Chapter 4
FOUR
Tony
Dinner unfolds in the usual, icy silence. The dim lighting casts the room in a muted glow, but the newest addition to the family, Lucia, glows like a star in the gloom.
No wonder they call her the Sun Princess.
Her beauty is striking. Her blonde hair cascades over her shoulders, and her makeup is minimal, yet it only enhances her delicate features.
Aside from one quick glance when I walked in, I’ve ignored her all dinner. But every time I look at her, rage boils up, impossible to swallow.
She’s blameless, innocent in all of this. Still, the thought of Carlo taking her virgin pussy—what was promised to me—burns through me like acid.
I seriously doubt she even knows she was promised to me. A promise her bastard father went back on. He claimed his daughter was promised to the next capo of the Bruni family, then gave her to Carlo like an offering on a silver platter.
As dessert is served, Don Fernando dismisses Lucia and my mother, Carmen, from the table.
Before Lucia can rise, I reluctantly pull the jewelry box from my pocket and set it in front of her, right under Carlo’s heavy, watchful gaze.
Lucia glances at me, then at Carlo, her expression somewhere between surprise and uncertainty.
My lips curve into a smirk, and I don’t bother hiding it.
Looks like Carlo’s already marked his territory, same as he did with the others before her.
The bastard never wastes time leaving his brand on what he thinks belongs to him.
“Well, Tony. You remembered the gift for your new sister,” Don Fernando says.
The word “sister” almost makes me laugh out loud. I bite it back.
Lucia hesitates, then reaches out and picks up the box.
“Thank you so much,” she says softly.
Her words hit me like a jolt, sharp and electric.
“Please, let me go.”
The words echo in my head, pulling broken, hazy flashes with them. A girl beneath me, pleading, her voice trembling. Blonde hair. Soft skin.
I freeze. Why the hell does she look so much like Lucia?
I don’t blink. My eyes stay on her face as confusion grips me.
Why the hell am I picturing this now?
Carlo’s fists clench the second he catches me staring at his wife. He takes a deep breath and exhales noisily. He looks at his wife, whose face is flushed, her movements awkward as she avoids my gaze.
Why’s she so flustered? Why won’t she meet my eyes?
With a voice not so gentle, Carlo tells her to leave.
I grab my wine glass and drain it in one go. I’ll get to the bottom of this later.
Once the women are gone, we make our way to Don Fernando’s office. The presence of Giuseppe, my uncle and Don Fernando’s trusted consigliere, and my half-brother Brando, makes it clear this meeting has an important agenda.
Don Fernando settles into the rocking chair by the cold fireplace and lights a cigar. Giuseppe claims the leather couch, sitting stiffly beside Brando.
Carlo pours himself a glass of whiskey, drops into an armchair, and I take my spot against the edge of the massive desk, arms crossed over my chest, watching them all.
Don Fernando doesn’t bother with pleasantries.
“I told Senator McKay: Tony’s heading to Chicago. He’s taking over U.S. operations.”
The room falls into stunned silence, everyone except Carlo, who calmly sips his whiskey as if the announcement doesn’t concern him.
“What about the casino?” Giuseppe asks.
“Brando steps in,” Don Fernando replies.
Brando’s surprise is evident, but he doesn’t object.
Don Fernando exhales a cloud of cigar smoke, his dark eyes settling on Brando. “Do you think you can handle it?”
Brando straightens, the hesitation in his expression vanishing. “I can, Father.”
Don Fernando nods, satisfied. “Good.”
“But Brando’s still a kid. He doesn’t have the experience to run one of the most critical operations in this business.”
It’s Giuseppe who objects. Brando frowns, but before he can defend himself, Don Fernando cuts in with a calm, dismissive shake of his head.
“Decision’s made. If his business sense matches his fucking and drinking skills, he’ll manage. He’s a Bruni, the madness in his blood will carry him.”
Well, this is a first. I’ve never heard Don Fernando so much as hint at a compliment for his youngest son. Brando, my half-brother from the same mother, has always been invisible to him.
Carlo, of course, is the center of Fernando’s universe, his golden child. Everyone else is just shadows in his glow.
Giuseppe doesn’t push back further. He knows better than to challenge Don Fernando’s decisions.
Brando, though, looks at his father. His bright blue eyes shine with gratitude and barely contained excitement.
“You don’t have any objections, Tony?”
My hands tighten around the edge of the desk. A bitter smirk forms on my lips as I answer, “Would it matter if I objected? You’re kicking me out of my own fucking country.”
Carlo leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, his polished bald head catching the light as he stares me down.
Don Fernando takes a slow drag from his cigar, the ember glowing bright before he exhales a cloud of smoke through his nose.
“On the contrary,” he says. “I’m giving you the empire you’ve always wanted. I’m placing the crown you deserve on your head. You’ve been a loyal and capable minister, Tony, but I can’t ignore the truth: you have the soul of a king. You will never find happiness here in Italy.”
Giuseppe’s eyes widen, and my pulse kicks up a beat.
Does he mean what I think he does?
His next words make it clear that he does.
“From now on, Chicago’s yours. Full control.
Expand however you want. Up until now, we’ve treated that branch as a minor stream of income, but we all know Chicago’s potential.
