It was mid afternoon when the meeting began in Don Giordano's office. After a brief visit to see a sleeping Dallas, Sir Maricillo stood at the Don's side. Joseph was seething where he stood by the bookshelf to the left of his father's desk. Angelico and the other two Giordano boys were present as well.
"Tell what has happened, Antonio," the Don commanded in his deep voice. Though smaller than the rest of the room, standing at five-foot-eleven, he was a very fit man who was quite formidable in his youth. And still is.
"I was told to escort young Dallas here. I waited by her car but was unsettled by her tardiness that I went into the building to search for her." The Don nodded at this. One of Antonio's greatest tributes was his gut instinct that was almost always right. "As I came upon Dallas in the hall, she was struggling with a large boy who was..." He gave a quick glace in Joseph's direction.
"Yes?" the Don asked impatiently.
"He was sexually harassing young Dallas," Antonio responded, voice flat with the restraint of his anger. He could feel the tension of the room. Namely from Joseph who was doing all he could to keep his temper under check while in his father's presence. Antonio could see the boy's tight fists shaking at his sides, the rage clear in his face.
"How so?" the Don asked. He was well aware of the anger inside his right hand, Cristiano Maricillo. But he wanted every detail pointed out.
Antonio drew in a breath, setting himself for the explanation he saw. "Her shirt was torn, exposing her bra and her underwear was forced down her legs. The boy was forcing himself onto her." Antonio had just turned the corner when the boy's hand was pulling down Dallas's panties; he had not been there to prevent the hit and Antonio was burying himself in guilt for that. He told them as much.
"It is not your fault for her injury, Antonio," Sir Maricillo said in a very restrained voice. "If you had not been there when you were..." His voice choked without finishing, but everyone knew the implication.
"Thank you for saving her, Antonio," Joseph said as he looked straight into the larger man's eyes. He gave a nod of appreciation, one returned by Antonio.
"Do you know who the one responsible is?" said the cool voice of Angelico. He was as angered as everyone else in the room, but not for such a direct reason despite Dallas being his adopted sister. He was angered that a Giordano's fiance was nearly violated before her wedding night. It was a blemish to the Giordano's name and Angelico would not stand for such disrespect.
Antonio nodded to his question. "Derek Johnson, a boy said. He is a player of American football at their school."
"Paolo, I want this boy's address and family information," Don Giordano said to his son. Paolo nodded and immediately set off to gather the required information. Paolo may have been a laid-back player, but he was one of the best at gathering intelligence for his father.
"What of me, father?" Joseph asked.
"We cannot detail a form of action until we have records of this boy's family history. For now, remain by the side of my future daughter-in-law," the Don said. "Cristiano, you as well should stay by her for now."
Sir Maricillo started. "But-"
"No," Don Giordano interrupted. "Bella and Adele are out for now. As soon as they return, they will see to your daughter and then you may come back. For now, I will have Lenny and Antonio by my side." Don Fiorenzo Giordano was a strict, ruthless mob boss but when it came to family, you'd never find anyone more soft or more dangerous, depending on the point of view.
Nodding appreciatively, Sir Maricillo walked to the door, clapping Joseph on the shoulder as they exited together.
Dallas was still asleep when her fiance and father entered the room. Every time Sir Maricillo's eyes landed on her beautiful face blemished by the bruising, he wanted nothing more than to put a knife to that bastard's dick and slice. How could anyone want to harm such a sweet, innocent child?
Child. Sir Maricillo would never be able to see that pale blue baby as a young lady. She'd always be that innocent baby girl. His baby girl. She was a baby angel set in his room for him to find, a gift from above. She was his daughter and has always taken care of him as much as she could. She was his daughter and he didn't allow her to learn how to take care of herself. That was the guilt that was hanging heavily in his heart.
Since she was small, moving back and forth between Italy and America, Dallas got to be with a lot of the mafiosi. There weren't many girls her age around so she was always with the boys. Joseph, mostly. She would be sitting against a wall in the training room, watching them as they learned to fight. Learned to take care of themselves. Sir Maricillo was infuriated when Dallas wanted to try it and ended up with a busted lip. She was too small, he told the others. And a girl, for crying out loud! Didn't they know they shouldn't do that to her?
