Page 19 of Fatal Sloth

Does a hangover cause hallucinations?

I couldn't have heard him right.

"A what?" That is all I can force out.

He calmly states, "It was outlined in the contract you signed. Did you sign a contract without reading it?" Sounding lighter as he speaks again. "The marriage is completely authentic now, not just a show for outside appearances. You are expected to treat her as your wife and soon-to-be mother of your children. I’ll let the Russo’s know that the Morelli heir will be here much sooner than expected. Enjoy your honeymoon, son." He laughs as he hangs up.

I’m a fucking fool. I didn't read the contract and definitely didn’t see the baby clause. He knew I hadn't read it. Everything that day happened so fast. Peter was shaking her, and I couldn't watch that, so I pulled her away. I tried giving her an out. But when I saw the look of fear in her eyes, I couldn't say no. I was hoping she would.

As I was leaving the brunch, Dad took a second away from passing Mia around like a show pony and told me to sign the contract, making the deal official. I signed in a rush to get the fuck out of there.

"Pull over," I bark, the urgency in my voice leaving no room for argument.

No sooner does Enzo bring the car to a halt than I wrench open the door and empty the contents of my stomach onto the pavement.

Peeking over the passenger seat, Enzo asks cautiously, "You alright?"

He knows better than to step out of the car. I don’t need him hovering around playing nursemaid.

“Never better,” I mutter, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I slump back into the seat.

His eyes linger on me, but I don't need his damn sympathy.

“Just drive,” I grunt, staring out the window, hoping to avoid any further conversation.

As the car lurches forward, I can't shake off my dad's words, replaying in my mind like a relentless drumbeat. The weight of this fucked-up situation settles on my chest like a ton of bricks, threatening to overpower me.

I think I might throw up again.

How the hell did I miss that damn clause? I wonder if Mia knows about it. Mia, the woman I'm legally bound to—for now, at least. It's my own damn fault for not reading the fine print, but it was early in the morning, and the day had already started as a shitstorm.

Did my dad manipulate me?

Fury simmers beneath my skin, the anger boiling inside me threatening to spill over—or maybe it's just the nausea creeping back in. I'm not sure of anything anymore. How the hell do I get myself out of this mess? I can barely take care of myself, and now I've got a whole damn mafia to run, a wife to deal with, and apparently, a kid to raise?

Well, this just escalated real fucking quick.

I feel Enzo's eyes on me again, but he's treading lightly, probably because he's never seen me like this before.

"What the hell was that? Wedding night jitters or did you have too much to drink last night?" he finally asks, unable to keep silent any longer.

Either he missed that whole heir part, or he's just not fazed by it. "It was your idea to go drinking last night," I mutter back, staring out the window, not wanting to discuss this anymore.

"Bro, you laid in bed for a week straight. You needed a night out. Plus, it was your bachelor party. I didn't know you were going to get so fucked up that I had to come over and wake you up today. I nearly dressed you myself," he says, his eyes flicking back to the road.

Remembering earlier today, Enzo bursting into my room, suit in hand, and getting me to the church just in time, well, almost in time. It's this fucker's fault; I could have overslept and avoided this whole fucked up nightmare.

I chuckle at the thought of Dad's reaction if I didn't show up at all. Forget the title. He’d kill me himself. I know it's not Enzo’s fault. Deep down, I'm pissed at myself for getting into this situation. I know I fucked up, and I should probably go home and talk to Mia about this, but I can't contemplate any more of this new life. I lost control of everything within minutes. Add one hell of a hangover to that, and I can't focus on anything. Maybe beating the shit out of a few fuckers who think they can mess with the Morellis and having a drink after will calm me down. I need a drink after today, maybe ten.

Coming up to a stop, he glances my way again, more cautiously this time. "Where to, boss?"

"The loading docks, we still have to figure this out," I grunt, relieved to have something to occupy my mind. "And then we’re going to Diavolo," I add just as the car moves forward again.

We drive in silence, neither of us speaking again until we get to the docks, which leaves me stewing over today's events.

As Enzo parks the car, I find myself lost in thought, my gaze drifting out the window. My phone sits aimlessly in my hand, my thumb idly tapping the screen, scrolling through messages and notifications, though I'm not paying attention to any of them. It's just a way to distract myself from the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me.

Stepping out of the car, we head towards the south side of the docks. This side is secluded from the main street, allowing a discreet entrance for shipments to come in unnoticed. Unnoticed until they started coming up short, and men began disappearing. Telling me right away that this isn’t the cops or FEDs, this has to be a fucking rival. They’ll be sorry when I find out who is behind this.

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