Debauched Datura (Arizona Made Men #1)

Prologue

Rio

The brunette's tongue traces the shell of my ear while the redhead's hand creeps dangerously high on my thigh, and I'm thinking this might be the perfect way to end a Tuesday night…until I spot my father cutting through the crowd.

‘Pinche.’

I don't move. I don't push the women away or sit up straighter like some guilty teenager caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

I'm twenty-eight years old, and this is my club.

Well, technically it belongs to the family, but I'm the one who runs it.

I'm the one who turned this place from a mediocre money pit into the hottest spot in Phoenix.

Santiago Sanchez stops at the velvet rope separating the VIP section from the rest of the crowd.

The bass pounds through the floor, vibrating up through the leather couch, but somehow my father's silence cuts through it all.

He doesn't need to say a word and the rope is already being pulled back for him to enter.

"Ladies." His voice comes out smooth and controlled. "Leave us."

The brunette…Destiny? Destiny, I think, pouts her lips.

"But we were just getting to know…"

"Now."

That’s all it takes and they scatter, gathering their clutches and tottering away on heels way too high for their blood alcohol levels. I watch them go with a flicker of annoyance, then tip my glass toward my father.

"You know, a simple text would've worked. 'Hey, son, need to talk. Stop by the house.'"

He gives me an annoyed look as he lowers himself onto the couch across from me, unbuttoning his suit jacket with the precise movements of a man who's never rushed a day in his life.

"This couldn't wait for a text." He signals to one of the servers hovering nearby, and within seconds, there's a glass in his hand. "We need to discuss your future."

I snort, swirling the alcohol in my glass.

"My future's looking pretty good from where I'm sitting. Club's up fifteen percent this quarter. All our transports are running smoothly…"

"Marriage."

The word hits me like a bucket of ice water. I go still, every muscle in my body locking up even as I force my expression to remain neutral.

"What? I could have sworn you just used the M word and…"

"You heard me, Rio."

I set my glass down harder than necessary.

“I'm not getting married. We’ve discussed this before. I’m perfectly happy remaining single."

"You are." He says it the same way he might comment on the weather. Matter-of-fact and inevitable. "There’s a deal with the Manitellie family. Good stock makes for good heirs."

"Good stock?" A harsh laugh tears from my throat. "What is this, a fucking horse auction?"

"Watch your tone."

"Watch my…" I lean forward, elbows on my knees, fighting to keep my voice level even as rage bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest. "You can't be serious. This isn't the old country. We don't do arranged marriages anymore. That shit died with Abuelo."

"Your grandfather understood something you apparently don't," he says, something unreadable in his eyes.

"Alliances aren't built on handshakes and good intentions.

They're built on blood. On family. This family has ties both here and in Italy.

A marriage would cement our partnership for generations. "

"Then let Leo or Diego marry her."

"I cannot trust either of them with something like this. Their tastes are different."

“And mine aren’t?” I growl out and stand up.

“Sit down, son,” he says and it’s not a request.

I know what he means but it doesn’t make me any less pissed off. I'm the eldest son, sure, but I'm also the one who made it abundantly clear years ago that I would never…never…chain myself to one woman.

"Find someone else." I sit down and grab my glass again, draining it in one burning swallow. "I'm not interested."

"Your interest is irrelevant and you know it."

"You can’t be serious?" My voice comes out rougher than I intended. "You wan’t me to tie myself to some stranger who'll probably fuck the gardener the second I turn my back?”

Something flickers in my father’s eyes. Understanding, maybe. Or pity. I'm not sure which one I hate more.

"I said marry her. Have a few children. I didn’t say you had to be tied down.

I’m sure you guys can work out some sort of understanding.

Either way, this is happening. She will arrive next month.

You will meet her and you will court her appropriately.

” He sighs and looks around the club. “I’m sure you can go a few months without this. "

"And if I refuse?"

"You won't." He stands, buttoning his jacket with those same precise movements. "What you do after the wedding is your business. Treat her as a wife, treat her as a stranger…I don't care. But you will marry her. The arrangement is already made."

He's halfway to the stairs before I find my voice again.

"I won't love her."

He pauses and glances back over his shoulder with a smirk on his face.

“Don’t speak so soon, son. She’s quite beautiful.”

Then he's gone, swallowed by the crowd, leaving me alone in the VIP section with nothing but an empty glass and a mess in my head.

I signal for another drink, then change my mind and wave the server away.

The brunette and redhead are hovering at the edge of the ropes, clearly hoping for a callback.

Any other night, I'd crook my finger and let them distract me from whatever dark thoughts tried to surface. Right now, though, I’m too pent up so I sit in the darkness of my own club and make a vow to myself.

This girl, this Italian princess, she can have my name.

She can have the ceremony and the ring and whatever fairy-tale bullshit she's been promised but she will never have my heart. I don’t care how beautiful she is.

She'll get a husband in name only. A cold bed and an even colder shoulder, and if she doesn't like it?

She can leave. They always do anyway once they get what they want.

I flag down the server after all, order him to bring me the entire bottle, and flick my fingers at the two women practically panting for me behind the rope. They sway over to me and resume their previous positions and I lean back to enjoy what’s to come.

‘Might as well take advantage of my freedom while I have it.’