Nina’s breath stopped for a second and she looked up at him slowly.
He looked irritated by the idea already, which almost made her laugh.
“For permission to marry me?”
He didn’t know the right word. “Or whatever y’all call it.”
“It’s called a blessing but same thing.”
“Permission…. Blessing. He’s going to say no regardless, but at least I did the right thing.”
She laughed, “Oh Lord.”
“You know I’m right.”
Whether she was pregnant or not, Jio still wanted to make an honest woman out of her.
Not because she needed his last name to be respectable. Nina Marcelle had walked into rooms with a name powerful enough to open doors long before he ever appeared in her life. She didn’t need saving, upgrading, or legitimizing by any man, but he still wanted her to have his last name.
Nina deserved his public devotion. She deserved to be covered during the money dress ceremony too.
Jio had no problem standing in front of God, her family, his family, and everybody else who thought they had an opinion and say, without hesitation, that he belonged to her as much as she belonged to him.
Later, when the music softened and the reception spilled out into the lawn, they slipped away from the tent. They walked without saying much. Hand in hand and madly in love.
Nina leaned against him when they stopped near the water.
“You okay?” she asked.
The question had become their favorite thing to ask each other.
“I’m good.”
For once, she believed him.
He’d bought so much shit for Nina that there was only one thing left he hadn’t given her… and that was his last name.
SEVENTEEN
“I CAN TELL LIFE AIN’T WHAT IT SEEMS. BUT NO MATTER WHAT IT IS. I STAY TRUE TO MYSELF.” MEEK MILL
It wasn’t no bitch or hoe inside of Jiorgio Gotti III. He feared nothing or no one. He’d stared down men twice his age without so much as a glimmer of fear.
He’d brokered million-dollar deals before breakfast, settled disputes that would've started wars, and survived a life where hesitation could get you buried before sunrise. Yet somehow, standing on the first tee box of East Lake Golf Club with a borrowed set of clubs resting against his shoulder had his stomach doing something it hadn’t done in years.
Flipping over like a fuckin’ gymnast.
He adjusted the collar of his navy polo for what felt like the tenth time before glancing toward the clubhouse where two members of his security detail stood far enough away to respect the privacy he’d requested but close enough to intervene if necessary. Charles Marcelle had made one thing abundantly clear when he agreed to this meeting.
“Leave the circus at home.”
Jio had tried. Unfortunately, life no longer afforded him the luxury of going anywhere alone.
The crisp morning air carried the scent of freshly cut grass and cigar smoke, sprinklers kissed the fairway in the distance.Men with gray hair and seven-figure portfolios laughed over whiskey before noon as golf carts zipped across perfectly manicured greens. It was a world Jio had only ever seen from a distance. One where power wore khakis instead of tailored suits and conversations worth millions happened between swings instead of boardroom tables. Another man probably would be inspired to be invited to a clubhouse that came with a hundred thousand membership fee, but Jio hated every minute of this shit.
He’d never understood a sport that rewarded moving so damn slow. Patience was a virtue and he never had any.
“Are you going to hit the ball or admire the scenery all day?”
