Page 117 of Sins of the Orchid
“Don, thank you for meeting me so early,” Puccini greeted me. The last time we met, the Don title was a painful reminder of my father’s loss. Today, it was a recognition. My responsibilities had grown since my father’s death, though I carried the majority of them even before the murder.
“Mr. Puccini,” I greeted him. “Please just call me Santi,” I reminded him.
“As you wish.” He bowed his head to the side. My father had used him for years, so I saw no need to change our lawyer. Though he was older, I assumed he’d eventually transfer the reins to his eldest son.
We sat down and he opened his briefcase, laying out the documents.
“After I transferred all your father’s assets to your name, per his Will instructions, I did one last inventory.” His voice was tentative. The Puccinis have been our family lawyers for as far back as our presence in New York. At least the last three generations. They were loyal and sharp, and that was all that mattered to me. “As discussed, you are your brother’s main financial executor until his twenty-fifth birthday, upon which time you will present him with the transfer of the home of your choosing along with his portion of inheritance and…” he paused, hesitancy in his eyes. I already knew all that so there must have been something else that worried him. “And the marriage contract.”
I frowned at his last comment, disbelief in my eyes. I knew about all my father’s wishes and the marriage contract was never one of those. He’d never dictate to either Adriano or me whom to marry.
“What marriage contract?” I questioned him, a bad feeling pooling in the pit of my stomach.
“I apologize.” He bowed his head again, nervous energy practically streaming from him. He was in his fifties, and I stared at the crown of silver hair. “It has been so long, and the document was stored in a separate location per your father’s instructions.”
He handed me a piece of paper that undoubtedly showed my father’s signature. My eyes skimmed over the words. The moment I saw Amore’s name and the second signature, my entire world tilted. Fire ignited through my veins and blood buzzed in my ears. Rage rushed through every cell of me, burning everything in its wake while a red haze blurred my vision.
It cannot be! Fuck no!I fucked up by sleeping with Amore Bennetti.
I stared at the words blurring my vision, a single piece of paper that changed everything in one breath. Fucking letters danced in front of my eyes, dangling a woman that would now never be mine. That had never been mine for the taking. I was prepared to kill whoever she had been promised to, but I never counted on that man being my brother.
My very own fucking brother!
Something poisonous slithered through my veins, the burning anger searing through my blood. The images of her naked in my villa, in the pool, in my bed flashed in my mind, and I could practically taste her on my tongue even now.
And now… Adriano would get to see it.
She is mine!
God help me, but at this very moment, I contemplated killing my own brother. He couldn't have her. He wouldn’t dare touch her, feel her smooth skin, hear her moans. She wasn’t his; she was never his. That notion alone hit me like a punch to the chest. It felt like a goddamn heart attack.
I couldn’t fucking handle the idea of Amore and Adriano. This red fury inside me threatened to burn this motherfucking city to the ground. Grinding my teeth together at the knowledge that she’d never be mine again, a bitter taste filled my mouth, and something dark and unwanted slithered through my veins.
Tension crept through the office, and I could practically taste it. So could Puccini because he practically shook in his pants with fear. Fucking let him! Maybe I should start by killing him and burning the contract to all hell.
“Is the marriage contract amendable?” I asked, my voice detached while my heart pounded hard.
Seven years! My father and her father agreed on tying our two families together seven years ago. Seven fucking years and not a peep.
“No.”
One answer. One contract. It changed everything.
CHAPTER40
Santino
The gunshot echoed through the yard, Bennetti staring at me like I had lost my mind. I fucking did, motherfuckers. A string of curses left Luigi’s mouth, but his anger didn’t match mine. My rage was strong enough that I thought I’d choke on it. This felt worse than losing my father or my mother. The anger burned in my throat, in my chest, and my heart, while my vision blurred with a red haze.
“What the fuck, Russo?” Luigi spat, gripping his hand. I shot that lying motherfucker in the goddamn hand. He should be kissing my boots for not shooting him in his damn head. Everyone knew you didn’t fuck with a Russo, yet that rash fucker kept the name from me.
The air was so brittle with tension it could snap at any moment. These kinds of rash moves got you killed. But somehow dying seemed better than losing Amore. Suddenly, killing all the Bennetti’s, except for Amore, sounded like a very good idea.
Unamendable contract. My pà knew better than to agree to a contract that could not be broken. After all, Russos were known for always protecting our own interests and making deals that could be broken if reason called for it.
Well, the reason fucking calls for it.
Puccini indicated only the signatories of the contract could amend the contract. Papà was dead and Savio… I would fucking change his mind. His no would become yes. If I had to beat it out of him.
