4
Sebastiano
”Another shipment was short, two crates this time,” Enzo rushes out the moment I slide out of the driver”s seat of my G-Wagon. He runs a hand through his jet-black hair that”s disheveled, like he”s been doing it a lot.
Striding toward the door of my office at Diavolo,I listen as my second in command continues to rattle off all the other issues that my men have reported.
I grunt, narrowing my eyes at him. He holds a position of power and should be able to manage some of this shit on his own, but somehow they”re my problems.
The Morelli family might have their fingers in legit ventures, but our roots are firmly planted in the traditional underworld dealings. From clubs to guns, we run the streets of Chicago, but no matter how many men I have, when something goes awry, it”s my ass on the line.
”Get Diego down to the docks tonight and keep his ass there until we figure out what the hell”s going on,” I growl, my tone leaving no room for debate. Diego”s a solid soldier. I trust him to dig up whatever fuckery”s been going on. Anyone dumb enough to cross us is going to regret it, mark my damn words.
With a curse, I slam my phone down, the sound reverberating through the room like a warning shot. Anger churns in my gut, threatening to burst out like a volcano. This isn”t what I need right now, but the last thing I need is Dad on my assabout things not going right.
Leaning back in my chair, I run a hand through my hair, trying to rein in the rage that”s boiling inside me. The air in my office is thick with tension, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface.
But when I glance out the window that overlooks the sprawling club below, a sense of calm washes over me. Tonight, I”ll deal with this bullshit. But for now, it”s time to unwind.
”Now that that”s settled, let”s go have a fucking drink,” I declare, nodding toward the VIP section. Enzo follows my lead, and we head for the couches that overlook the dance floor.
As we settle into the plush surroundings, I shoot a signal to the waitress, beckoning her over for drinks. The VIP lounge is like a sanctuary, shielding us from the prying eyes of the outside world. It”s a place where we can kick back and let loose without a bunch of nosy bastards poking their noses where they don”t belong.
The atmosphere”s electric, and the bass thumps like a relentless heartbeat, setting the tone for the night ahead. The VIP lounge is designed to be over-the-top, with lavish seating that screams luxury, adorned with leather upholstery fit for kings. The staff here know their place, stationed in this area to cater exclusively to our needs. They move like shadows, ensuring that every guest in this section is treated like royalty.
As I raise the glass to my lips, the amber liquid burns its way down my throat, igniting a fire within me. The women on the dance floor move like they”re auditioning for a music video, with their barely-there outfits that leave little to the imagination.
I”ll savor this moment of peace, knowing that chaos is just a heartbeat away.
The women around us are giving it their all to capture my attention, but I let myself be distracted, leaning back in my seat as Jessi tops up my drink. With each sip, I feel the tension melting away, replaced by a sense of temporary bliss.
I look over to tell Enzo not to stress that Diego will get to the bottom of this mess. Only to notice Enzo”s attention is already elsewhere, fixated on the woman on stage as she finishes her routine, rubbing her tits together like it”s some kind of art form.
Same old shit, different night. These women are like fucking clockwork, showing up every damn evening, hoping to catch my eye. Sure, they”re nice to look at, and who the hell doesn”t love a good pair of tits? But let”s be real. They”re as desperate as they come.
I”m a man with needs. I won”t deny that. But I”m not going to bend over backward for some random gold digger who thinks she”s hit the jackpot. If they come to me, if I”m drunk or horny enough, maybe I”ll let them suck or ride my dick. But that”s where it ends. No calls the next day, no give-a-fuck if they got off or not.
But they keep coming back for more like I”m an ATM or a trophy to be won. It”s the price I pay for being born a Morelli, I guess. And right now, I”m paying it in spades.
A booming voice shatters the silence, jolting me from my slumber. ”Sebastiano!” the gruff voice barks out, making my head pound even harder. I squint through the haze of sleep, trying to focus on the imposing figure standing at the foot of my bed. If this were a hit, I”d be dead already. But no, it”s just my dear old dad reminding me that sleeping past noon is a cardinal sin in the Morelli household. At sixty, the man still carries himself like he”s the king of the fucking world, dressed to the nines, always in a tailored suit. Exuding power and authority with every fiber of his being.
