“No more pleasure houses.” Ivan’s voice is hard.
Vicente draws in a breath. “You’ve already destroyed half of what my nephews had?—”
“Then you have only half left to get rid of.” I step to the front, picking up the envelope.
The papers won’t detail any of the deals we’re making outside of the legal boundaries. Everything in these contracts has to do with the amount of the DeAngelo legitimate businesses we will receive upon the marriage taking place between me and their little princess.
She’s probably spoiled rotten. Nose high in the air, high demands for a lifestyle she doesn’t deserve. None of these bastards deserve anything other than to rot in the gutter.
It’s going to be fun dismantling everything. Brick by brick.
Starting with their precious girl.
“That’s not what was discussed previously.” Vicente lowers his chin.
Is he trying to negotiate?
I glance over the contract. A simple ten percent in several of their retail chains, a more progressive cut of their nightclubs here in New York. We’ll be making good money.
So long as the marriage goes through. And stands.
No divorce.
It’s the last clause. If we ever divorce, the entire contract voids. We lose everything we’ve gained.
That’s fine. When I’m done destroying everything I set my eyes on, I’ll decide if it’s worth keeping the woman around or not. Maybe tossing her back to her family, used and worthless, is the best revenge yet.
It’s how Elana sees herself right now.
It’s why she’s gone. Flying herself halfway around the world to get away from us. Trying to outrun guilt that isn’t hers to carry.
She was tricked.
Stolen from us with the promise of love that fucking Tony DeAngelo never had for her.
The moment she learned the truth, when she saw his phone, read his texts and saw for herself that he’d been using her, is burned into my memory.
The paper crinkles in my fist. Ivan yanks it from my hand and puts it back on the desk.
“Have the new condition added, then we’ll sign. We’ll send someone by tomorrow morning for the revised copy,” Ivan says dropping the papers back onto the desk.
“Is the girl here?” I find myself asking.
Vicente’s neutral expression hardens.
“No. I’m afraid Sienna is out at the moment. Some last-minute shopping for the wedding. You hadn’t mentioned wanting to meet her beforehand. I can have her back here within the hour if you’d like.”
There’s something about the way he says her name that catches my attention. Almost like it tastes bad.
“No. Don’t bother.” I slide my hands into my pockets.
“There’re no photographs of the family,” Ivan says looking around the office. “No family portrait, even.”
He’s right. Not so much as a photograph. I have no idea what this woman even looks like.
It doesn’t matter; we’re doomed to say our vows two afternoons from today.
“This was Marco’s office. He liked to keep things purely business in here. Sienna decorated the rest of the house. I’m sure she’ll keep your home as you like it. She’ll be a good wife,” Vicente says. “She won’t cause trouble for you.”
