"A prize heifer wouldn't cost me thousands in bribes to scrub her image or a prenuptial agreement just to keep a jerk like Peter quiet. If you want to sit on that bench one day, Megan, you’ll walk a line as straight as a Swiss Princess."
"Nobody even knows who she is, Dad."
"Because she doesn't do anything stupid, Megan. This is the last time I’m warning you. Have a nice day, sweetheart."
#2
"I wanna fuck off every one of my plans” Zolita
"Ihope you’re fully aware of what you’re doing," Vanessa, my assistant and friend, commented for the thousandth time as our car approached the venue for the Justice’s daughter’s wedding.
"I think it’s important to congratulate Mr. Woods, Vanessa. Don’t you?" I adjusted my jumpsuit and pulled on my blazer as the car parked in the guest area. "And remember, if he keeps clearing space at the New Jersey port, your ex-stepfather would love to have a personal conversation with him."
"One of our agents said it wasn't actually him, Kels. It was his son-in-law dealing with the Irish," she noted. I agreed silently as I stepped out of the car and took her hand. "His daughter doesn’t seem to like him very much, anyway."
"You just can’t resist gossip, can you? I bet your hair is full of secrets. What exactly doesn't she like?" I teased.
"Her fiancé, men in general, and the shit her father’s been pulling before the wedding. My hair doesn't hide gossip, it’s not my fault if the security guards talk to each other and tell me things," she retorted. I stared into her brown eyes and well-defined cheekbones. Vanessa could easily pass for someone of Hispanic or Arabic descent if it weren’t for her skin, which was as white as a sugar cube.
Joseph Woods didn’t hide his disdain for me. After all, he’d called me a brat the last time we met, right before I forced him to honor our water transport agreement.
At twenty-two, I owned one of the largest offshore export firms for major corporations. The catch was that after my parents died, I inherited the family pact with the Italian mob, currently run by Vanessa’s stepfather.
"And the daughter... are you sure she’s a lesbian?" I asked. Vanessa nodded as we watched the redhead drain a glass of sparkling wine and force a smile for the photographer. "She’s perfect."
"Kelsey, no," Vanessa hissed. I chuckled as I approached the father of the bride. "Please, her father is a homophobic piece of shit, and we need him to keep the shipments to the 'Ndrangheta moving."
"Not now. But at some point in time, yes. Because I’m going to keep my eyes on that woman, and she’ll be mine sooner or later," I vowed. She rolled her eyes and handed me a glass of red wine, which I raised in a mock toast to Joseph. "Woods, dear. I couldn't miss this."
"You were invited as a mere formality, Calama," he snapped. I took a slow sip of wine and pulled a handkerchief from his own suit pocket to dab the corner of my mouth.
"What happened? You used to visit my father’s house back when you were securing that interesting position on the Supreme Court. I thought we could be understanding," I feigned boredom and sighed. "Well, I can't say I didn't try to be nice, but you ignored me. I sent emails, I made calls." He showed his impatience, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "So, I came here to give you a friendly warning, guest to host."
"I’m going to have security remove you," he threatened quietly, trying not to attract attention. We were speaking in a secluded corner; from where we stood, someone would have to come up directly behind me to see my face.
"Davide Cassano, you know the name, right, my friend? He asked me to warn you: if another Irishman ships weapons into his territory, the American press will be reporting your 'regrettable suicide' the next morning." I tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket after folding it neatly.
"I’ll see what I can do to end this. Tell Davide there’s nothing to worry about," he mumbled, adjusting his suit and running the back of his hand across his forehead.
"And my fee just went up. Which means your profit per contract just went down. Now, let’s enjoy the party. You have a dance with your daughter to get to." He held his composure, but the vein in his forehead pulsed, betraying his stress level.
"I’m still going to see you get screwed, Calama," he hissed, leaning in close to my face. I gave him a mocking smile.
"Maybe you’ll see me marrying your daughter in a few years," I taunted as I walked away to find my partner in crime.
We sat at a table further back, almost camouflaged by the crowd. Vanessa even danced with a few groomsmen who were politicians; she never missed a chance to strengthen support for a campaign.
Meanwhile, I couldn't take my eyes off the bride. She was draped in a traditional gown and looked miserable every time her husband touched her waist.
I headed to the smoking area, a large balcony overlooking Central Park. Tucked in a corner to avoid anyone begging for campaign donations, I leaned against the railing to light a cigarette. The door slammed shut, and I instinctively crouched down behind a large decorative plant.
"Peter, if you keep touching me every ten minutes, I swear I’ll file for divorce today," the bride declared, her voice sharp and fearless.
"Megs, people need to believe there’s actually a wedding happening here." I could see him lighting a cigarette, standing sideways to the redhead. She was in a lace-sleeved dress, her hair pinned to the side with a single flower.
"I need to relax. Go away for a bit, and for God's sake, stop touching me."
"And how is the rest of our life supposed to work?" he asked, blowing smoke as if to provoke her. With his back to me, I noticed his build was almost disproportionate to his slim frame.
