“Cesare, your eldest son, Lorenzo, will marry my eldest daughter, Dáire," Ronan Delaney says to my father with way too much fucking happiness.
My father nods. "Agreed."
Just like that, I am to be married.
I don't react. I've been trained my entire life not to react, and that training holds now the same way it holds when I'm across a table from a man pointing a gun at me. I keep my face neutral, my breathing steady, and give nothing away.
I'd rather not marry Dáire Delaney if I had the choice, but I don't have a choice, it’s a done deal.
The reports I've received about Ronan's eldest daughter haven't been particularly flattering, but reports are just that. Reports. I'm willing to keep an open mind.
Ronan leans back in his chair.
"My eldest, Dáithí will marry Olezka’s second daughter, Odessa."
Olezka nods once. "Agreed."
"And your eldest Daniil will marry Cesare's oldest daughter, Elisabetta."
That gets my attention, not because the match is surprising, but because I know my brothers aren't going to like it. Still, if my sister has to marry someone, Daniil Morozov isn't the worst option available. He's nothing like his father, and he's certainly nothing like his reckless brother.
The discussion continues.
"My oldest daughter, Mila, will marry Miller King," Olezka says.
Prior looks like he'd rather be anywhere else, but eventually inclines his head. "Fine."
The room settles after that, all the deals made, and the marriages agreed.
The happiest man at the table is Olezka Morozov. The Pakhan has managed to marry off three of his children in a single meeting. My father and Ronan only managed two each. The East Street Kings come out of it best, only one of them is walking away with a spouse.
The conversation shifts to timelines, venues, announcements, and a dozen other details nobody can seem to agree on. Thirty minutes later, the bosses are still arguing over dates. Thankfully, any delay is better than none. The only good thing about the conversations is that the weddings are to take place next year, if not the year after.
The meeting concludes and everyone says their goodbyes, but before I can get to my feet, my father gives me a look that tells me to stay seated. Once everyone else has left, it's just my father, Ciro, Giovanni, and I remaining.
"You have questions," our father says, his brow raised as though he's challenging us to dare question him.
Ciro speaks first, he has never been good at staying quiet when something matters to him. "Elisabetta is eighteen." She’s his twin, he’s extremely protective of her. While he’s close to me and is training to become my right-hand, no one means more to him than his twin, Elisabetta does.
Our father inclines his head in acknowledgment. "She is."
"You're going to force her into a marriage with a man she doesn't know," Ciro practically hisses and I tense, unsure of what's about to happen. It's very rare that my brothers or I challenge our father.
"I'm going to ensure this family survives," our father says, his voice is flat, a sign that this isn't up for debate. "That requires sacrifice. From all of us."
Ciro's jaw tightens, he doesn't push it further, he knows better than to challenge our father further.
Giovanni looks at my father carefully. "And us? Will we be next?"
"In time," Cesare says. "For now, the priority is Lorenzo's wedding. The engagement will be announced publicly. You will all present a united front." His eyes move to me. "You understand what this is."
"I understand," I say.
He holds my gaze for a moment, as though he's looking for some sort of anger or disapproval. He taught me better than to show any.
"Good," he says. "That's all."
We leave the room and I take a deep breath. This is what is needed in order for me to cement myself as my father's right hand. I don't want to become consigliere, I want to be his underboss and when the time is right, I want to become Boss.
