shelves behind the bar were lined with an impressive array of fine spirits, and the air was thick with the sll of cigar smoke and polished leather.
If my n weren’t here, they were usually at the club, a decadent playground that offered everything from high-stakes gambling to exotic entertainnt.
Speaking of which, my thoughts drafted to my dear cousin, Adelasia. You know why I cut off her fingers?
A cold smile spread across my face. We had a world-class club right here on the estate, a place where she could indulge in every luxury and vice imaginable.
But no, the stupid bitch had to go and take our enemy’s daughter to so dingy, rundown club in the city.
And then, to add insult to injury, she had the audacity to lose her. I had been furious, my anger boiling over like a pot left unattended.
Telling that she ran away, Adelasia had the guts to tell that and still say, "why the fuck was are you so invested in finding that girl, anyway?"
My simring anger went over the top But I was a gentleman, after all. Or so I told myself.
And a good head to the Salvatore family, had taken matters into my own hands, teaching Adelasia a lesson she would never forget.
I took a deep, deep breath, calming down before I did sothing I might regret. Like putting a bullet through Adelasia’s head.
No, I needed to be more... refined in my punishnt. So, I just turned to Jas, my ever-loyal and efficient assistant, and asked him politely - I really did try to be polite - to bring a knife.
Just a small one, I specified. And Jas, oh Jas, he brought it to in a flash, his expression impassive as always.
And I took the knife, feeling its weight and balance in my hand. And I used it to cut off Adelasia’s first finger.
The first day of her enslavent as a calendar for had begun and I was determined to make her pay for her stupidity.
The mory of that mont still brought a cold smile to my face...
"Roo!" Antonio’s sharp voice cut through my reverie, snapping back to the present as he sat down in the plush bar chair beside .
I took a seat next to him with a scowl. "Don," the bartender, Andrew, greeted with a respectful nod before he turned to Antonio, "Boss Antonio."
Andrew faced us both as he polished a glass with a white linen cloth. "Il solito?, The usual?" he asked, his Italian inflection flawless.
We both nodded in unison and the bartender nodded too. Mixing our drinks.
The stupid old man sat beside , shrouded in silence, the tension weighing on his shoulder was high. What was he wanting to tell that had him so wound up? I wondered, curiosity piqued.
"Ecco, (Here you go." Andrew said as he handed us our drinks. I took my glass, swirling it softly and lifted it to my lips.
The whiskey burned its way down my throat as Antonio, on the other hand, downed his drink in one swift motion, the liquor disappearing as soon as the glass touched his lips.
He slamd the glass back onto the bar, his eyes locked onto mine, his expression unreadable.
"Another one." He said to our attender and he was handed another, I shook my head as he drank it all at once again.
"Un altro,(Another one." Antonio said to Andrew, requesting another drink and our attender handed him a fresh glass.
Antonio downed it in one swift motion, just like he had the previous two. I shook my head, bit in amusent and annoyance, as I sipped my own drink slowly.
I loved alcohol, but I preferred cigarettes better. There was sothing about the smooth, rich flavor of tobacco that helped calm my racing thoughts and cool my head when it felt like it was about to explode.
But, of course, my nonna hated it when I smoked. She would lecture for hours, her voice stern and disapproving, about the dangers of tobacco and how it would ruin my health. But I couldn’t help it.
Cigarettes were my life support.
"Roo," Antonio said, his voice breaking into my thoughts, and I cut him off, my patience wearing thin.
"That’s the third ti you’ve called , Antonio. I hope now it’s finally ti you’re going to tell why the hell you wanted to talk to in the first place." I set my glass down on the bar, snapping my eyes to the old man.
Antonio let out a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly as he nodded. "I just wanted to say, are you okay?" he asked and I stared at him, taken aback by the question.
What the hell does this man an?
Am I okay?
Of course, I am! Why would he think otherwise? Can’t he see how I look? I’m as composed and collected as ever, my expression a mask of calm indifference.
Is Antonio not only getting deaf day by day, but also blind? I wondered, my eyes narrowing slightly as I gazed at him.
Doesn’t he rember who I am? I’m Roo Salvatore, the don of the Salvatore family. I’m a man who doesn’t show weakness, who doesn’t falter or fail.
I’m a man who always lands on his feet, no matter what life throws at him. So, why is Antonio asking if I’m okay?
My face must have said it all as antonio shook his head, saying. "Really Roo, I’m worried your hate is moving into an obsession."
My face must have said it all, as Antonio shook his head, "Really, Roo, I’m worried your hate is moving into an obsession," he said firm but asured.
My what now? I thought, reeling in this confusion. My hate is moving into an obsession? What is he even talking about?
I raised an eyebrow. "And what am I hating and obsessing about?" I asked, because honestly, I had no idea what Antonio was referring to.
Was it the Russians? The Bulgarians? One of our rival families? I was at a loss.
Antonio’s eyes held mine in a stare, and he said "Katya, Boris’s daughter,"
Oh, hell nah.
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