Shattered Heart (The Russo Family #1)

Chapter 1 ~ Alexander

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Me? Fucken married?

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, and he raises his hand and points to the picture of himself and my mother. He continues to talk about how getting a "wife" will make my life more stable and fulfilling. I love my life, but I'm not saying shit right now.

I want to keep it just as it is.

I get pussy whenever and however I want. I don't need some affluent bimbo to dictate my life. Despite the fact that I follow enough rules and regulations, I am not the kind of man who blindly follows a woman's instructions, wife or not.

I am in charge. Always!

In order for me to lead the family organization as my father currently does, I will eventually need to find a wife. I just didn’t think it would be so soon. I was hoping for a few more years to fuck and make my cash, then maybe settle down and be more like him.

But I guess those dreams end after today.

The family, fuck. They could have come up with a better name for an organization of this magnitude better than ‘The Family’. It makes us sound like a bunch of pansy asses if you ask me. But it is a monster.

A power-hungry monster with international reach and enough money to make it all happen, together with wealthy hands to turn the gears, governments either succeed or fail. My father serves as the centre of what resembles a corporate spider web.

Amato Russo.

My mother, Chiara Russo, is his queen, the solitary source of light in this entire chaotic web. I'm not interested in taking my father's seat any time soon, and I am grateful that he is still here sitting in that chair running the show.

I love my father. He is fair and tough at the same time, but what distinguishes him is the amount of backbone he has when the circumstance calls for it.

Family members, his own child or the organization as a whole, don't matter.

My father has no trouble carrying out his obligations in this life.

He never exaggerates his status or the influence on maintaining his seat, but I wouldn't want to cross him.

He will shoot without even blinking, then step over the body to tenderly clap my mother's hand, bring it to his lips, and give it a kiss as if he were prince fucking charming.

The responsibility of becoming the family's head, however, will eventually fall to me as the eldest son. It’s not that I’m not ready to lead; I am.

I’m just not ready to be tied down with a wife that I would have to parade around at endless functions.

Plus, I never really wanted children, which is what they will expect after the ink has dried on the marriage certificate and the wedding day arrives.

Originally, I had intended to leave having children up to my brothers, but now I am the one leading the way.

Once more I drew my gaze to the minute wood grain pattern.

It's got a cute little oval shape and a delicious little brown wood knot at the top.

It has a glossy appearance from the polish and reminds me of a cute little pussy.

That would explain why I've been following the lines for so long.

I chuckle in my head as my cock slightly twitches in my slacks.

I am jolted out of my hypnotic trance as his hand smashes down on the desk, and I immediately lift my eyes to my father’s red-faced irate expression.

His icy grey eyes narrowed at me. I take a few seconds to really look at him.

Even though he is getting older, he still looks decent despite the more noticeable wrinkles in the corners of his eyes.

I'm trying hard not to imagine what my life will be like at his age.

Distracting my depressive thoughts, I go over the knot in the wood with my finger once again.

"Alexander Russo! Jesus Christ, son! Pay attention!"

As the ice in my glass of whiskey clinks, I sit up straighter in the luxurious leather chair. "All ears." I groan.

"As I was saying, you need to start considering your future and our future as a family.

You are well aware that marriage is a crucial component of this.

If the appropriate match can be established, alliances and partnerships are formed, and power can be acquired and maintained.

It will help the family and add new members to the ranks.

You!" He points in my face, "Have a match, my son. "

He starts to move some papers around on his desk while leaning back in his chair.

He grabs for a crimson folder as his dark grey suit tightens across his broad chest. I can feel the tiniest prickles of sweat starting to appear on my upper back as I watch him flip it open.

I know better, but it could be the heat from my suit coming off the leather chair.

It is only when things are about to become serious that I have ever seen my father's face change from one of frowning annoyance to one of calm solemnity.

This is the point at which things start to get serious.

He gets that deadly calm before he shuts off all emotions to focus on what needs to be done.

The same expression is now forming on his face as he flips through a folder, quickly looking at me and then back down to the file in his hands.

