Chapter One, Pressure Cooker #2
Ah, there it was. Casual homophobia, straight from the How to be A Shithead Handbook. It was as stereotypical as them all smoking cigars and not knowing how to make their miserable wives’ orgasm.
A titter of laughter, like knives on metal, rippled through the room and grated me far more than their presence had.
My grip tightened on the chair, my nails digging into the wood.
Every instinct in me was screaming to rise, shout, tell them to go to hell as I pulled the gun from the back of my blue jeans.
I wanted to rip out their filthy fucking tongues for the disrespecting way they spoke of my brother. But not here, in the house my little siblings were playing, and not now I was barely starting my role.
One misstep on my part, and it would go and domino into ruin. Everything Giovanni struggled to create would come crashing down and none of us would ever see a light that shined anything close to victorious.
All I had to do was play nice until the vultures at my table fucked off back to Italy and left me alone to do things as I pleased.
“If you’re so worried about her age,” Dante drawled, “there’s another option.
” He leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes gleaming with malice.
“Some of your sisters are just as eligible. Would you prefer Sergei to marry one of them instead? He’s just turned eighty, and you know he’s always liked them young. ”
Someone needs to take away Sergei’s Viagra. Those poor girls don’t deserve that.
The air left my lungs. My chest tightened, the words reverberating in my mind like the tolling of a funeral bell.
Arabelle. Aurora. The names of two of my eligible sisters were echoing within me, bringing their faces to my mind in flashes.
They were innocent. Vulnerable. Belle was in her early twenties, sure. But she was fragile.
And Rory had only just turned seventeen and was picking colleges out like she had a real future, anywhere but here in Cherry Hill. In the cesspit city she’d been dragged up in like the rest of us had.
I couldn’t ruin their lives more than our father had. I needed to help them feel like they had some semblance of control.
With a growl, I squeezed my fists under the table, my nails digging into my palms to stop myself from hitting out.
“No,” I said, the word a razor cutting through the air. “That is not what I meant.”
Dante smirked, leaning back in his chair, as if he’d won.
“Then shut your fucking mouth,” he said coldly.
“This is happening. Your father sealed this deal, and you will not back out of it just because he’s gone.
You have no wife, and Sergei offers us one.
There is no discussion here unless you want to give up one of your sisters. ”
The walls seemed to close in, the room shrinking under the weight of their stares, as my uncles loomed over me like predators circling a wounded animal. Their faces were hard, anticipating my last words.
I was left to swallow very little of an alternative but to take in all that BS they’d been forcing down my throat.
“Arabelle just got out of that institution. She’s not fit for marrying anyone yet.” What wasn’t said between us still hung heavy in the air. Weeks. That was how long she had to breathe—to get her footing from outside those walls that our father had locked her into last year.
She wasn’t free just because Giovanni had gotten her released.
Not really. Our uncles made it clear when they insisted she stay out of sight, as if somehow the damage to her reputation might stain theirs.
However, to them, she was a liability at the moment, not an asset.
That made her safe, even with their threats.
For a little while until the whispers about her being unstable died down.
Or someone who didn’t care about her tendencies came along to bag a De Luca woman like she was some sort of fucking prize.
“I guess I can call Aurora downstairs, then.” Marcello smirked at me bright enough I wanted to cut his face off. “Though I do think it is a waste to give her to Sergei. If she wasn’t my niece I’d have loved to marry her—she’s such a feisty little thing.”
Bile burned in my throat. Not just because of his sickening thoughts, but because of the harsh reality of which of my sisters were most at risk.
Rory didn’t have the same things keeping her a little safer that Belle had.
If the right deal came along, they wouldn’t hesitate to put her on the table like a bargaining chip, despite her age.
She’d fight them—she was strong-willed and sharp—but I’d seen what happened when my sisters tried to stand up for themselves.
I thought of Idalia again. The first of my sisters I had not been able to save.
Eighteen, too beautiful for her own good, she’d been married off to a man nearly twice her age.
A ‘strategic alliance’ with the Cartel, they’d called it.
She’d smiled through it, her chin high, her spine straight.