His olive skin and neatly groomed salt-and-pepper hair are a testament to his Italian heritage. ”What”s the matter with you?” I manage to groan out, squinting at him like a hungover mess.
”The matter is that it’s after two in the afternoon, and you’re still holed up in bed, wrapped in your damn slumber,” Dad practically bellows, his voice echoing off the walls.
He gestures to the empty liquor bottle on the floor with a disgusted grunt. ”Must”ve been a good night if she”s in your bed,” he adds, kicking the bottle for emphasis.
Still half-asleep, I muster a lousy excuse. ”I was up late, overseeing some business matters. Just taking the morning off for a little RR,” I mumble, hoping to avoid a lecture.
But Dad”s not buying it, his dark brown eyes boring into mine with disbelief. ”Work? This is what you call work?” he scoffs, nodding towards the woman still sleeping beside me. ”Does work involve partying till the early hours and bringing home random women?”
Did he really have to put it like that? And yeah, she did help me relax.
This isn”t home. I mean, sure, I own the place, but it”s not where I belong. It”s just a townhouse I keep in the city, close to Diavolo, so I crash here from time to time. It”s where I bring women, so they don”t know where I really live.
I glance at the woman beside me and give her a nudge. ”Time to go,” I mutter. She blinks, still half-asleep, but she knows better than to argue. With a sigh, she gathers her clothes and slips out of bed, making a hasty exit.
Fuck, I didn”t even catch her name. But hey, it”s not like I really care.
Dad”s voice cuts through the air, pulling me back from my thoughts. ”And relaxing? You call this relaxing?” His words hit like a punch to the gut. ”Wasting your life away in nightclubs and staying in bed till the afternoon? You”re a Morelli, not some purposeless stunad!”
Pacing like a caged predator in front of my bed, the tension in the room thickens with every step he takes. His disappointment only escalates in what he perceives as a lack of direction in life. My laid-back attitude has turned our relationship into a minefield.
The gravity of the family title bears down on him, evident in the furrow of his brow and the set of his jaw. He”s relentless, constantly pushing me to step up and prove myself. He wants me to dive headfirst into the family business, legal and illegal alike. But the thought of all that responsibility makes my skin crawl. He argues that if I don”t get my act together, I’ll end up like Uncle Gino or my mother—six feet under.
And while the big bad Don Antonio can manage anything, I don”t think he can handle losing another person so close to him. His fear that my current lazy behavior will get me killed and his passing the title to me will only put a target on my back. Dad claims I”ll never be successful if I continue on this path, let alone live through the first year if I don’t get it together.
It”s not like I”m doing nothing. I handle more than he gives me credit for. But that doesn”t seem to matter to him. The pressure to live up to our family”s legacy is suffocating. I know I”ve got what it takes if he”d give me the chance to prove it.
Dad leans in, his voice growing louder, more forceful. ”This can”t go on, Sebastiano!” He storms toward the door, but not before throwing one last grenade my way. “You”re the heir to this empire, not a nightclub regular! You”ve got responsibilities to la famiglia, dammit, and if you can”t handle them, I know who can.”
Exhaling harshly, ”I”ve got everything under control, Dad.” It”s a promise I”m not sure I can keep, but I”ll be damned if I don”t try. “I’ll get up early and do whatever you need me to do. Starting tomorrow…”
”Tomorrow, Elli Enterprises, 8:00 a.m.,” Dad says, his tone more of a command than a question.
Elli Enterprises is not only named after my late mother, Ellianna, but it was her brainchild. She was nothing less than a computer genius, her skills stretching far within the digital world, and with the foundation she built, it”s now one of the largest IT companies in the Midwest. She taught me everything she knew. And I was pretty good at it, but after she died, I couldn”t bring myself to the computer to code.
”I”ll be there,” I respond, trying to inject some conviction into my voice despite the lingering traces of sleep. Dad knows getting me downtown by 8 a.m. is damn near impossible, but I”ll prove him wrong.
Still not sure what is so important that I need to be there so damn early.
Dad seems unconvinced but nods, leaving the room with a heavy sigh, leaving me with his final thoughts replaying in my mind.
The family business is your responsibility, Sebastiano. It”s time you start taking it seriously. You”re the heir to this empire!
I sink back into my pillows, a headache already forming from his never-ending expectations.
Tomorrow should be fucking interesting.