Fuck!

My father's tone is low and sombre, his eyes darting from one page to the next, as he flips sheet after sheet.

"The Gallo family has lived in our world since long before my father was born. They support us and our way of life with loyalty.”

He claps his hands together, resting them on his desk. When I look down, I notice that his skin is thinner and marked with a few age spots. Honestly, I didn't realize that he was getting that much older. He is still built like a brick shithouse.

Being 6'3" and having broad shoulders and a flat ripped stomach, he appears to be in his late thirties.

He eats healthy, exercises daily and goes for morning runs.

The salt-and-pepper hair and a goatee that matches it are the only signs that he is older.

I would consider myself lucky if I have his good looks at age 62.

No dad bod on this guy.

He clears his throat and flips another page. "They have influence here in Chicago and are able to count on allies in New York. Having stated that, Robert has a daughter he'd like to get off his hands. She is of marriageable age, is familiar with our way of life, and the standards we follow."

Marriageable age? What the fuck is marriageable age in our line of work?

I grunt, "How old?"

Finally looking up from the folder, he pierces me with his grey eyes, "Twenty-three."

Twenty-three? She's practically a teenager compared to my thirty-six years.

All I can picture in my mind is some little spoiled Daddy's girl whining about her hair and nails with big sunglasses on her face, while she blows a big pink bubble out of her mouth, probably still chewing Hubba Bubba for fucks sake.

My father clears his throat and looks down at a few papers in his hand.

"She's young, yes, but she's a good girl." He flips more paper over. "Smart, and she finished at the top of her class in high school. Graduated early by a year. She has a Bachelor of Arts in History of Art and Design. She's a painter. I guess she studied classic painters."

He looks up at me again, a grin on his face. I'm slightly confused why he appears to be more enthusiastic about her than I will ever be. It's as if he's trying to sell me on her. Why I have no idea. If my father says marry her, then that's what I have to do, no need to sugarcoat the sale.

"She's imaginative and will be beneficial to you Alex. She might even give you some much-needed culture, if that's even possible, that your mother and I were unable to instill in you."

I take the red folder from him and begin to flip through it as if I were genuinely reading it.

Not!

I don't give two shits about some art junkie who will soon be living in my house.

Oh, and I have culture, father. Just not the kind he thinks.

Mine comes from the dark, sordid places ‘Good Girls' never see. The kind of places creatures like me come to be free of the narrow-minded mainstream, of the endless variety of Vanilla piled on their plates by society's rules.

My culture has rules, strict rules.

All the kinds I like, because I enjoy breaking pretty little things that like to be broken. My palms itch and I just want to leave to get started on my plans for tonight. After this meeting, I'll need it. I flip the paper back to the front, scanning to find the name of my future wife.

Isabella Gallo. Christ, she even sounds like an innocent little art freak.

I can't decide which is worse: a daddy's girl popping bubble gum, or a cultivated art geek so straight-laced, the idea of a hard cock will scare her to death.

Maybe the bubble gum girl would be better; it would be easier to train that one. After reading about the only vanilla option of sex for the rest of my life, I'm definitely heading to the club tonight.

My cock jerks at the thought, adjusting myself as I hand the folder back to my father after feigning interest in reading the status of my prospective wife. He yanks it out of my hand.

"Alexander, I know this isn't a surprise. You knew this day would come. I hope that you will try to make this work as best as the two of you can. It is never easy tying oneself to a stranger. I was blessed with your mother. She makes it easy to love."

Love? Is he serious?

I don't fucken think so. I fuck, I dominate! I don't love.

He must read something on my face because the corner of his mouth lifts into a cocky smirk.

"I was like you. I never wanted a wife. My life was the family.

I had all I could ever want. Freedom." He spreads his hand wide, implicating the wealth and stature he now has.

"A wife to me felt like a weight would be strung around my neck.

But your grandfather made the deal. Your Mother and I were married, as is the way. "

He claps his hands once again and settles them on the red folder of death.