Chapter 18 Angelo
Angelo
“Coffee, sir?” The server keeps his eyes firmly fixed on a spot behind me. The poor guy is terrified. I’m not sure why, as I only arrived five minutes ago.
Dad smiles serenely while spooning sugar into his coffee. A plate of smoked salmon, eggs, and caviar sits half eaten in front of him.
He looks well. Two weeks spent relaxing on a yacht in the Caribbean have given him a dark tan, not to mention a few extra pounds. His latest girlfriend is upstairs in the presidential suite, where I hope she remains until I leave.
My cappuccino duly arrives. I usually drink my coffee black, but this morning, I need something sweeter. Anything to neutralize my father’s acidity.
“How’s that wife of yours, son?” Dad’s gaze bores into me like a finely tuned laser. I wonder how much he’s heard about my trip to Scotland. I tried to keep it on the down-low, but my father has eyes and ears everywhere.
“She’s well.” I feign nonchalance while sipping my coffee. When the server returns to take my breakfast order, the hand holding the tablet shakes.
“No food, thanks,” I tell him. “I can’t stay long.”
“Angelo,” my father tuts. “Surely you can spare your old man an hour of your time? We have much to discuss regarding your sister’s forthcoming marriage.”
“Marriage?” Fuck. I hoped our last chat on the topic was enough to persuade my father that it makes no sense to marry Fina off. She handles all our PR. If she’s married, we’d have to find someone else to step into her role. And I don’t trust anyone else.
“Yes, Angelo. Marriage.”
Dad nods at the server, who scurries back over. “More coffee,” he barks. The man dashes away with the empty coffeepot, probably thinking the end of his shift can’t come soon enough.
“I thought the doctor advised against drinking coffee?” I remind Dad. “He said it interfered with your heart medication.”
“Fucking quack doesn’t know a damn thing,” Dad sneers.
“There’s nothing wrong with me, as Francesca will attest.” The smug grin on his face makes me want to hurl.
Dad’s pushing sixty yet thinks he’s still a virile twenty-something.
If Francesca weren’t such a shallow, conniving little bitch, I’d feel sorry for her.
I wait until the server has topped up Dad’s coffee cup and left us before I quiz him on Fina’s suitor. It better not be one of the Fiorelli brothers. They’re both dumb as bricks and thugs to boot.
“I’ve come to an agreement with Domenico Santini,” Dad says with an avaricious gleam in his eye. “We can use his shipping routes for our product.”
If my sister’s happiness weren’t my priority, I’d applaud my father’s choice. Santini isn’t the worst man in the world, and his shipping routes would indeed be useful. But this is Fina, and I know she’d rather die than marry someone other than Matteo.
“Dad, while Santini is a useful ally, please reconsider this marriage contract. Fina is happy as she is. And besides, who’s going to do her job if she marries Santini?”
“I don’t need to reconsider anything, Angelo,” he snaps, unhappy I’m questioning his decision making. “Like you, Serafina must do as she’s told. Santini will take care of her, and I have someone lined up to step into her shoes.”
My eyes narrow. “Oh? Who would that be?”
“Francesca, of course.” My jaw drops at his audacity. Francesca is barely twenty-two. Sure, she has a college degree, but I’d wager she fucked all her professors to earn it. The woman is shallow and vacuous and in no way qualified to become our family’s PR spokesperson.
A waft of heavy musk perfume nearly floors me as a light hand touches my shoulder.
“Hello, Angelo,” Francesco purrs. “How lovely of you to join us for breakfast.” When I half turn, the woman smiles at me. She loves to play the ingenue for my father, but I don’t miss the calculating gleam in her eye.
“Sit down, baby girl,” Dad orders. His sickly sweet tone is nothing like his usual voice.
While my father focuses on calling our beleaguered server over again, Francesca pouts and eye-fucks me. She’s wearing a ridiculously low-cut white dress that barely covers her tits. It’s highly inappropriate for a hotel like this. The damn woman looks like a hooker.
Once Dad’s attention is back on her, she simpers and preens while stroking his thigh under the table.
A few minutes pass as Dad makes idle chit-chat, and then he stands to use the bathroom. I contemplate asking whether his prostate is playing up again but decide I don’t actually care. His announcing he has stage-four prostate cancer would make my life easier. And Fina’s.
As soon as my father is out of earshot, I turn to Francesca.
“I hear you’ve fucked your way into a PR executive role.”
Francesca nearly chokes on her lemon tea. “Excuse me?”
“You heard.” I lean forward. “Your blowjob skills might work on my father but trust me when I say I’m not buying anything you’re selling.”
A pink stain colors her cheeks. “Your father thinks I’ll be perfect as his PR director,” she bites out. I almost smile.
“We both know the only thing he cares about is whatever perverted shit you’re willing to let him do to you, so dream on, Barbie.”
From the way her blush deepens, I’ve hit gold. My father is well known for his unconventional tastes, so I bet Francesca has had to do many things she wouldn’t especially enjoy to persuade my father she’s right for Fina’s job.
I hope she knows this is only the beginning.