But now this. She was taken advantage of by a large boy because she was such a timid thing. No, he tried to console himself. The boy, according to Antonio's description, was more than twice her size. He was a player of physical sports. There's no way, even with training, that she would have been able to stop him. She was just a girl, after all.
But if she was trained, maybe she wouldn't have been as much of a target.
Sir Maricillo hung his head, his large hands holding one of Dallas's little hands. It was his fault she was so weak. He couldn't see beyond that little bundle he held under his coat to warm up. He couldn't think of anything past those little hiccups of breath. She was still just a baby to him. Just his baby girl.
Joseph was on the other side of the bed from Sir Maricillo. He held Dallas's other hand as she rested. He was infuriated with what had happened. He couldn't wrap his mind around how this had happened to his Dallas. She wasn't just some common girl, couldn't anyone see that? She was wonderful and sweet and innocent and beautiful...
Beautiful.
Sexy.
Perfect.
So was that why? Someone wanted her as much as Joseph did? But why in this way? Why hurt her? What in God's name was wrong with these Americans to defile such beauty?
Joseph moved Dallas's hand to his mouth, holding it there. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her skin, fresh and clean. She may not be as Italian as his father wanted for Joseph, but Dallas drove Joseph crazy by just being near him. Since they were children, Joseph had always wanted Dallas to be by his side. He was only six when Cristiano came back from a job in Dallas, Texas, for his father with a tiny bundle tucked in his arms. Cristiano had also stopped off at a few stores on the way back and went a bit overboard, purchasing loads of baby paraphernalia.
Joseph's mother Bella had taken an instant shine to the new baby, and so did Cristiano's mama, who immediately proclaimed the child as her granddaughter. He could tell that Angelico wasn't as thrilled but that was fine for Joseph. Growing up as the baby in the family, he jumped at the chance to be the big brother.
Eventually, that big brother feeling changed when they got older and Joseph started seeing Dallas in a whole new light. By that time, Rinzo already had his wife so it softened the blow to his father when Joseph told him that he liked Dallas. After years of waiting, spending six years back in Italy for more training and mentoring, Joseph came back to ask for Dallas's hand in marriage. She was finally of age. And Cristiano, Angelico, and his father all agreed. Dallas was his. Finally.
And now this.
That bastard was going to pay for touching his Dallas.
Houston's hands gripped his steering wheel tightly. His knuckles were white and throbbed painfully but he wasn't thinking about that. Houston had been sitting in the school's car park for a while now, seething in his seat. His Dallas had just been violated by another guy. What was worse was that it was someone he knew. Someone he learned to trust through hours upon hours of training and practice. Someone he almost considered a friend.
And it was all that bitch's fault. Fuckin' Karen.
Houston glanced down at the back of his hand where it was mildly reddened from hitting Karen. That felt so good. But the thought of it also sent a sliver of ice-cold dread to shiver down his spine. His mother was going to be pissed. Karen would be sure to stack it up against Dallas, saying it was all that "filthy Italian's" fault.
Just thinking about those words leaving Karen's slut mouth made him proud that he actually hit her--something he's been wanting to do for a long time, now. And damn did it feel good.
Houston turned on the car and let the music pound through the speakers, but he stayed put. He couldn't believe how things have turned out in just a few days. He bought her Saturday, nearly had her Monday, and finds out Tuesday--today--that he nearly lost her. Between her engagement to this Italian guy and Karen and Derek plotting against her... Houston let out a ragged scream through clenched teeth, slamming his fists onto the steering wheel. It would have been better if it was Derek's face he was hitting. That bastard deserved everything he got from that man and more.
Seeing that man secure Dallas next to his side and guide her away made Houston jealous. He wanted to be the one to hold her. To console her. To love her so completely that she forgot everything that happened...that could have happened.
Houston shook his head. The things that were going to happen now will be nothing short of unpleasant. He was sure Karen has called his mother on that expensive, new-aged cellphone his mother gave Karen last month. Karen made a show of putting Auntie Einin's number as first on speed dial.
Houston was so dead.
The thrumming of the music continued as Houston put his Porsche in reverse and pulled out of his parking spot. Just yesterday, Dallas was sitting next to him, admiring the car and actually knowing what it was.
Setting himself, Houston put the car in drive and headed home, to get the beating he knew was inevitable. But his actions were for Dallas and there's no way anything his mother could cook up would make him regret what he did. Nothing.
...He hoped.
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