It’s yours to unleash. Any profit you make is yours to keep, entirely.
You’re even free to decide whether or not to use us as your supplier. This is my gift to you, Tony.”
I let out the breath I’ve been holding.
This is everything I’ve ever wanted. Hell, it’s more than I ever thought Fernando would give me, even in my wildest dreams.
Giuseppe looks like he’s about to speak, but one look at the deepening scowl on Fernando’s face shuts him up. Good.
Carlo, on the other hand, remains slouched in his chair, his face blank, unreadable. His gaze drifts lazily across the room.
No objections? Not a small act of resistance?
Don Fernando rises to his feet, his voice final as he addresses the room.
“There’s nothing more to discuss. Everyone except Tony is dismissed.”
Carlo stands first, leaving without a word. Giuseppe turns to follow Brando, but I stop him by calling his name.
He halts near the doorway, looking at me with a questioning gaze. I walk over, pull the photo from my pocket, and hand it to him.
“Your men snatched this girl from her village three days ago.”
Giuseppe looks at the picture. Recognition flashes across his face, then a grin spreads far too wide. The sick bastard.
“Yeah, the whiny one, crying for daddy. Don’t worry, she’ll have plenty of ‘daddies’ to break her soon enough.”
“Tell your men to bring her to the casino tonight. And take her off your sale list,” I say.
Giuseppe’s brows draw together, his round, bloated face flushing red with anger. “You’re in no position to give me orders.”
“Yes, he is,” Don Fernando’s steady voice rings out. “He’s a Bruni. When a Bruni tells you to do something, you do it, no questions asked.”
Giuseppe huffs, his hand resting on his swollen gut as his fingers tap rhythmically in frustration.
“But this is my business, Don Fernando.”
“A business that runs without my protection. I told you before, I won’t back you. Now stop wasting my time and get out.”
Giuseppe knows better than to challenge my uncle and walks out quietly.
Don Fernando lowers himself onto the couch, grinding his cigar into the ashtray before giving me a quick command.
“Pour us a Scotch.”
Under any other circumstances, being treated like a bartender would’ve rubbed me the wrong way. But tonight, the drink feels necessary, a private celebration between just the two of us.
I hand him his glass and sit down beside him.
“I don’t know what to say,” I break the silence. “You’ve caught me off guard.”
For a few long moments, he says nothing, just sips his drink slowly. Then, without looking at me, he finally speaks.
“Carlo didn’t know about your engagement to Lucia. He still doesn’t. No one knows. It was a private agreement between your father and Pietro. If you didn’t have such a damn good memory, you probably would’ve forgotten it like everyone else.”
Well, I fucking haven’t.
“Chicago’s yours,” he says. “But I want one thing in return.”
I stare at him, silently waiting for him to speak his mind.
“Stay away from Carlo. I’m not saying you can’t come back to Italy or see your mother. You’re always welcome here, just not when Carlo’s around.”
I scoff, but he ignores it and tries to reason with me.
“You’re both predators. Both alphas. Two alphas can’t share the same territory without tearing each other apart. Believe it or not, I think of you as a son.”
I don’t care for him. I don’t care for Carlo either. But I can’t argue with his logic.
“Do we have an understanding?”
I tilt my head in acknowledgment. “We do.”
He pats my shoulder, a rare show of affection, then sets his glass on the table and walks toward the door.
Just as he’s about to leave, he stops and turns back. His voice drops, cold and deadly, without a trace of warmth, as he speaks.
“If you ever disrespect Carlo’s mother again, I’ll make you regret it in ways you can’t begin to imagine.”
He doesn’t leave. He just stands there, gazing down at me, daring me to push back. And I can see it; he’d torch the whole Chicago deal for that dead woman.
I’ve already got what I always wanted, so fuck it. I give him the satisfaction of a small nod, then watch him turn and walk away.
***
“Please, let me go. Don’t…don’t do this…”
“You look just like her. Did you know that? Like the woman who was mine. I can pretend it’s her under my cock.”
“No…please, stop. Let me go…”
The voices thunder through my head, yanking me out of sleep like a punch to the chest. I shoot upright, gasping for air, sweat cold against my skin.
The same fragmented images flash behind my eyes. Blonde hair, smooth golden skin under my hands, the weight of her breasts in my grip. My stomach twists.
I reach for my phone on the nightstand and check the time. 4:00 AM.
A single message from Rafael.
“The old man was right. I’ll have the full report for you tomorrow.”
I dial his number and press the phone to my ear. His groggy voice filters through the line.
“Something wrong, boss?”
“Was the girl blonde?”
He sounds half-asleep, slurring his words. “Blonde, redhead, brunette, take your pick. What are you in the mood for?”
“The maid you sent to my room last night. Was she blonde?”
“Oh…her. I didn’t check her pussy, but the hair on her head was black.”
I end the call, dragging a hand through my hair. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I seeing these images?
There’s no way. Not a chance in hell anything happened between me and Lucia last night. If it had, Carlo would have her by the hair and me hanging by my balls. Besides, what reason would Lucia have to cover for me?
I go out onto the terrace, lighting a cigarette. My eyes settle on the domes of the churches dotting the city skyline.
This has to be my fucked-up subconscious playing tricks on me. Nothing more.
Yes, that should be it.