Dad might be old these days, but he’s not dead yet.
“Oh, and in case you’re deluded enough to think he’ll marry you, forget it.”
Just as she’s about to fire back a retort, Dad approaches and leans down to press a wet kiss on her flushed cheek. As I watch in disgust, he slides a wrinkly hand inside her dress and squeezes her plastic tit, not caring a jot that people are watching.
It’s his way of asserting ownership.
Like I give a fuck.
The only woman I want is Chiara.
“Glad you two are making friends,” he says with a smirk.
“Francesca will be in the office tomorrow. I’ll call Serafina later to give her the good news about Santini.
We’ve decided it’s in both our interests for the marriage to take place as soon as possible, but Serafina will have time to train up her successor. ”
With one final tweak of Francesca’s ample breast, Dad sits back down and pours himself a fresh cup of coffee while I pray he dies from a heart attack in the next twenty-four hours.
He must sense the dark direction my thoughts have taken, for he smiles.
“You need to get laid, son. Bring that wife of yours to heel.” With a final smirk, he adds, “And if you can’t manage it, send her to me. I’ll sort the little bitch out.”
As much as I hate the sentiment, I can’t help but enjoy the way Francesca’s face drops at the realization she’s replaceable to my father.
Good.
I hope the bitch knows her days are numbered. If I can figure out a way to scupper the deal between Santini and my father, Fina isn’t going anywhere.
Fina’s in my kitchen when I return home. She’s typing something on her laptop, but smiles when I stroll in.
There are dark circles under her eyes, which for once aren’t disguised by a layer of makeup. My sister isn’t sleeping well, even though I’ve encouraged her to remain here for the moment.
Dad prefers her living at home, but I’ve told him she’s helping me with a project and won’t be back yet. Surprisingly, he accepted my explanation for her continued absence, which was a relief.
“Is Dad okay?” she asks. Even though he treats her like shit, my sister loves our father. Fuck knows why.
“Yeah. Francesca blessed us with her presence.”
“Ugh. I hate that bitch. She acts like I’m something she stepped in.” For Fina to dislike someone, they have to be truly awful. My sister always sees the best in people, no matter what.
“Coffee?” I ask, using it as an excuse to delay what’s sure to be a fucking awful conversation.
“No, I’m good.” She nods at her mug, which contains something that looks a lot like piss. Herbal tea, perhaps, which is odd. My sister loves coffee, so for her to refuse a cup of coffee is unusual.
“Are you feeling alright?” I wouldn’t blame her if she weren’t. The stress of an arranged marriage hanging over her head can’t be easy to bear.
“I’m a bit under the weather, but I’ll be fine.” Her dismissive wave tells me she doesn’t want to talk about it, and I sigh inwardly. What I’m about to tell her won’t make her feel any better, so I decide to spit it out. Matteo is nearby, so at least he can comfort her.
Hugs aren’t my thing.
“Is Chiara around?” I ask, thinking that perhaps she can be Fina’s shoulder to cry on. After all, she has experience with this shit. That makes me wince, but I push the thought down.
My marriage to Chiara is nothing like the one my father has arranged for Fina. Chiara isn’t in love with anyone else, whereas Fina is hopelessly in love with Matteo.
“No, she’s still asleep.”
Ugh. Then I guess I’ll have to call Matteo in shortly. I sigh, wishing I weren’t the bearer of bad news.
“Dad’s decided you’re to marry Domenico Santini. He wants the wedding to take place as quickly as possible.”
Fina’s cheeks lose all color. “Santini the shipping magnate?”
I nod. “Yeah, him. Father thinks his trade routes are an asset we should leverage.”
“He’s in his forties,” she points out.
“He’s probably the best of the bunch,” I admit, not liking it any more than she does.
“And he won’t change his mind?”
I take a seat next to her and grab her hand. Luka would be better at this than I. Chiara too. But I have to man up and be the big brother she needs.
“I’ll give it another shot soon, but at the moment, he’s not budging. He’s told Francesca she can have your job.”
Fina laughs derisively. “Seriously? That stupid whore has no fucking clue what I do.”
“Yeah, she’s deluded.” Tears trickle down her wan cheeks, and she hurriedly wipes them away. I hate seeing my sister hurt like this. All my life, I’ve tried to protect her from our father’s excesses, but I’m struggling to think of a way to make my father change his mind about this.
The problem is, he doesn’t see Fina—or any woman—as a person. To him, women are tools to use for gain. But I can’t tell Fina this.
“I know it seems hopeless, Fina, but I’ll find a way out of this agreement. Trust me.”
She sniffs and gives me a weak smile.
“I trust you.”
When I turn my attention away from Fina, Chiara stands in the doorway, wrapped in a robe with her hair pinned up in a messy bun. She looks like a million dollars, even without a scrap of makeup on.
“You’d better figure something out,” she growls. “Fina can’t marry this asshole.”
That she’s willing to go to bat for my sister is no surprise. Of course she’s on Fina’s side. The two of them have bonded.
“I will,” I promise despite having no fucking clue how I’m going to fix this.