Chapter 2 #2
Finding a woman to have my child and marry shouldn’t have been that damn difficult for a nigga of my caliber. I mean, come on. I had the fine-nigga features, the prestigious family name, the money, and a bloodline powerful enough to open doors most people didn’t even know existed.
The problem wasn’t attracting women; it was finding one worth being tied to.
Most of the women in my world wanted a check, clout, or another reason to keep their names trending on somebody’s timeline.
They didn’t want to build anything; they wanted to be seen standing beside what had already been built.
And whoever I chose wouldn’t be some temporary situation I could dismiss once I got bored.
She would be my wife and the mother of my child, which meant I’d have to deal with her voice in my ear, her attitude disrupting my peace, and her perfume lingering in my sheets for the rest of my life.
Or at least until the marriage served its purpose and I decided she had outlived her usefulness.
Truthfully, I didn’t feel like meeting anybody new.
I had neither the time nor the patience to sit through fake conversations, pretend to care about childhood memories, or study some unfamiliar woman long enough to determine whether she could be trusted with something as personal and permanent as my child.
So, yeah, it had to be someone I already knew.
Not necessarily someone I loved, just someone I understood well enough to tolerate.
Zonnique was the least catastrophic option available.
She was loud, irritating, and fake as her lashes…
but she was useful. And in my world, useful outranked likable every time.
Besides, Zonnique was already in the picture and had convinced herself she mattered more than she did.
When I told her about the arrangement, she looked as though she’d been practicing her reaction in the mirror since middle school.
Her eyes lit up like I’d just promised her a damn castle and a crown to match.
Still, a year later, and nothing to show for it; just the same irritating woman and a situation that felt more like a punishment than a partnership. So, either my boys were swimming in circles, or her oven came preheated with nothing to bake.
“On some real shit, I don't know what the hell is going on, Pops,” I admitted, setting the glass down harder than necessary. “We fuckin’... too damn much if you ask me.”
That was a fact.
Me and Zonnique had been fuckin’ more than I ever wanted to, mostly because my father kept asking for progress reports like I was running a science experiment.
Some nights, it almost felt real… until Zonnique would open her mouth talking about love, feelings and shit and remind me exactly why I hated her.
“At this point, I’m just about to find another solution,” I grumbled.
“This is exactly why I told you to start early, Merge. I reminded you every damn year, hoping you wouldn't stall like you always do... and now look where you are. You got a consigliere's son circling like a vulture, waiting for you to slip so he can take your seat. You’re with a girl who seemingly can’t deliver what we need from her. And then there’s me...
stuck between my son and the bylaws, watching this whole thing crumble because you couldn't handle a simple task.”
My father sounded disappointed, and somehow that hit harder than if he’d yelled.
Then his tone softened, almost weary. “Merge, I don’t want Kalvon in my chair, but if you can’t fulfill your end of the deal and secure the Belvior line, my hands are tied.
The council will vote, and you already know how that ends.
I can put your name before the council, but I can’t force them to confirm an unmarried man with no heir.
I may occupy the chair, son, but even the Don answers to the laws protecting it. ”
His voice carried the kind of weight that crushed men who didn’t know how to carry it.
The bourbon burned in my chest, but not as hot as the rage simmering beneath my skin.
“Good thing is you still have time… a little. So, figure it out, but fast. Because next time we have this conversation, it won’t be as father and son, it will be a boss dealing with a problem.”
He turned toward the door, then abruptly stopped.
“Clean this up,” he ordered, gesturing at the wreckage around us. “Oh, and a little FYI… the next time you decide to make a statement, do it somewhere that doesn’t require replacing a piece of family history.”
With nothing else to say, he left me sitting in the heavy quiet.
I downed another shot. The liquid burned all the way down, but not harder than the thought that followed.
I will marry whoever I have to, breed with whoever will secure my legacy, and eliminate anyone who dares to stand in my way.
When it came to the Belvior throne, love was a luxury I couldn’t afford, but legacy was the law that dictated my every move.
I’ll figure it out. I always do.
***
Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring!
