Chapter 2
This isn’t a negotiation
MARCO
The power of the pawn was tragically understated.
Less fortunate people, like my father, Santo Deluca, who believed themselves to be more intelligent than they were, overlooked the pawn.
They used the king as the defining force on the board, only seeing it as their main advantage.
In reality, the king was a worthless piece with no attack strategy or capability without the pawn making the first move and paving the way for a clear path.
Not to mention, pawns could be promoted to a rook, a knight, a bishop, or even the second most valuable piece, in my opinion, a queen.
Picking up the pawn, I rolled it between my fingers before making my move. It was an en passant that would enable my pawn to sit comfortably in the empty square after removing my father’s pawn from the handmade Italian art glass chessboard.
The board belonged to my father, taking up residence in his office the same way an ink spill did—permanently.
Only the upper echelon dared to move a piece, cognizant enough to understand it meant they were playing against a man who valued loyalty as much as he did ambition.
But it was a continual game, silently signifying how there was no true end to the match, and Santo was always the man on the opposing side.
“Why this company?” I asked, catching a glimmer of my reflection in the emerald-green glass before shifting my weight.
Swirling the bright yellow liqueur of my Strega, I considered how I looked every bit a Deluca.
The resemblance I had to my seven brothers and our father was uncanny.
Olive complexion. A full head of dark brown hair that was almost black—except Lorenzo.
Equally dark brown eyes. And big lips, which was a trait the ladies happened to possess a real fondness for.
Only, I preferred it to be from ladies I chose.
Not one my father chose for me and demanded I marry so he could acquire her perverse father’s company.
Raf Briggs owned equestrian centers in Saratoga and Wellington. Minus the occasional betting on racehorses, I couldn’t say I had much knowledge of all things equine. Although, last I checked, we weren’t necessarily in the business of acquiring such companies, especially financially unstable ones.
The stock market was an unfavorable bitch, and we had only recently reached re-stabilization after the dip we had experienced at the hands of negative press coverage, stemming from The Brunette Gossip.
No one knew the tyrant behind the massive hit blog and social account, but we had our suspicions it was a bored nobody.
We would have liked to nip the problem in the bud, but it appeared she enjoyed staying in the shadows.
Much to my older brother Lorenzo’s dismay, since he had low tolerance for battling a faceless figure.
Her latest lie was about his lengthy stay in Europe.
According to her, and the news outlets who didn’t care about the potential for a lawsuit for slander or defamation, he was an informant for an international company that was our biggest competitor.
No hard evidence, just baseless accusations flying around like an annoying swarm of lovebugs in late spring.
“You don’t ask the right questions,” he responded, his brusque tone exactly what I would expect with his impudent smile.
His fingers were coiled together on the top of the mahogany desk.
Sitting there, he looked aged but not old and certainly not frail, his presence demanding fear.
Respect wasn’t necessarily something he worried himself with, caring more about the bone-chilling response he earned from his opponent.
I gripped the back of a black leather chair in front of him, bringing the glass to my lips and seething as the herbal alcohol filled my chest. “Unfair judgment. That’s subjective because, as it happens, I value my questions immensely.”
Leaning forward, his eyes danced with amusement as he toyed with the French cuffs, the white monogram of his initials on the cuffs of the maroon shirt hard to miss. “My son. You have much to learn.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Like what?” From where I was standing, this was a lousy deal at best. I could have done better, and I would have, if I were CEO. Unfortunately, my title at Deluca Industries was nowhere close to that.
Moving with purpose, he stood up and strolled over to the chessboard, not even batting an eye before picking up his white knight and moving in an L-shape, a direction that would capture the black knight that was previously left defenseless. “Do you care to know about equine value?”
“Can’t say I do.”
Before setting the black knight off to the side because its time on the board had come to a screeching halt, he lifted it.
As he studied it between his fingers, his large gold and onyx pinky initial ring radiated with the way the light hit it from his movements.
It wasn’t much different from the one my brothers and I had been gifted.
Only, like with much else, the differences served as a reminder of the difference in status and power.
