“Like the men are going to accept him.” Olivia’s glare turned to me yet again.
“Why do you think it took so long for your father to convince me?” I asked. “I might be a thug, but I’d rather not fight a war. Your father’s lieutenants know my reputation, just as you do. That’ll keep them in line until they respect me as much as they do him.”
She didn’t have a response for that. We stared at each other. The silence extended.
“Well. I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about,” the don breathed. His head fell back against the pillow. “But do it somewhere else. I’m tired.”
Olivia nodded toward the door before storming its way. I followed, but it sure felt like the walk of a condemned man toward the execution chamber. How had the Don talked me into this?
2
Olivia
Iburst through the door to the hallway, heels clicking a cacophonous rhythm that echoed through the cavernous space. Mr. Rudolph jerked at my sudden appearance. The reedy lawyer pushed himself away from the wall he'd been leaning on. His mouth opened to speak but he froze, fish-faced at the lethal expression on my face.
As the family's lawyer, my father's lawyer, Rudolph had to know of the don's idiotic decision. Hell, I wouldn't put it past the weasel to already be buttering up to the Russian thug, knowing he’d be in charge soon enough.
“You should have told me what my father was planning,” I hissed at the man, stalking closer to him.
He inched away, back brushing against the wall. His hand disappeared into his suit coat and pulled out his phone.
“I really need to take this,” the coward said, holding the phone up before he rushed down the hallway.
“I won’t forget this,” I yelled after him, stomping my foot for good measure.
A slight smile came to my face when the man flinched at the unexpected noise. The family was his only client. Unless the call came from my father, if there really was a call, it shouldn’t have taken precedence over my demands.
The door behind me clicked closed. I turned my dangerous gaze from the retreating lawyer to the real source of my problems. The Russian thug stood there, smirking down at me. I hadn’t seen him in years but that cocksure expression took me right back to our time at the boarding school in Thun.
He’d flashed that smug smirk every time he bumped into me as we passed in the hallway between classes. He’d been a couple years ahead of me so we only shared a few classes, thankfully as far as I was concerned. In the ones we did share, he tormented me, interrupting any answers I gave with a cough or sneeze, flashing that lopsided grin when he inevitably got away with it. He even tried to cheat off me. Like anyone would believe his scores if he did anywhere near as well as I did on an exam.
The day he left that school—and I didn’t know if he graduated or got kicked out—had been one of my best. That damn smirk of his had only tormented me in the occasional bad dream since then. And now it had returned, worse than ever.
“Your father wanted us to talk things out.” The bastard’s smile grew. He always did love the sound of his own voice too much. “If you’d rather stare at me, who am I to stop you?”
He took a deep breath and planted his hands against his hips, a Superman pose. It seemed the years hadn’t exactly matured him, not that I expected a miracle like that. Some men never changed and I’d never admit just how well that pose worked for him.
“What is there to talk about?” I snapped, letting out a mirthless chuckle. “It seems you and my father already have everything planned, all the Ts crossed and the Is dotted, checked over by Rudolph, that snake, given how fast he disappeared. I’m just the property being exchanged, the signing bonus. No need to fill me in, ask for my permission or anything.”
“Your father is trying to protect you, protect the empire he built,” the bastard argued. It almost sounded like he believed his line. “You have to see the truth in that.”
“My father is being eaten alive by that cancer,” I hissed, jabbing a finger into the thug’s chest, “with all the drugs that nurse has him on, he isn’t even in his right mind. You took advantage of that. I don’t know how, but I’m going to stop you. If you expect me to just roll over and let this happen, you are sorely mistaken.”
No matter how hard I poked him, emphasizing my every word, he didn’t react. That same superior smirk remained plastered on his chiseled face. The force of my strikes left my fingertip throbbing. It was like he was sculpted from marble.
“You’re going to defy your father’s last wish? Turn your back on the don’s final demand?” He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “And just how are you going to do that?”
He had a point there. Had the family made its money above the table instead of below it, I could have challenged my father’s last will and testament. It wasn’t an uncommon end when a wealthy man died. Conrad Hilton bequeathed almost all his wealth to charity only for his son Baron to contest the will. He’d succeeded, wrestling the bulk away from where his father wanted it left and creating generations of socialite dilettantes.
That option wasn’t open to me. Oh, I could contest my father’s actual will if he tried to cut me out of it, but that only handled his legitimate assets, not the criminal empire he commanded. I couldn’t go to court to argue over ownership of the family’s underground casinos, brothels, chop shops and smuggling operations.
“I can play you against my father’s men, even the other families if I have to,” I replied, pulling my hand away and stepping back. “We’re Mafia, a family, not just a group of thugs. They won’t stand a leader who couldn’t even become a full member. You’re not Italian.”
“No, I’m not, but our son will be. Half Italian, at least.” He held up a hand to silence the rebuke already on my tongue. “And your father already brought up why that wouldn’t work. If you try to court one of his underbosses or, even worse, someone from one of the rival families, all you’d bring is pain and civil war. You’re a smart girl, you have to understand that.”
Staring at the smug bastard through narrowed slits, I did understand that. Bile crept up my throat at the realization that he was right. The men under my father’s command most likely wouldn’t accept me as his heir, the next don. The Mafia was a man’s game, would continue to be even as the rest of the world moved past that macho bullshit. It was why I’d had to work so hard, be better than everyone else just to stay in the game at all.
Admitting that truth to myself was a lot easier than giving the thug the satisfaction. Instead, I glared at him, wishing lasers shot out of my eyes. He held that gaze, expression unmoving. My anger rolled over him like a light breeze, not even ruffling his hair.