The aggressive ringing of my doorbell jolted me out of my sleep.
My eyes snapped open. I quickly rolled over and squinted at the time on my phone.
5:47 a.m.
I grabbed my Glock on the nightstand before I was fully conscious.
Years of dealing with enemies, emergencies, and idiots had conditioned me to expect the worst first and ask questions later.
Nobody came to my house before sunrise to say good morning.
They either came with problems, bad news, or requests that should’ve been text messages.
So, whoever was ringing my bell like they were trying to set it on fire either had a death wish or information valuable enough to buy themselves a few extra minutes of life.
Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring!
“Who the hell is ringing my doorbell like a damn maniac before six in the goddamn morning?!” I grumbled, hopping up, boxers hanging low and tension hanging lower.
Shirtless, barefoot, and fresh out of grace, I made my way downstairs with my gun in my hand. The metal was solid in my grip as I descended the stairs.
By the time I got halfway down, my butler’s shaky voice echoed through the foyer. “Sir—uh, it’s Miss Zonnique.”
I froze mid-step.
Sure enough, there she was, standing in the middle of the foyer wearing a fitted trench coat belted at the waist, heels that clicked against the floor, and a smug little smirk playing on her lips like she’d just walked off a runway instead of slithered in uninvited.
What the fuck is she doing here?
My jaw flexed as I put my tucked my gun away in my waistband and continued down the stairs. Part of me wished I had a reason to use my gun. Zonnique’s ass worked every fiber of my being, and if the circumstances were different, I probably would’ve shot her ass right then and there.
“What the fuck you doing here, Zonnique?” I asked, dragging my hand down my face, with ice in my veins. “Ringing my shit this early like you ain’t scared to die.”
She turned to face me fully, a slow smile spreading across her perfectly made-up face. Even at that hour, she looked put together with her hair styled, makeup flawless, and dressed like she had somewhere important to be. Meanwhile, I looked and felt like death.
“Well, good morning to you too, fiancé,” she greeted, all sugary and smug, setting her purse down on the table.
“Don’t call me that shit ever again!” I snapped.
“Matter of fact don’t call me nothing until I figure out why the hell you poppin’ up at my crib like we cool or yo’ name magically showed up on this deed.
And since we’re setting the record straight, there’s two things you don’t do.
And since we clearing shit up, there are two things you don’t do.
One—don’t wake me up before six. Two—don’t lean on my damn doorbell like you own stock in this muthafucka.
” I pointed toward the front door. “So, before I escort you and that suspicious-ass purse back to the sidewalk, start explaining real slow why you’re here.
Better yet, explain how the hell you got past security. ”
Zonnique tilted her head, still wearing that same smug smile. Her gaze traveled over my disheveled appearance, lingering on my bare chest before dropping to the sweatpants hanging low on my hips.
She looked a little too pleased with what she saw.
I wasn’t.
“Eyes up here,” I warned. “You already trespassing. Don’t add sexual harassment to the list.”
“Wow,” she said, her tone light and mocking. “I forgot how charming you are in the mornings.”
My hands flexed at my sides, every muscle in my body wound tight. I wanted to throw her out myself—drag her to the door and toss her ass onto the sidewalk—but I held back.
Barely.
A venomous grin spread across my face. “And I forgot how easily some people confuse access with importance. Let’s fix that shit today.
” I stepped closer, my expression hardening.
“Zonnique, people have disappeared behind mistakes smaller than this one. Don’t ever get comfortable enough around me to forget who the fuck I am. ”
She crossed her arms, looking genuinely offended. “Oh, so now I’m not welcome here?”
“Not unless you came to scrub baseboards, wash dishes, vacuum rugs, or disappear,” I answered bluntly. “And right now, I’m leaning real heavy toward the disappearing part.”
She rolled her eyes, completely unfazed.
That was one of Zonnique’s specialties—acting like my temper didn’t scare her, even when common sense should’ve told her otherwise.
“Relax, Mr. Attitude.” She waved me off. “Since you seem to be suffering from a little amnesia, you’re the one who told security I was welcome here.”