Page 25 of Ruthless Lord
Now they’re offering me the chance to see if that wasn’t just a one-time thing.
Just got to walk down the aisle with the poor girl.
“I can’t do it,” I say, throwing down the drink. It burns as it hits my belly. My knees crack as I get to my feet.
Adriano’s face is set in a cold stare. He doesn’t get mad, not like some other men in his position might. No, Adriano only calculates and then applies the right amount of pressure needed to get his way.
“This is an order from your Don. I assume you don’t need me to make threats. You know how this works.”
“Be smart here,” Harrison adds. “Charlie will make a good wife, and imagine the opportunities you’ll have as a member of my family.” He smiles at me, slimy and smooth. I suspect I won’t enjoy being anywhere near the brood of vicious snakes he calls family.
“I apologize, Don Adriano, but I’m turning down the promotion. I respectfully decline your offer to become a Caporegime.”
That surprises him. Adriano sits back, eyebrows turned low in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“The Capo life isn’t for me.” I turn away from the two powerful men. “But I’ll marry the girl. That might be alright.”
I limp toward the door as Adriano laughs. I figured he’d find that amusing. Harrison seems more confused than anything else, but that’s fine.The old bastard wouldn’t get it anyway.
Adriano knows though. He understands the sort of man I am.
I’d wilt as a Capo. Too much responsibility. That’s not my style.
But marrying the girl?
That might be fun.
Chapter 7
Charlie
There are things I’m supposed to do. Like riding horses. I’m a rich girl, my grandfather invested in a stable, and all that means I’m supposed to be into equestrian stuff.
But I hate it. Horses smell bad and half the time they’re one surprising sneeze away from kicking your face into a paste.
I’m supposed to go shopping. I have Daddy’s money, so why not spend it on fancy consumer goods?
But designer clothes are boring. All they do is sit in my closet until I put them on my body. Then I forget about them again.
These activities are expected of a girl like me, and I still hate them.
I’m good at pretending though. I can smile all day long, talk about magazines and saddles, compare heels and breeds with the best of them, all the while absolutely hating every second of it.
That’s why it only takes three nights before I go slinking back to the warehouse.
I can only hide behind stable doors and dressing room curtains for so long. Eventually, I need to go back to reality.
For me, it’s not even about the fights.
I could take them or leave them. Sometimes they’re exciting, but most of the time it’s just a bunch of sweaty, steroid-enhanced meatheads pummeling each other with all the finesse of a sledgehammer.
Nothing beautiful there.
What I love is the crowd and the action.
I love watching the movement of money through the gambling pits. I can almost feel the moods shift between bouts and moments later, I watch those feelings reflected in the bets people are making.
I love watching the orchestrated dance of the staff as they aggressively cater to every single need, want, and desire, regardless of how expensive and inconvenient.
