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“Let me speak to Mr. DuBois. I’m sure one of the other guards can babysit Cami for the day.”
I clear my throat. “I’m asking my father to be my best man. You understand, right?”
“Of course. I’m just fucking happy you met the love of your life. You deserve it, Nikolai.”
Emotion washes over me. “It means a lot coming from you.”
“Listen, I have to go, but I’ll be in touch regarding Sunday. What time is the wedding?”
“Ten in the morning.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you soon.”
We end the call, and tucking my phone in my pocket, I call out, “Baby, I’m heading over to my parents' place. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Okay,” she answers absentmindedly from where she’s lost in her painting.
I leave our home and walk toward the main house, my mind going over all the arrangements for the wedding ceremony. I want it to be nothing short of perfect for Abigail.
My phone starts to ring, and pulling the device out of my pocket, I see Emilio Sartori’s name flashing on the screen.
Fucking bastard.
“What do you want?” I answer, unable not to growl.
“I received the invitation to the wedding,” the asshole mutters. “You’re not wasting any time putting a ring on my daughter’s finger, are you?”
I suck in a deep breath to keep calm, not wanting to give the fucker the satisfaction of knowing he’s upsetting me.
“My wife and I won’t be attending,” he informs me.
Just like I thought, he’s too fucking cowardly to meet me on my turf. It’s the only reason I sent the invitation.
“There’s no way I’m setting foot on the Vetrov island,” he sneers. “I’m not that fucking stupid.”
I let out a chuckle. “I’m sorry to say you won’t be missed.”
“I’ll arrange an extravagant celebration here in Italy where all the mafia and bratva families can witness the union of our two families.”
I let out an overly patient sigh, “Yeah, I’m sure you can’t wait to flaunt that you’re connected to the Vetrovs through marriage. Do you even care about Abigail?”
“Of course,” he chuckles. “The hundred million in my bank account is a welcome bonus.”
Fucker.
“After the wedding celebration in Italy, I’ll make sure you see her as little as possible,” I vow.
“Good. It means I won’t have to look at you.”
The call ends, and I stop to close my eyes so I can calm down before entering my parents’ house.
I can’t wait until Emilio Sartori is lying on his deathbed so I can tell him everything he’s ever worked for will belong to my and Abigail’s oldest child.
His life’s work will belong to a Vetrov.
Heading inside the house, I hear everyone talking in the kitchen.
Mom’s head snaps up when I enter. “Oh good, you’re here. Do you want butterflies or doves to be released after you’ve said your I-dos?”
