5
Sebastiano
The clock on my dashboard taunts me as I pull up to the imposing Elli Enterprises high-rise, its sleek glass facade reflecting the morning sun. 8:27 a.m. flashes in red numerals.
Meh, close enough.
I step out of the car, straightening my blazer against the chilly morning breeze, and stride toward the entrance.
Inside, the lobby”s all polished marble and chrome, like some fancy fucking palace. The sleek elevator doors stand directly to the left of the main entrance. Elton John”s ”Tiny Dancer” plays from the elevator speakers as I step inside. Mom loved Elton John, so it’s no surprise they”re playing him here. This whole place is a tribute to her memory.
The elevator ride feels like an eternity as I reach the 27th floor. When the doors slide open, I step out with determined strides, walking down the fancy-ass halls toward the heart of Elli Enterprises.
The glass door ahead bears the prestigious nameplate, the golden letters shining like they own the damn place. Taking a moment to compose myself, I exhale and push open the door, stepping into my father’s powerhouse.
”Is Antonio in?” I ask Cindy, though I already know the answer.
She glances up, her eyes meeting mine as she offers a professional smile. ”Mr. Morelli is expecting you. He”s in his office. Feel free to go right in.”
I hear her announce my arrival over the intercom as I stride past her. Cindy’s been Dad’s secretary for as long as I can remember. She should have retired ages ago, but her loyalty knows no bounds. Dad once told me she wouldn’t retire until he did.
Dad sits behind his large oak desk, drinking his coffee. He”s dressed in a tailored navy suit, his posture exuding confidence, and his shoulders squared and back straight, a testament to his years of experience leading the Morelli family. His shirt is crisp and well-fitted, showcasing his attention to every single detail. Great minds think alike as I look down at my own navy suit, except I only have a black silk tie compared to his red one.
He shoots me a glare that could freeze hell over, then checks his Rolex like it”s going to magically make me punctual.
Before he can unleash his verbal wrath about my tardiness, I flop down in one of his plush lounge chairs, giving him my best I-couldn”t-give-a-shit look.
“Before I ask why you’re late, there’s a proposal I”d like to discuss with you, an arrangement, if you will.” His voice carries the timbre of authority, each word measured and deliberate.
An arrangement? What the fuck did I stumble into now?
“An Arrangement?” I parrot, raising an eyebrow.
He crosses his hands, fixing me with a steely gaze. “The family businesses are your responsibility, Sebastiano. It”s time you start taking it seriously and being more at the forefront of the Morelli Cosa Nostra. It’s time I take a step back and officially hand it over to you. You”re the heir to this empire. I want to see you succeed, so I think it’s time you consider settling down.”
It’s too fucking early for this.
“I am settled down.”
His face is stoic and cold as he responds, “I mean fully settle down, find a wife, show La Cosa Nostra that you are ready to be their leader. I’ll arrange the marriage and pick a suitable bride. Because let”s face it, if I leave it up to you, you’ll pick any bimbo off the street who is willing to spread their legs for you.”
Well Fuck!
“I don”t need to get married to prove to anyone that I can settle down. I run nearly the full Cosa Nostra. A woman will not change that. You only run the legal side of Elli’s and the restaurants,” I bark. “Who do I need to prove myself to? Is it you, or is this still about fucking Nico?”
He made me wake up this early for this bullshit heart-to-heart.
He sighs, trying to keep his composure. “It’s not about proving anything. It”s about stability and responsibility. Maybe give me some grandkids before I’m dead. Show the world you”re not just a billionaire playboy. But Don Sebastiano Morelli, leader of La Cosa Nostra.”
His words echo relentlessly in my mind, and dammit, I hate it when he’s right. It”s another reminder to step up and show them what a true don can exhibit. The realistic expectations of someone in my position. It’s not that I can”t do this, but it’s never been entirely in my hands before.
Dad painstakingly stresses the importance of demonstrating these qualities, deeming them crucial for securing the famiglia’s future, our dignity, and the Morelli position.
