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“Simone, we need to talk.” Yolanda said after they’d left.
“I’m listening.” I moved over to where she stood, but Beni’s words were on repeat in my head. What did he know about us?
“Beniamino DeLuca is not something to play with. His father was ruthless and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. My suggestion is to let him buy you out, take what you have and add it to that, then start over.”
“I’m not throwing away all the work I’ve put into this,” I shouted, appalled at what she’d conceded as the answer.
“Normally, I’d agree. We’re talking about the Italian mafia. I know colleagues who have tried to put them away for various crimes and nothing ever sticks. Unless you have a new appetite for that kind of life, you need to get out while you can.”
“I’ll think about it. I get the feeling that even though he’s probably sketchy, he’s thorough. Everything is in my name, and if I were him, I’d keep it that way.” I sighed.
“You don’t think he’ll buy you out?” She raised her perfectly arched eyebrow.
“If he was going to, he would have already. I get the feeling that he isn’t. He mentioned partnership, not a buyout.”
“Very true. Well, is there something else that you’ll want me to take care of for today?” Yolanda asked.
“Keep reading over that contract so I can afford to pay you to get me out of this.” I chuckled, trying to find a silver lining.
“Will do.” She kissed my cheek as we hugged. “We’ll talk later.”
I nodded and went up to my office with Cara on my heels. I plopped on the couch and she moved around to my desk, then the refrigerator, and microwave. She gave me ibuprofen, my muffin, my cup of coffee, and a bottle of water.
“For your headache. Eat. I’ll be back in thirty minutes to check on you.”
I took everything from her and left me alone to wallow in my pity. I used the water for the meds, but then ate my warm muffin and drank my piping hot coffee. The only word that could describe how I felt right now was numb. I didn’t want to feel either, because if I did, I’d end up at Marcus’ house kicking his ass for the mess he’d made of my life.
Instead, I finished my breakfast and lie on the couch. Repeating today’s affirmation, I closed my eyes.
I am not made to give up.
I am not made to give up.
I am not made to give up.
Beautifully created man included, I wasn’t giving up on my dreams no matter how much Marcus had fucked me over. My determination to win was much too strong.
ChapterTwo
BENI
Pulling up to my father’s house, I loathed being here more than I should have. He had been the perfect example of what I didn’t want to be when I grew up. As kids, Massimo, my brother was my best friend. Two years younger, he looked up to me and I tried to protect him from the harshnesses of the world. Bullys, my father’s empire, and even the word no. If I could help it, he had whatever he wanted. Then Martina was born and we both put that same energy into her.
Time changed us in a way we were forced to accept. My father invested in me, making me his predecessor, and left Massimo to become one of his henchmen. He killed before me, learned the grittier parts of our life, and was pushed into the streets to thrive or die. I tried to reach him to let him know that it didn’t have to be that way. I’d rather him be my second but whenever I spoke to him, he became angry like I’d scorned him somehow.
I hated my father for the kind of man that he’d made him be. I hadn’t had it easy either, but Massimo took the brunt of the ugly version of what we do. Offering to take on some of that had gotten me scolded and isolated from my siblings more than once. Now, I barely spoke to Massimo unless I needed somebody that I could trust to handle something. Though my name sat as the head of this family, my father still had his hands in everything. That ended today and I knew he would fight me every step of the way.
Entering his house, I took mental pictures of it because it’d be the last time that I stepped inside it.
“Son.” My father Tommaso descended the spiral staircase slowly. His old age made him move at a declined rate and as he grew closer, I could see the rough years in every wrinkle. He’d outlived my mother by Martina’s age. She’d died during childbirth and it changed him, making him colder.
“Father.” I straightened my tie as I waited for him at the bottom.
“What was so important that you couldn’t talk to me over the phone?” He wheezed.
“We should sit.” There was no easy way to say this other than the cold truth.
“Sitting is for pussies. Spit it out, boy.”
