6 Chapter 6: Now that I've met her.

Diego aka Arrow’s POV

“She’s cute,” Marcell observed from the seat beside me in my town car.

It was a brave observation, and he knew it. I didn’t fault my consigliere; he only made a choice based on the plan we had concocted before the date. It was the same plan I had every single date I went on from the Elite site. Two hours max. No longer. And under no circumstances was there to be a second date. But Katie broke down every single one of my rules.

Every single one of my barriers and boundaries—she steamrolled through them like an unknowing goddess. Her with her sweet demeanor and soft voice, her with her unaware beauty and gentle curves. Her with her authentic humor and genuine care for those around her. Even when I was being guarded and prodding to find cracks in her guise, she was still just who she was. Katie.

“She’s more than just cute,” I said defensively.

“How are you going to swing this, Diego? Your life doesn’t make dating accommodating, especially for dating someone like her,” Marcell remarked, using my given name.

He was one of the only people who got away using my given name without earning a bullet to the skull. But that’s what you earn when you’re more like brothers than cousins. Not only the well-deserved respect that comes with protecting each other throughout your entire lives, becoming each other’s only lifelines and best friends. But bathed in the blood of your enemies, you earn the right to call each other not your made name but your true name.

“Well, if my memory serves me right, Marcell, this was your idea, so you’re going to help me juggle both the demands of my uncle and my dating life,” I said confidently.

“My idea was for you to get dating out of your system before you were strapped to some politician’s daughter or some warring family's spawn of Satan. My advice wasn’t for you to fall in love with little miss sweet and kindness,” Marcell rebutted.

“I never mentioned falling in love,” I lobbied back.

“If it’s not full-blown love yet, it’s well on its way to being,” Marcell insisted as he leaned back into the tan leather seats of the town car.

“It’s just a fling.” Even as I spoke the lie, it sounded lame to my own ears.

“Bullsh*t,” Marcell said plainly, closing his eyes against the lull of the engine. “We both know that flings never get you to break your own rules. Family doesn’t even get you to break your own rules. You’re a rule follower. A stickler, Diego. She made you compromise. It’s love.”

I let his comment sink in, I knew what I initially felt for Katie was intriguing. I felt it when I first saw her photo on the Elite dating site. She was starkly different than any of the other women I had selected at random to go on dates with before.

Admittedly, my dating history was true to Marcell’s word. I was getting it out of my system. The hands of the clock were rapidly working against me, and the whispers of rumors of my uncle coming to some sort of contract with what would be my wife were quickly turning into loud shouts of gossip that held loads of truth to their words.

I wanted some control over my future and had found that in my work, having earned my uncle's respect, I had earned a small semblance of freedom. But the one subject he refused to budge on was the topic of marriage.

The old miser was a stickler for the old ways, and I was the biggest negotiation token he had to trade. One night lost in a bottle of whisky, Marcell concocted the plan, presenting to me an already-published bio on the Elite dating site. His excuse was that at least with the Elite site, the women would be casual, used to men dating around.

It would make it easy. I could lie to myself, and not get attached. I would date women who I wasn’t attracted to—whose interests I found boring. It made saying goodbye to them at the end of the night easy. But I knew at first glance when I saw her photo that Katie would be different. But I lied to myself. I told myself that she was one of those women with well-off parents who, like me, was rebelling against the patriarchy.

But the moment I first saw her sitting there in that beautiful red dress, her caramel brown hair glowing in the light of the candles, I knew I was in trouble. The sentiment was only confirmed when I heard her speak.

I was a man unknowingly tethered to her before the night was done. The thought of never seeing her terrified me, suffocating me. My legs moved before I even registered them. I was running from the town car to the sedan that was holding her inside of it. Only after I had her number in my phone and a promise of seeing her again did I feel like I could truly breathe again. Maybe the first full breath I had taken in a while.

“The old man called six times while you were on your date,” Marcell spoke up, after our extended silence.

“What did he want?” I said as the reality of my situation came crashing back in on me.

“He’s being neurotic about the delivery of the new goods that just got imported from the docks. Thinks we should be sitting on top of it to ensure it’ll make it to the warehouse,” Marcell informed me.

“What did you tell him,” I asked.

“I told him what I always tell him. That I’ll tell you.” Marcell replied.

“He’s been more and more nervous about these shipments lately. Have we checked the order logs?” I asked, exhausted and unready to return to work as usual, wanting so desperately to stay inside the bubble I had created with Katie.

“Just your normal run-of-the-mill weapons, some import, some domestic, nothing overly memorable,” Marcell said, opening his eyes to sit up next to me. I could feel his eyes prying into the side of my head as I looked out the window of the passing cityscape of Chicago.

“Do you think he’s up to something?” Marcell asked.

“Not the shipment, no. But Aldo Russo is a master at sleight of hand. If he wants us to pay attention to those shipments too carefully, it’s only to distract us from something else,” I said.

“Distract us from what?” Marcell asked.

“Not what. Who,” I replied pulling my eyes from the view to lock eyes with my cousin.

“Who, Diego?” Marcell asked me.

“The Riccis were spotted arriving from the private airport last weekend. I initially thought that it was just to check on their docks, you know. Business. But it wasn’t until Aldo started insisting that I physically check the shipments myself that I grew suspicious of his intentions,” I explained.

"You don’t think that he would arrange a contract between you and that skank, do you?” Marcell seethed.

“I would be surprised if he didn’t Marcell,” I replied turning back to the passing city in my window.

Marcell muttered a Sicilian curse word next to me, only echoing my sentiment. Penelope Ricci was the complete gutter of images when I imagined who I wanted to be my wife, especially since I hadn’t ever allowed myself to imagine anyone filling that role, but now I was starting to hope that maybe, just maybe it might be someone like Katie.