But I’d seen her hands clenched at the reception, how her bright green eyes had darted for the nearest exit, like she’d already been planning her escape. I hadn’t been able to stop it.
Nor had I done shit in the months since.
“No.” I swallowed down my anger. “Rory can wait until she’s older. I’m the one who gets to decide when she’s suitable and I’m not letting her out of this house without finishing high school—no De Luca woman will be thought of as stupid under my watch.”
It was the only reason I could think of at the moment. Saying that it was not the eighteen hundreds and women were more than breeders, and homemakers was redundant. None of the men in this house had enough brain cells to count to ten, let alone comprehend human rights and feminism.
“Then shut up. You’re wasting too much of my evening with this nonsense,” Dante’s eyes burned into mine.
“This family has lost too much in too little time. Raphael’s dead.
Giovanni’s dead. Your father’s dead. Three men gone in less than a year.
And you’re sitting here questioning me when I’m trying to keep this family from falling apart? ”
I froze. He said their names like they were numbers on a ledger, statistics in a game of power.
But they weren’t just names—they were my brothers, my father.
I didn’t love Giorgio. If anything, I’d wished my father dead from my birth.
But his death had still left chaos in its wake, and I was playing grieving son.
My brothers weren’t even in the equation, and I knew anything churning in my brain would show on my face, and I couldn’t afford that to happen.
Dante continued. “You’re the last one standing, Emilio.
Vincente is already married to that Bratva bitch.
Your other brothers are still children. Do you understand what that means?
You don’t get the luxury of saying no. Not to this.
Not to anything. This family needs alliances and you will help us get them. ”
“Soldiers.” Marcello added. “We need soldiers.”
I wondered what they needed soldiers for. Until I realized I didn’t care. If they went to war with someone, I would pull back all of my family, and we would watch as the rest of the people who shared our tainted blood got themselves slaughtered over nothing.
Marcello carried on talking. “Sergei Romanov is handing it all to us on a silver platter. You think you’re too good for his daughter? Grow up.”
My nails dug deeper into my skin, but I forced myself to stay silent. Once again, I stared at the whiskey glass in front of me, seeing the way the melting ice cubes spun in circles. My reflection wavered on its surface, distorted enough to make my beard look insane, but just as pissed off as I was.
I didn’t want to be the man sitting here; the man agreeing to such things, but I didn’t have a choice. Not yet. Not until I was sure I could fix everything and nothing would blowback onto the secrets I kept.
“Your sisters are safe,” Salvatore cut in, his voice softening just enough to mock me. “But you keep pushing this, keep making it harder than it needs to be, and maybe they won’t be. Perhaps we will have to take the choice out of your hands and do what is best for the family.”
The threat was as clear as crystal. I pried my grip loose, laying my hands flat on the table instead.
It didn’t matter that my palms stung or that the knot in my stomach pulled tighter as I fought back the urge to fight.
Just like I’d been doing since I was a kid and knew that hitting my father wouldn’t help anyone.
They couldn’t see that. They couldn’t see anything.
“Fine,” I said, my voice hoarse but even. “I’ll do it.”
Instantly, I felt cold; sick to my soul, like I was giving up a piece of myself I could never retrieve.
I knew marriage would lead to them piling on the request for heirs like they had with my younger brother Vincente, and that was not even something I could comprehend. I’d marry the poor Romanov girl, but like hell would I be touching her. Not now, not ever.
My uncles exchanged glances, their smug satisfaction almost palpable.
Salvatore leaned back in his chair, his grin now stretching across his face as he raised his glass in mock celebration.
Marcello smirked. Dante let out a long, satisfied breath.
Even the always-silent Angelo and Luka were murmuring their satisfaction from the other side of the table.
Breaking their quiet with mumbles about how smart I was being now that I was acting like an obedient sheep.
“Well, then, it’s settled. You’re going to marry Amara Romanov, and this family will finally get back on course.
” Dante tugged on his tie, the action slow enough that I knew it was again for show as he flashed the scar his black sheep son had given him.
The one I wished hadn’t missed its mark on his throat and Dante wore like a trophy of him being invincible.
Not a sign of how shitty a father he was.