“I saw pictures online,” Les said. “She’s stunning.”
“Good to know that while I’m scheduling my day in fifteen-minute increments, you somehow have the time to look up women on the internet.” I kept my voice dry to play off the fact that he was right. Plant or not, Fabiana was beautiful. Full cheeks, wide mouth, emerald doe eyes that appeared innocent.
But I knew better than most how deceptive appearances could be. To the world, Vita Ferraro was the perfect mother, but if anyone bothered to peel back her polished veneer, all they’d find was rot on the inside.
“She’s not your type?” Alessio asked.
“Of course she’s not,” Rom butted in. “You heard Mom talk about her. Fabiana’s by the book. Knows how to shut up and do as she’s told. Cosimo prefers women with a backbone.”
“Since when are you an expert on what I prefer?” I cracked my neck again, chasing away the irritation Rom’s little speech had sparked.
I didn’t really have a type. Not really. The reason Rom thought I preferred women with some backbone was because of the woman who’d been at my side for the last three years. Rom was the man in the family who uncovered everyone’s secrets, and yet somehow, after all this time, he still hadn’t uncovered mine.
In any case, he was wrong about Fabiana. She wasn’t a doormat. Sure, she’d come home when Messero summoned her, but she’d held her ground with me, even after she’d found out who I was.
I had always known that one day, when I became don, I’d have to take a wife and start a family. But over my dead body was I going to let Mother dictate who I married. She had spent my whole life trying to keep me under her thumb. When I was a boy, I was powerless. As a teenager, I began to rebel. By my early twenties, her strategy for getting to me evolved.
I guess if I did have a type, it was women who could be bought. And Mother had. She’d gotten all of them to talk. To spy, eavesdrop, and snoop through my shit.
Eventually, I got so fucking sick of it all, I set a one-date limit. That way, no one got too close. But I had to stop even that when I caught one of the women I’d picked up trying to get into my phone. My mother had studied my schedule and put her like live bait in a hotel bar she knew I’d be passing through.
After that, I decided it was time for some offense. I talked to Rosa and laid out my terms. She agreed. For three years, it worked. No matter how Mother tried to get to Rosa, she couldn’t.
I guess she got tired of failing and decided to find me a wife.
“The alliance makes sense,” Alessio said. “Especially with Morales leading in the polls. Have you gotten anything on him yet?” he asked Rom.
Carlos Morales was a guy running for mayor. He’d made it clear that his first agenda item if he won would be putting us behind bars.
“Not yet.” Rom took another sip. “His background is so clean it makes me sick.”
“If he wins the race, we’re in trouble.” Alessio removed the tie from his hair and redid it.
“He talks a big game, but let’s see how brave he’ll be once he’s in office,” I said.
“He’ll have to think twice about taking us on once we formalize our alliance with Messero,” Romolo said.
I glared at the bottom of my glass. The alliance itself made sense. Over the last few years, most of the other NY crime families had disappeared due to outside threats or infighting. By joining with the Messeros, we were buying ourselves longevity that had eluded all the other once-powerful families.
What didn’t make sense was Mother convincing Dad that marriage was the only way to do it. If I’d been allowed an opinion, I could’ve given them better options. Options that tied us to the Messeros through shared incentives, not a contract wrapped around my neck. But by the time I was told, the papers were already signed. Refusing outright was impossible. Dad was the don, and his word was law.
I tipped my head back and exhaled a heavy breath.Fuck. With Fabiana back in town early, Dad wasn’t going to tolerate anotherdelay to the wedding. I’d been kicking the can down the road for as long as I could, but now I could feel the walls closing in around me.
I had no choice but to make time to sort this out, once and for all.
Rom noted my empty glass and held out the bottle. “More?”
“No.” I placed the tumbler on the bench beside me. “I’ve got work to do.”
A knock sounded against the door. It was Tim, my butler. “Mr. Ferraro? You have a visitor.”
“Who is it?”
“Ms. Delgado.”
I looked down at my watch. We’d agreed to meet tonight, but she was early.
Rom arched a brow. “I thought you had work to do.”
