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I chug the entirety of my cognac and fix a second glass. “It won’t end with me. I’ve told you this.”
“And you have not taken a step to prove me wrong. You won’t be a thirty-one-year-old stallion forever. The mistake I made was marrying late, breeding late. You sons were not born ’til I wasforty-four, Gio.”
“Age doesn’t matter for men.”
“You’d think so—” He coughs over the phone. “But it does. You can’t be a fearsome leader the older you are. Look at me, still leading the family when I can’t go without an oxygen tank. I barely had a chance to mold you boys, to show you the ropes for you to take over. Prepare you to rule the family.”
He has a point. I know he does. For decades, Papa bucked tradition by remaining his own man. He never wed and started a family like most men in our lifestyle. That didn’t come until much further down the line when he realized he’d have no heir.
Nicola was a woman he’d met and liked enough to finally take the plunge. Our mama, she was fifteen years his junior, willing and waiting to pop out children for him. Giancarlo and I were born fraternal twins, two baby boys destined to be his heir whoever he should choose. Thirty-one years later, he’s still yet to do so.
“Don’t forget, we’re expecting to see you for Claro’s homecoming celebration,” Papa says.
I nod to no one but myself. “Of course, I’ll be there.”
“It would be pleasing to see a woman on your arm. Giancarlo’s already speaking ofproposingto Fiona.”
We hang up without me making any promises. I’m acutely aware my father is judging me. He’s comparing Giancarlo and me in all measures of life. Both involving our family organization and other metrics he believes his heir should have. One of those things is an heir to his heir. Something I have not produced; something Giancarlo will before me.
It’s not lost on me I could lose my chance at heir over this. But what can I say?
Love and romance have never been a desire. Women have only occupied brief spaces in my life for entertainment and gratification purposes. I’ve never seen myself as the family man.
Though for families involved in this lifestyle, love is rarely the main motivator. Those relationships and marriages are transactional like everything else in the world. Tit for tat. Give and take and vice versa. Nothing in this world is pure no matter what anyone wants to believe. There is no such thing as selflessness. Sacrifice is an idea in our heads, not a reality.
Even if and when I do wed, it’ll be just another transaction. Just a woman to have my sons. For that, she’ll be rewarded a comfortable existence for the rest of her life. Love won’t have a thing to do with it—it never had for my parents. Pa barely attended Ma’s funeral…
I shake these musings away as I down my second glass. The problems I put on the back burner when Papa called come back to me. Falynn’s stopped sobbing in the next room; the only sound coming from her is the occasional sniffle. Before I can even entertain the prospect of attending Uncle Claro’s homecoming celebration with a woman on my arm, I’ll have to deal with her.
And then it hits me. The crazy notion comes so suddenly, I question my sanity. It’s possibly the craziest idea I’ve ever had, but it might work. It solves my problem. It gives Falynn an out.
Third drink in hand, and another fixed for Falynn, I go into the living area. She’s curled up into a little ball on the sofa. Her stripper heels are on the floor. Any makeup she was wearing has been rubbed off her face, leaving mascara marks down her cheeks. Despite this, lips puffy and eyes red, she’s still beautiful.
I hold out the drink for her to take. “Cry any more and you’ll give yourself a headache.”
She turns her cheek to the drink. “Please…please just do it already.”
“Do what?” I set her drink onto the coffee table and sit down on the sofa opposite her.
“Kill me. Dispose of me. Whatever your type calls it.”
“How many times have I told you? I’m not going to—”
“Hurt me,” she finishes for me. “And yet you won’t let me go.”
“That’s because I need some insurance first. That you can be trusted,” I say smoothly, leaning back into the sofa. I nurse my drink in one hand and stretch my other arm out along the sofa’s spine. “After the little stunt you just pulled, you can imagine my trust in you is as low as ever. But I’m a forgiving man—and I want this to be beneficial for both of us.”
She groans. “I have no clue what you’re talking about! Please, just stop. My head hurts.”
“I can promise you I’ll let you go…but not now.”
“Then when? After I fuck you? Let’s get it over with!”
“After you’ve been useful to me, and I can be assured you won’t go back on our deal,” I interrupt with a cavalier air. I swallow some of my cognac and take my time continuing. She needs to calm the fuck down if we’re going to have a civilized conversation. “I will let you go with a handsome reward…and a ticket out of the country.”
“Out of the country?” Her gorgeous face screws up in distaste.
“That’s right. You can never return. But first you have to help me.”
