Page 12 of Fatal Sloth

"Come meet my wife, Karen, my daughter, Mia, or should I say your new fiancée?" Peter says the last part with way too much excitement.

"What the fuck?" My voice comes out colder than I intended, but what the fuck! "You're mistaken. I haven't selected a wife yet."

"I-I thought the deal was done," he stutters out, looking like he's about to shit himself.

"The what?" I growl, taking a step towards him, while he instinctively takes a step back. I get satisfaction in watching Peter retreat, knowing he's afraid of me, and right now, he should be.

Glancing over at the two women sitting on the leather couch nearly five feet away from me, I feel my anger boiling over.

One of them, the enhanced one, stands and extends a bony hand towards me, a fake smile plastered on her overfilled lips. This woman has had too much done to her face—can she even smile without something cracking? I ignore her hand before turning to my father, seething with rage.

"Plastic bitches don't do it for me. The deal is off," I remark coldly before turning on my heel, not sparing a second glance at the other woman behind her.

How in the fuck could he make this decision for me? The deal was that I would agree to this marriage, but I would get to choose who I marry from his list of acceptable women. My long strides eat up the distance as I walk out of his office, my father hot on my heels, but I don't stop. I need to get the fuck out of here.

“If you leave, you will never take the title!” he shouts as I’m ready to go down the stairs, stopping me in my tracks. It's the same fucking threat that coerced me into agreeing to this deal. Before I can even respond, he grabs my arm and drags me into the study next to his office. It is not as private as his office, but everyone knows not to come in here.

“Why do I need to be married to hold the title?” I shout at him as he shuts the door behind us.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he replies, “Because you need someone focused to keep you in line and on task.” He runs a hand through his thick black hair, eerily similar to mine. “You’re too careless to do this on your own. How can you handle the Cosa Nostra when you can't even get out of bed before noon?” he continues, frustration evident in his voice, his hand now rubbing his stubbled chin.

“Things happen at night, not during the day. Isn't it better that I am up and active at night rather than waking up at 6 a.m.?” I retort, glancing over at him. His tired appearance surprises me; the Great and Mighty Don Antonio Morelli looks more worn out than I've seen him in a while.

“You have to do both!” he nearly yells out, the frustration evident in his voice. “Don’t you understand that the businesses on the books are just as important? They keep the heat off our backs!”

“Yeah, yeah, so I work sun-up to sun-down so my new fucking wife can sit around all day and spend my money?” I retort bitterly, the mere thought of it grating on my nerves and making this marriage seem even less appealing.

“All women will spend your money, son. Besides, Mia Russo is a fine offer. She will make a great wife, give you an heir, solidifying our alliance between the families,” he continues, his voice heavy with resignation. And then comes the ultimatum, as expected. “If you decline this offer, I will pass the title to Nico.”

Nico.

The bastard who thinks he’s better than me.

I don't know who got in Dad's ear about the whole marriage thing. Nico is the one who needs an arranged marriage because he can’t get laid on his own. As for me, I don't have that problem, and he knows I'm against being tied down to one fucking woman for the rest of my life. Old-school Italians, like my father, don't believe in divorce, so whoever you marry is with you until death.

“The blonde looks like the Bride of Chucky. Pick someone else.” She's hideous. Nothing on her was real.

My father, trying to hold in his smile, responds, "That was Karen, Mia’s mother. Mia was the pretty, more natural one sitting down."

After the Bride of Chucky approached me, I never looked past her to see the other one. Karen looked young enough. At least she did under the pound of makeup and fillers.

"Karen didn't look much older than me. She has a grown daughter?" I ask incredulously.

Reigning in his smile, my father becomes more serious now. "Stepdaughter. Mia’s mother passed away when she was young."

Taking a deep breath to calm my inner turmoil, I straighten my jacket and turn towards the door. "Let's get this over with."

He still has a severe look, and I just know he’s going to hit me with more crap.

“Son, this is your engagement party. You will get married in two weeks."

Am I still sleeping because I think I just hallucinated? Did he just say what I think he did?

I release the breath I didn't know I was holding before he continues. "The wedding needs to happen quickly; we need the alliance with the Russo’s to remain—more shipments have been short. I need you to get to the bottom of this before it gets worse," my father declares, his voice carrying the weight of authority.

We run this city and have roots all over the state, not to mention our connections worldwide. Whoever is behind this has a death wish—a wish I will happily grant them when I find them.

The Russo’s have been in an alliance with our family since Uncle Gino was the don. They loyally followed and maintained their alliance with Dad when he took over.

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