Chapter 13 #3
His comment reminded me of what I’d told Blair earlier about Arisono’s rules. So much of me was my father.
I rested my elbows on the arms of the chair. “That’s always been clear. Why the interrogation about it?”
“You know this is far from a Marchetti interrogation.”
True. Those usually ended with broken bones and someone bleeding.
He opened his drawer, grabbed a newspaper, and slid it across his desk to me.
Yes, he still read print.
My mom had once bought him a digital subscription to the New York Times.
He responded by burning her credit card, claiming the purchase made him question her principles.
She’d laughed in his face, pulled out twenty more cards, and spent the afternoon on a shopping spree at the Hermès store for his attitude.
I picked up the paper and scratched my head at the headline.
Senator’s Son Killed in a Car Bombing.
Right. That.
“Your work?” my father asked.
I skimmed the article, looking for any clues that led to me, but there was nothing. My father just knew everything.
“He tried to extort Brooks,” I explained.
That rigidness from earlier returned to his face. “You didn’t think to consult me before murdering the son of a public official? A very public official, who has spent years speaking out against the president and me.” He slammed his fist on the desk, rattling everything on it.
I folded the newspaper and set it back onto his desk. “This wasn’t my first murder, and I don’t consult with you before each one.”
His fist opened, one finger stabbing toward me.
“Don’t get cocky, Enzo. That’s what gets men caught or killed.
” He lowered his hand and tapped the newspaper on his desk.
“You stole the car you drove to the frat house in. Smart.” His finger dragged back toward me.
“What you failed to do was make sure no cameras caught you stealing it.” He let the words settle between us before delivering the final blow. “They did.”
I leaned back in the chair, dragging a hand over my forehead, rubbing at the pressure building from my fuckup. “Shit.”
“President Byron and I cleaned up your mess. Paid the people we needed to pay.” His shoulders tensed as he reclined in his chair.
“Don’t be sloppy and drag this family into a murder scandal.
If you even think of doing something reckless like that again, you come to me first. I’ll make sure it’s handled properly. Got it?”
I pressed my thumbs into my eye sockets and massaged them.
“You and Brooks will be attending the dead son’s funeral.”
My hands stilled.
“President Byron and I will be there as well.”
I dragged a hand down my face and groaned.
“Try to shed a tear.”
“Such things don’t exist in my body. I got that from you.”
A crooked smile played on his lips.
For a moment, the room got lighter. My father was always intense, but I didn’t tend to fuck up much, which meant we didn’t have many conversations like this.
We looked at the door at the sound of a knock. He called for whoever it was to come in.
The door opened, and Benny strolled in, shutting it behind him.
“There’s my college-educated, stupidly-blowing-up-people brother.” He clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder when he passed.
I gave him the middle finger.
“Heard you blew up a frat house,” he said, unimpressed. “Next time, don’t get caught on camera.”
I glared at him. “It was a car at a frat house.”
He sank into the chair beside me, his attention shifting to our father. “You tell him yet?”
“Tell me what?” I asked, my back straightening.
Benny started humming “Here Comes the Bride” obnoxiously and off-key. My father shot him a sharp glare. My asshole brother might’ve been pushing fifty, but sometimes, he played too many fucking games.
“We’re looking for a wife for you,” my father said, snapping his fingers to stop Benny’s singing.
My head started spinning. “Excuse me?” I choked out.
“Don’t give him any details,” Benny cut in, standing from his chair and walking toward the bar cart. “He might go blow up her house next.”
This was a part of this world I hated. The one I’d prayed would skip me, even if I’d bitched about Seraphina getting out of it.
In this life, marriages weren’t about love.
They were negotiations.
You married to secure power. Not happiness.
I shook my head as dread sank in my belly. “I’m not happy about this.”
“None of us ever are,” Benny fired back, pouring himself a glass of bourbon. He and my father were the ones who shaped my drink preferences. “But it’ll work out eventually. I mean, look at Neomi and me.”
The stories I’d heard about their engagement sounded less like romance and more like two sociopaths trying to drive the other insane.
There were even rumors that at their engagement party, Neomi had dragged another guy into the billiards room where Benny was to provoke him.
In response, Benny had blown his brains out.
I had zero interest in dealing with a wife who didn’t like me.
“It also worked out for Gigi,” my father added.
