Meanwhile, I’m still at a loss as to Argon’s role in the Albanian mafia. Who was he? And who is the most important person in the ‘family’?
Typically, I’d say it’s the head, followed by the consigliere as a matter of formality, or the obvious—the guy slated to be the next in line. But what’s to gain if there’s no beef? More money? More power?
It doesn’t add up.
I roll over and bury my face in Prende’s long tresses that remind me of the freesia flowers in her store. She told me they signify innocence and purity. I decide it’s the perfect flower that embodies her as I drift off into the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in a long time.
Back in Florence, I drop Prende off at her store and as we walk in, the man I’ve come to know as Besnik is waiting for us.
“Uncle Besnik.” Prende’s enthusiasm falls on deaf ears and a pissed off face.
“Both of you, in the office.”
My guards are waiting outside, and I regret not having them with me as I follow her to the office I know well. I glance at Mila, who shrugs before she turns away like she doesn’t know me. That’s not a good sign.
“What?” Prende asks, as soon as we’re inside the office.
“You have disobeyed me. You’ve ruined me. You were to marry Lirim. I promised him an unsoiled young woman.”
“He’s as old as Papa,” she bursts out, “and you have no right to promise me to anyone. I’m not a horse, I’m not for sale.” She stomps her foot to drive home the point.
But she picked the wrong time to exert herself. Just like an innocent child’s first tantrum that’s met with retribution, so will Prende’s. That’s how this works.
“You,” he turns to me and points, “you will marry Prende to save her honor and not embarrass me. If people ask questions, we will tell them you ran away and eloped.” He turns to Prende and grabs her by her upper arms. “Trust me, Prende, this is the only way. You don’t understand, your father had information we can’t find. Without that information, the organization is vulnerable. Lirim can protect you. I know you are innocent, but there are others that won’t understand.”
Any questions I have will have to wait, but it’s more information than I had ten minutes ago.
I lightly put my hand on Besnik’s arm. “I’ll marry her, we’ll have a small, private wedding. After we get the license, the two families can throw a celebration to solidify a union between our families.”
Instinct tells me Besnik is doing this because he loves Prende like a daughter and there is something going on inside the Albanian mafia we’re not privy to.
And that’s the way it should be. We only know about infighting when it spills into the streets. If we had a mole inside the organization, we’d know more, but we don’t.
“I don’t want to be told who to marry!” Prende protests.
I take her aside. “Prende,” her stormy dark eyes pull at my heartstrings, but I can’t give in to her, “look, there’s more at stake than you know, trust me. Let’s do this and we’ll figure a way out of it later. But for now, I believe Besnik is telling the truth and he loves you. I think we can trust him.”
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” she hisses.
“I know,” I say, taking her hands in mine, “we’ll get through this, let’s just run the playbook, we don’t know his motives and we may never know. But if things get sticky, it might not be the ending you want either, so let’s keep some perspective, hmm?”
It’s the best I can do in the way of a pep talk. I’m no good at this caring bullshit, but I want to save her life if that’s what’s at stake. Besnik has been in the criminal world forever. He’s witnessed a lot more atrocities than me, stuff I hope never to see. He’s like the old guard, the ultimate survivalist.
I can save Prende.
This means I’m getting hitched.
I’m torn, I didn’t expect to get in bed with the Albanian mafia when I got in bed with Prende.
Shit, what have I done?
16
Prende
After being surprised at the flower shop by Besnik, Marchello insists on following me home. I unlock my door and immediately sense something is wrong, but before I can articulate my fears, Marchello pulls me back and his two goons rush in to search the place.
“Nothing, boss, but the place has been tossed. By the looks of it, someone professional. Nothing has been left untouched.”