His was encrusted with diamonds and a snake was wrapped around the S.
“Then don’t ask me why and just do as I say. Marry Brooklyn Briggs.”
Fury seized my body as I held onto the glass tighter, knowing if I wanted to, I could quite literally destroy it in my grasp. “No one will believe this.” My mouth formed a thin line.
“Sure they will.” He gave me a blank stare. “You’ve known her forever.”
Which was exactly why I knew with zero uncertainty she was the acid to the embers of my disgust. Together, the toxicity we’d produce would do more than burn this building down in the way a simple lighter would.
My heart clattered against my ribs as the sound of her trilling voice filled my ears, memories of her swirling around in my head.
I wouldn’t describe us as close or anything remotely in the same realm as that.
It was only because Capri and Brooklyn were childhood friends that I’d possessed any amount of knowledge about Brooklyn.
However, it was more than enough for me to know she showed a consistent pattern of being reckless and an impulsive troublemaker who would no doubt spike a man’s cortisol levels.
When she had been a freshman in high school, she had a crush on Frederick Lamons.
He had been years older than her, seeing some girl from his class.
Long story short, she had some ridiculous belief he would have asked her to the prom if he hadn’t had a girlfriend.
So, she had invited Lamons to a party at our place, sending him upstairs where she had known Carmine had been sleeping with Lamons’s girlfriend.
She had faked a twisted ankle to garner tender attention from Augustus something-or-other.
He had practically been wrapped around her finger, which was the only reason that made any sense as to why he would have believed something that had been clearly fabricated.
It had been nothing more than a ploy to make sure he was sympathetic toward her in an effort to spend more time with him.
Somehow, she had gotten tangled up with EJ Gray, and in the time she had spent with him in Vegas, she had managed to get him drunk enough to spill some of the best-laid secrets on the Strip.
She had even taken him to a chapel with every intention of making him her husband.
Of course, EJ had no qualms with it. Then again, he hadn’t had all of his faculties.
Fortunately, Capri had been able to talk Brooklyn out of that one.
None of that was even the tip of the iceberg as far as threats, manipulation, and sabotage went. She had woven such an intricate web of deceit throughout her short life, I wasn’t sure if I should be impressed or repulsed.
“And if people don’t?” I asked, sitting down.
My anger was cutting deeper as nothing but a deafening silence mushroomed around us.
I slammed my glass down on the desk, the liquid jumping and nearly spilling.
“Believe it?” I pushed, fully aware he likely knew what I was saying and was deciding to watch my annoyance bubble to the surface in lieu of answering my question.
“Make sure they do,” he hissed.
I chuckled at the sheer absurdity and picked up my glass, swirling the ice cubes as I rested my other hand on my knee. “I have to wonder what Isabella will think.”
“Who is Isabella?”
My gaze falling to the alcohol, I answered, “A woman who will never get the chance to be with me, apparently.”
“Madonna.”1 His brows pinched together as he strolled back to his desk, taking a seat. Sadly, some kings got dethroned. I didn’t care to be present for a stranger’s misfortune, but I would be right there, watching Santo’s downfall, trying my best to memorize it.
Madonna was my father’s way of saying “why me?” or “my son is an idiot” or “be serious for one lousy time in your life,” but it was too bad I didn’t care enough.
I tapped my finger on the glass, squinting as I tried to push him and prove a point at the same time.
“You might consider Dario for the job.” Naturally, he would have never done that.
He had too much respect for him. Well, as much respect as he could have for a son.
But that leather-wearing bastard was tied for second in line to being most like our father.
Also, his personality was as dry as dry pasta.
“I doubt anyone will marry him unless they’re forced, so it makes the most sense. ”
He ignored my comment. “Raf’s demands are meaningless to me, and I normally wouldn’t entertain such a silly request, but I’ve decided I’ll play by his rules. This time, at least.”
I read somewhere it was good for older people to make friends. My father didn’t have a single one to speak of, so if I didn’t know any better, then I might’ve thought this was his way of trying to start somewhere. “Sounds like that’s your problem.”