8
Sebastiano
Fisting her hair in one hand, the other hand behind my head as she bobs up and down on my cock. “Swallow every drop and get the fuck out,” I grunt just before I fill her mouth with my seed, my head falling back on the pillow as I gaze at the ceiling for a minute while I enjoy my post-orgasm haze. Her mouth is still on my dick, trying to suck me dry.
The head wasn”t top-notch, but it did the job. After leaving the basement last night, options were limited in terms of who to bring home. Since I couldn”t get the blue-eyed blonde out of my mind and still had a raging hard-on, I settled for taking this random chick home to take the edge off.
After removing my dick from Jenna’s mouth, or did she say her name was Sara? Eh, it doesn”t really matter.Not sparing a second glance to see the dejected pout on her face, I walk to the bathroom to clean up.
It’s too fucking early for this, I’d prefer to lay in bed all day, but Dad wants me in his home office today to meet a potential father-in-law before we have brunch. It’s bad enough he insists on a horrific union with a woman I’ve never met, but even I have some morals. And meeting the man with the scent of someone else’s daughter lingering on my dick isn’t the first impression I”m going for. I’m just glad that out of the few women selected, I”ll get to make the final decision.
I’m already pissed off that I am entertaining this concocted idea of marriage.
As I pull up to the mansion, thankfully, the guards know to let me pass without stopping me. You’d think after my morning with Sara––or was her name Jenna––I”d be in a better mood.
Cruising past a sea of Bentleys and Rolls-Royces, I can’t help but wonder why there are so many cars here and valet. It was supposed just to be the three of us.
As I approach the front of the house, Claire opens the door. She’s worked for my father as his housekeeper for as long as I can remember.
Claire greets me with a warm smile. ”Your father has been waiting for you.”
Glancing at my Rolex, I see that I’m only twenty minutes late. That”s practically on time.
”Thanks,” I mutter, brushing past her as I stride towards the office. I don”t need her to tell me where he is. I already know.
The main foyer has two grand staircases that dominate the space, their curves spiraling up to the upper levels like some damn symbol of power. Upstairs, to the right, that”s where I grew up, amidst all the luxury and bullshit of my family”s legacy. It”s a place filled with memories, both fond and haunting. Upstairs on the left, those stairs lead to my old man”s domain, where he conducts business with the same ruthless precision that defines our family.
My mother, may she rest in peace, always insisted on keeping business separate from our home life. After she passed away, my old man barely stepped foot into the part of the house I once considered my sanctuary. Maybe that”s why he dragged his ass for so long to hand over the fucking title to me. At thirty-one, I shouldn”t be forced into this marriage to attain the damn title.
But I”ve got a plan. I”ll bide my time and prolong this bullshit engagement for as long as I can. With any luck, I”ll find a way out of this mess before I”m shackled to a woman I don”t even know.
Without bothering to knock, I barge right through the grand oak double doors and into the lion”s den of the great and powerful Don Antonio Morelli.
”There”s my boy,” Dad greets me with a hearty clap on the back like we”re best buddies. Don”t get me wrong, we”ve always been close, I guess. But lately, things haven”t been so peachy. It”s been worse since Mom passed, and now, it”s hitting a new low with this marriage crap he”s dropped in my lap.
”Come have a drink with us. You remember Peter Russo, right?” he asks, thrusting a glass of whiskey into my hand.
Oh, I remember this smug stronzo. The Russo family has been part of Cosa Nostra since my old man took over the reins of Chicago.
”Come meet my wife, Karen, my daughter, Mia, or should I say your new fiancée?” Peter says the last part with way too much excitement.
”What the fuck?” My voice comes out colder than I intended, but what the fuck! ”You”re mistaken. I haven”t selected a wife yet.”
”I-I thought the deal was done,” he stutters out, looking like he”s about to shit himself.
”The what?” I growl, taking a step towards him, while he instinctively takes a step back. I get satisfaction in watching Peter retreat, knowing he”s afraid of me, and right now, he should be.
Glancing over at the two women sitting on the leather couch nearly five feet away from me, I feel my anger boiling over.
One of them, the enhanced one, stands and extends a bony hand towards me, a fake smile plastered on her overfilled lips. This woman has had too much done to her face—can she even smile without something cracking? I ignore her hand before turning to my father, seething with rage.
”Plastic bitches don”t do it for me. The deal is off,” I remark coldly before turning on my heel, not sparing a second glance at the other woman behind her.
How in the fuck could he make this decision for me? The deal was that I would agree to this marriage, but I would get to choose who I marry from his list of acceptable women. My long strides eat up the distance as I walk out of his office, my father hot on my heels, but I don”t stop. I need to get the fuck out of here.
“If you leave, you will never take the title!” he shouts as I’m ready to go down the stairs, stopping me in my tracks. It”s the same fucking threat that coerced me into agreeing to this deal. Before I can even respond, he grabs my arm and drags me into the study next to his office. It is not as private as his office, but everyone knows not to come in here.