“Oh?” I asked with more attitude than was smart toward my father. “Antonio didn’t murder Gigi’s first fiancé? The one selected for her?”
His nostrils flared. “A, your sister selected that fiancé. B, Antonio proved to be the better man. Not a coward who let himself get kidnapped and killed.”
His dark glare stayed on me as he pushed out his chair and stood. He motioned for me to do the same.
“Don’t mention this to your mother at dinner,” he instructed me. “We don’t need her upset.”
I slipped my hands into my pockets, rocking back on my heels. “Don’t arrange a marriage for me, and she won’t be upset.”
“Your mother never stays angry with me for long.”
Dinner with my parents went exactly how it always did.
Seraphina wasted no time announcing that I was terrorizing a new girl at the university. I returned the favor by informing them she was sneaking out of her dorm at night with her little group of girlfriends.
She responded by throwing a dinner roll at me from across the table.
I smirked, lifted my drink in a mocking salute, and drained the glass.
At the head of the long table, my father remained composed. He also neglected to mention the small detail that he was currently shopping for a contract wife for me.
Out of respect, I didn’t bring it up. My mom would find out eventually. Most likely after he made his choice.
I had until graduation to change his mind. Or at least negotiate having a say in the matter.
An arranged marriage might be inevitable, but that didn’t mean I had to accept the first woman offered. He needed to give me choices.
After finishing the best apple pie ever made—courtesy of our chef, Miriam—I excused myself from the table and headed upstairs to my wing of the mansion.
The space was isolated and cold, just how I liked it.
A small sitting area opened into my bedroom. I’d remodeled my dorm to mirror it because no matter where I went, nothing felt right unless it resembled home.
The mansion version was more polished with dark mahogany crown molding wrapping around the ceiling. Black wainscoting climbed the walls beneath layers of gray paint.
I flicked the switch as I entered my bedroom. The black chandelier above my king-size bed came alive, casting a dim glow.
Dropping my bag, I unzipped it and pulled out Blair’s MacBook and phone before collapsing on the mattress.
Time to see what Blair Dupont was hiding.
And what I found was … interesting.
She had no friends listed and only three contacts saved.
Mom. SD. And SD’s Driver.
No social media. No photos. No digital footprint.
When I dug into her financials, it got stranger. She had a modest bank account tied to an LLC with a vague name. Everything was filed under her mother’s maiden name, as if her father didn’t exist.
When I looked at her recent search history, it became even more interesting.
She’d searched for the number of a prison in Arizona.
I leaned back against the headboard, MacBook warm on my lap, and smirked.
Blair was hiding something. A lot of somethings.
I was going to drag every last secret into the light.
People were easier to control once you found out what they were desperate to keep buried. I’d do the same to Blair.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little too harsh on Blair?” Seraphina asked from my leather passenger seat as we drove back toward Saint Vale.
The road stretched ahead of us, trees blurring as we passed them.
We’d spent the weekend with our parents, and the entire time, I fought the urge to grab my keys and drive straight back to campus to Blair.
The girl occupied my thoughts through every meal.
She was on my mind during every conversation with my father and Benny about business and territories.
Half my weekend was spent locked in my wing, combing through her devices over and over. I’d searched every folder, convinced I’d overlooked something when I couldn’t find all the answers I needed.
Blair was a puzzle with too many missing pieces, and it was getting under my skin.
I tapped my thumb against the leather steering wheel. “Keep your distance from her,” I told Seraphina, sounding like our father. “Don’t try to become friends with her.”
I flicked on my turn signal and took a right without looking at her.
It always irritated me when Seraphina involved herself in Fawn business.
She slouched in her seat. “I have the freedom to choose my own friends.”
My sister had been a pain in the ass since birth. I should’ve left her ten traffic lights back after she changed my music.
“Fine,” I said. “Then I’ll fuck Daphne.”
She let out a snort. “Daphne wouldn’t fuck you.” She leaned across the console, her braid sliding over her shoulder, and flicked her fingers toward my ear as if swatting at a fly.
I nudged her back with the heel of my hand without taking my eyes off the road.
See? Fucking pain in the ass.
“Daphne would do whatever I told her to do,” I replied.
“Hands off my friend, jerk.”
“Blair isn’t your friend. Nor will she ever be.”