“So, marriage is what you want. Me to get married before I can be the Only Morelli Don?” I spit.
Pushing to my feet, I trail a finger around the collar of my dress shirt.
Man, is it getting hot in here? Am I actually entertaining this fucked-up idea?
Is a wife that big of a fucking deal? Like getting married will signify my willingness to settle down and become more serious? And in true Italian style, he wants to arrange it. If I agree to this shit, that alone has to be a pivotal step to show true responsibility and commitment.
“Son, you have a legacy to uphold. The Morelli name means something, but it also puts a target on your back.” Running his hand over his chin before he continues. “Your laziness and lack of direction will ruin the Morelli name or get you killed, like Gino.”
The mention of his name turns the blood in my veins to ice, freezing me in place. I move back to the chair and sink back down, shifting uncomfortably. ”I uphold everything!” I retort.
I’m too tired for this heavy ass conversation.
Dad leans forward, his gaze piercing mine. ”It”s not a thing. It”s the famiglia name, a name built upon respect, responsibility, and power. It”s not about what you”re proving to anyone else but about the values you represent as the future head of La Cosa Nostra.”
“And I”m just expected to follow in your footsteps, to settle down, and marry someone?” I ask, my tone guarded.
“You can”t live your life as a perpetual playboy, partying all night. This isn”t about society. It”s about the responsibility that comes with your position. Think about your future, not your impulses.”
“Fine, I”ll consider it. But I”m not promising anything,” I say, feeling slightly defeated. “And who would I be marrying? Is she someone I already know?”
Fuck, am I really thinking about it?
“I”ve been in talks with a few families. There are a few young ladies who know our lifestyle and would make a perfect wife and mother.” His expression softens, pausing like he”s reminiscing. Clearing his throat, he schools his face and shuffles the papers around on his desk while I reel in my thoughts.
My mind whirls in overdrive, the burden of this proposal sinking in. ”So, you’ve been thinking of this for a while? And let”s not get ahead of ourselves with the kid talk just yet, huh?”
Dad nods. “You need a suitable match, Sebastiano. A union that would strengthen our ties.”
Uncertainty floods my mind. “And what if I don”t agree?”
“It”s not an agreement. It”s your responsibility. Think about it, son. The Morelli name carries weight. And if you disagree, you know what comes next.”
I clench my fists, still hesitant.
The atmosphere crackles with tension as I meet my dad”s gaze head-on, determined not to bow under this marriage ruse, but I know he’s serious. “I’ll consider it. But if and when I agree, it’ll be on my terms.”
“Well, let’s heat them,” he says.
“You said you had a few selected, but I want to make the final decision. And I want a long engagement, at least a year. Being engaged should be enough to show I’m serious. I don’t need to rush down the aisle.”
“Anything else?” he asks.
“Yes,” I respond, embracing this thoroughly fucked up situation. “I want the title passed to me within a month after the announcement, and no talk about kids or hoops I need to jump through. I get married first, and then maybe we can discuss adding a few brats to the mix.”
Dad nods, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. At least one of us is happy about this.
God, I could really use a drink right now. I don”t usually start this early, but what the hell, right? I understand that marriage will show a willingness to embrace responsibility, but the prospect comes with its own set of challenges and uncertainties.
I hope he has good taste in women, both for the sake of preserving the revered Morelli famiglia legacy and for my own sake.
“Anything else you want to throw on me so early in the morning, Dad?” I ask sarcastically.
“No more games, Sebastiano. Tomorrow, brunch at the house, 11 a.m. sharp. We”ll finalize this. And if you show up on time tomorrow, I’ll forget you were late today,” he responds, sensing my tone.
I”m conflicted, but I know what needs to be done. I nod, and he signals the discussion is over—for now, at least. Impenetrable tension fills the room. I stand to leave quickly before any more bombs are thrown at me.
At least I have tonight to let loose and forget this shit-show of a conversation.