“I’m not happy about this either.” He shoved his elbow into my side, causing me to grunt. “We’re here because of you. Hopefully, you learned your fucking lesson.”
My tone lowered so only he could hear my words. “I’ll make sure my blowing-up skills get better.” Tension built up in my neck as the words left me. I hated making mistakes.
The funeral dragged on for three fucking hours.
Three hours of my life wasted on this bullshit.
I almost stood and asked them to speed this shit up.
No way that idiot’s life deserved three hours of mourning by strangers.
When the funeral finally ended, we followed my father and Benny outside. I led Blair down the sidewalk toward the corner, my hand plastered at the base of her back but wanting to venture lower.
“A word,” my father said to me.
I nodded, giving Blair a glance that I hoped said,Keep your ass there, and walked along the edge of the grass. Benny joined us as my father stared at me sternly, a slight frown on his face.
“Do not bring a woman with you to something like this again.” He jabbed his finger in my face, though still kept his composure. “I’m looking for a wife for you. Women don’t want their potential husbands parading other women around. If you want to fuck her, fuck her, but keep it discreet.”
I held back from telling him she was my Fawn.
My father wasn’t a fan of the Fawn ordeal.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, annoyed but trying to conceal it. “Still on that arranged-marriage kick?”
Benny shook his head at my disrespect.
My father’s face turned rigid. “Sure fucking am. And I will be until I find your wife and you say your fucking vows.” He violently shook his head. “Make problems for me, and I won’t be picky about my selection.”
“Will you do the same with Seraphina?” I questioned.
Benny blew an upward breath.
“No, and watch your mouth.” My father’s finger was in my face again. “You know your role in this family. The male responsibilities are arranged marriages. Period. It won’t change with you. With anyone.Ever.” He scratched the side of his nose, gaining his composure. “And before you leave, the president wants to speak with you.”
“You have no idea the amount of damage that you’ve caused.”
A gleeful smirk spread across my face as I watched the president of the United States throw a baby-ass tantrum like someone had stolen his favorite binky.
He hurled a glass of whiskey across the makeshift office in thelaundromat. It was a business through which Antonio laundered money.
He allowed us to hold meetings with the president here because it was too risky elsewhere.
The glass collided with the wall, shattering, and reminded me of breaking the shower glass earlier with Blair.
Seeing President Byron lose his shit over the senator was comical. Any sane man would’ve just killed the senator and gone about his day.
Well, any man in my world.
The rest of the world, if the men couldn’t pull triggers easily, they paid us to do it.
President Byron slammed his hand on the rusted metal desk as he glued his eyes to Brooks and me seated in front of him. “Do you have any idea how this has hurt my campaign?” His face turned as red as a fucking tomato. “You saw how many people attended his funeral. His idiot fucking son’s death resonated with voters and boosted his popularity. The margins have slimmed.” His upper lip snarled. “The public feels bad for him.”
“I don’t feel bad for him,” I said from my chair, shrugging.
To further show my disrespect toward everyone, I propped my foot up on the desk and examined a hangnail on my index finger.
President Byron shot me a sharp, disapproving glare.