“Why do I need to be married to hold the title?” I shout at him as he shuts the door behind us.
Letting out an exasperated sigh, he replies, “Because you need someone focused to keep you in line and on task.” He runs a hand through his thick black hair, eerily similar to mine. “You’re too careless to do this on your own. How can you handle the Cosa Nostra when you can”t even get out of bed before noon?” he continues, frustration evident in his voice, his hand now rubbing his stubbled chin.
“Things happen at night, not during the day. Isn”t it better that I am up and active at night rather than waking up at 6 a.m.?” I retort, glancing over at him. His tired appearance surprises me; the Great and Mighty Don Antonio Morelli looks more worn out than I”ve seen him in a while.
“You have to do both!” he nearly yells out, the frustration evident in his voice. “Don’t you understand that the businesses on the books are just as important? They keep the heat off our backs!”
“Yeah, yeah, so I work sun-up to sun-down so my new fuckingwife can sit around all day and spend my money?” I retort bitterly, the mere thought of it grating on my nerves and making this marriage seem even less appealing.
“All women will spend your money, son. Besides, Mia Russo is a fine offer. She will make a great wife, give you an heir, solidifying our alliance between the families,” he continues, his voice heavy with resignation. And then comes the ultimatum, as expected. “If you decline this offer, I will pass the title to Nico.”
Nico.
The bastard who thinks he’s better than me.
I don”t know who got in Dad”s ear about the whole marriage thing. Nico is the one who needs an arranged marriage because he can’t get laid on his own. As for me, I don”t have that problem, and he knows I”m against being tied down to one fucking woman for the rest of my life. Old-school Italians, like my father, don”t believe in divorce, so whoever you marry is with you until death.
“The blonde looks like the Bride of Chucky. Pick someone else.” She”s hideous. Nothing on her was real.
My father, trying to hold in his smile, responds, ”That was Karen, Mia’s mother. Mia was the pretty, more natural one sitting down.”
After the Bride of Chucky approached me, I never looked past her to see the other one. Karen looked young enough. At least she did under the pound of makeup and fillers.
”Karen didn”t look much older than me. She has a grown daughter?” I ask incredulously.
Reigning in his smile, my father becomes more serious now. ”Stepdaughter. Mia’s mother passed away when she was young.”
Taking a deep breath to calm my inner turmoil, I straighten my jacket and turn towards the door. ”Let”s get this over with.”
He still has a severe look, and I just know he’s going to hit me with more crap.
“Son, this is your engagement party. You will get married in two weeks.”
Am I still sleeping because I think I just hallucinated? Did he just say what I think he did?
I release the breath I didn”t know I was holding before he continues. ”The wedding needs to happen quickly; we need the alliance with the Russo’s to remain—more shipments have been short. I need you to get to the bottom of this before it gets worse,” my father declares, his voice carrying the weight of authority.
We run this city and have roots all over the state, not to mention our connections worldwide. Whoever is behind this has a death wish—a wish I will happily grant them when I find them.
The Russo’s have been in an alliance with our family since Uncle Gino was the don. They loyally followed and maintained their alliance with Dad when he took over.
”Peter will keep his alliance no matter what,” I add with a hint of assurance.
“Not if the shipments continue to be short. He doesn’t want unknown fuckers sneaking into his docks stealing shit,” my dad replies somberly. Peter Russo owns the docks, and while we run them, any disruptions are on him.
We maintain a somewhat delicate balance with the Russo family. We handle the operations, but any issues are reflected poorly on Peter Russo. If our shipments continue to come up short, it won”t be long before he takes drastic action to protect his interests. And if that happens, we”ll have to find another way to get our product imported. The docks are the easiest and primary route for our operations. Losing access to them would hurt us, leaving us scrambling to establish alternative channels for our imports. It”s a scenario we can”t afford to let unfold.
”Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. ”Diego was supposed to make sure everything was accounted for. Did you speak with him?”
“Diego hasn’t been seen since the drop last night, and nobody can get through to him,” he responds, his tone grim, mirroring my own concern.
Double fuck! This isn”t good. Shit is hitting the fan, and if I can”t get a handle on it quickly, I”ll lose my title before it”s even officially mine. I know he’s counting on me to do the right thing—marry this woman and figure out what the hell is going on with these shipments.
Walking over to the bar where he”s pouring us both a drink, I down mine in one swallow, relishing the burn as it travels down my throat. He pours me another glass, and I gladly accept. I don”t usually get nervous, but marriage is probably the one thing that makes me uneasy. A little liquid courage will get me through this, I think, as I slam down my second glass before heading back to Dad”s office to meet the wife.
Stopping at the door, I hear Peter shouting. Who the hell pissed him off now?
As I step inside, I see Peter with his hands forcefully gripping the other woman”s arms. He”s shouting in her face, his words dripping with venom. ”Useless bitch!” he screams, shaking her like a rag doll.
My blood boils at the sight. ”Get your fucking hands off her!” I bark, my voice cutting through the tension in the room.