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“You’re right. I’m sorry. I would never want another man to tell me how to handlemywife. We will see you tomorrow, and we look forward to the joining of our families. Goodbye, Valiente.”
I grunt, annoyed, and end the call on my dashboard screen.
How fucking dare he? Now I know my wife is submissive and meek. A weak woman. Which I cannot have if she is to be mine. Men all over are looking for a way to get in, and if anyone or anything looks too afraid, they just might get in and use that weakness for their gain. The only thing that brings me hope is the fact that he said there’s a bit of snark to her. Which means there is a small flame I can maybe fan into something wilder, something stronger.
But what really pisses me the fuck off, another man simply trying to tell me what to do, that makes me see red.
Hardened and without mercy, I will not let anyone or anything break me down or boss me around. Ever.
* * *
Stepping off my private jet,I button my suit jacket and put my sunglasses on, blocking the mid-morning glare. Giulio stands beside me, scanning the area around us as the black SUV pulls up. He steps in front, opens the door, and gestures for me to enter. Sliding in, I pull out my phone and check the status back in Seattle.
“They found the shipment. I need to focus on today and some of the wedding shit. You handle the perpetrators. I want proof. Pictures. Names and burial coordinates,” I tell him, now moving on to look at the emails pertaining to my underground club, Dante’s. I run a sex club, very elite with a high price tag. My members are mostly from the outfit, but there are lots of Seattle businessmen who own gold memberships. Every night is completely booked solid, and the line to get in to the upstairs nightclub—a front to keep the men in uniforms away—is wrapped around the building. Not that it would matter, because I have a lot of them on my payroll.
I answer the emails, then peer out the window, waiting for Giulio to finish the call I asked him to make.
“They are working on it, boss,” he confirms, ending the call.
“Good. What’s the status with the new models they’re producing in Spain?” I ask, referring to the new guns. These are custom works, never been made before, and I will be the only one to have access to them. I’ve spent so much time behind the scenes, dealing with the missing shipments, henchmen fucking up, and more, that I haven’t been on the front line. I worry some of my men think I’ve gotten soft. This thought alone infuriates me, because I can’t let the men who fall under my command think they can slip through the cracks or let things happen that shouldn’t.
After my travels and this arrangement are finalized, I can get back to work, leading the men the way they need to be. Which will be with a quiver in their knees and a chill in their spines. If my men don’t fear me, then the other outfits will see me as the weak link. This is not the fate that will make me fall.
“They are in the early stages of mass production, but the samples were sent.”
My jaw tightens.“How much time will that take?” I growl.
“Six months, sir,” he replies, and there’s no mistaking the fact that he knows how this is going to make me react.
“Six fucking months! In that amount of time, anyone within the chain could break the nondisclosure agreement. Others will be onto it, and they could gather more buyers. These are my creations! I fucking designed them, and they could be exposed for all other outfits to fucking copy. They will bring in more money than any other weapon we trade. Did you tell them I can call off the deal at any time?” I bark.
“Yes. They said they will do their best to put a rush on the production line. They promised they wouldn't sell to anyone else, sir.”
I glare at him and, through gritted teeth, give my response. “First, the shipment of imported cocaine was taken. Now, you’re telling me there is going to be a long waiting period for the weapons I paid to produce and be done with already? What the fuck is going on, Giulio? If I focus on the wedding for one fucking week, will my outfit fall apart?”
If my looks could kill, he would be dead. He is supposed to pick up where I leave things in the interim when I’m needed elsewhere.
“You’re right, and I take responsibility for this, sir. If anymore shipments go missing, you can take my hand as payback. I shouldn't have let this happen.” He lays himself on the chopping block, like any well-trained underboss would.
Taking a deep breath, I try to calm myself down, because at this time, Giulio is the only one I can trust completely, and I need him focused. If he runs around like a chicken with his head detached, it will get messy.
The rest of the drive is silent, and Giulio makes no more attempts to talk to me. He knows what I need from him, and I trust he will get shit done.
He clears his throat. “Boss, we’re here.”
We pull up through the security gates and up a gravel road, leading to a large mansion. It’s an almost Southern style, with white columns lining the steps, and gray shutters. Funny, since we’re in upstate New York. You can tell they made it look as wholesome as they could. Old-money-looking, versus dirty money. Keep enemies at bay and neighbors unsuspicious. The house is surrounded by a twelve-foot wrought-iron fence, curling at the top to give a polished look.
The front door opens when we pull up, and Giuseppe steps out first, followed by his wife. He gives a nod, and Isabelle greets me with a smile, then from behind them, I see Salvatore and Lorenzo appear, the sons. I expect Salvatore to give some acknowledgment of our history, but he ignores it more than his father does.
All right, that's fair. Play it cool; don't draw attention to the past. How fitting that he doesn't see how that draws more attention to what lingers between us. The secret they think they hold. But the truth… I already know it. It's spelled out so clearly. In fact, it’s ingrained in me and will be my driving force in this marriage. Payback is a bitch, and I’m the reaper who will deal it out with great pride.
Lastly, the blonde-haired, brown-eyed daughter with the most miserable look a woman could possibly wear appears, and that puts my attention back on the here and now. She doesn’t look at me, and I want to yell at her and demand she greet me with eye contact and respect, but we will save that for the day she becomes my property. I’ll break her into the perfect boss’s wife. This is a transaction, not a fairy tale or story that will progress into love. It is a business deal to keep the peace until I get my revenge.
That sweet fucking revenge.
However, I am a man. And I can appreciate the assets that will be mine. She is beautiful. She is curvy in all the places a male like me appreciates—full, wide hips, palm-filling breasts, and a thick waist that will overflow my hands as I control her body. Aware that I’m zoning out and becoming hard instead of focusing on the task at hand, I make my way up the steps, taking a mental note that she still won’t look at me. Maybe it’s not defiance I’m sensing, but more accurate, misery. Arranged marriages tend to have that effect.
“Nico—” Giuseppe starts, but I quickly interrupt him.
