Chapter 1 #3
"I'm not the only one tired of going home to an empty bed, right?" He presses.
Just because I'm tired of meaningless sex, doesn't mean the rest of them are. I need to remember that. That said, something about it catches in my chest like a coat on a nail that draws me up short. It's a small, sharp resistance that stops me mid-step through my own exhaustion.
"You're not wrong, brother. Put that one in the red pile," I say without an explanation and it draws everyone's eyeballs in my direction.
"Didn't think you were one for one-night stands anymore, Rafe."
That's Luca. He's always pushing people's buttons to see what gets him a reaction.
Massimo's left brow rises and he gives me a look through the smoke of his smelly ass cigar clenched between his teeth. I swear to God the man makes it his full-time job trying to read my mind.
Rowan tosses the envelope on the section of the table we've deemed space for the red pile. "He’s not,” he answers for me. “But why do I feel like that wish set the stage for something?"
"Because it did, brother." I drink back the rest of my scotch and put the glass on the table. I put both hands flat on the surface and lean my substantial weight forward. I look at the men I would die for and I share an idea that just might solve all our problems.
"You are all aware of my situation with my father."
Everyone nods.
Drake grunts. "Yeah. We are all in the same situation for one reason or another."
I stand and walk to the window, rubbing at the back of my neck. I suddenly feel tense for what I am about to say.
Drake shifts in his chair, eyes on me. "You got something to say, do it."
I eye the wish in the red pile, going over my thoughts again before I share them.
I turn and scratch at the stubble covering my jawline with the back of my fingers.
"We have talked about needing to shed our bachelor status for the last six months, but we keep landing in the same place.
It's not the right time, there's no time, there's no prospects.
You get where I'm going with all the excuses we've used. "
Everyone nods and waits for me to continue.
"Fact is, we all need or want to produce heirs. And some of us are under timeline pressure. And we have a city full of women sending us their wishes."
I look each of them in the eye and tap the red pile with one finger. "I think I know how we get what we need without all the time it takes to court a bride the traditional way. We all get heirs, I save Redthorne, we take control and never have our livelihood threatened again due to my old man."
Konstantin makes a sound that sounds like a laugh and a warning at the same time. "No love required." He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. "I knew you were cold, brother, but where the fuck is your soul?" His accent grows thicker the longer he speaks.
I narrow my eyes on him. Ordinarily, he doesn't question me, so his tone grates on my nerves.
"Fuck you, Konstantin. If you only want the flowers and candies, go for it but I don't have time to play the doting boyfriend and husband. I have four months to put a ring on it and a baby in it."
"Fuck man." Luca's tone is even, cold and flat.
I rock back on my heels and press the palms of my hands into my eyes. "Yeah, I heard what I said, too. Shit. Okay, look." Taking my hands down, I look at each of them. "That's not how I meant it but I can't let my father get his hands on what we have built."
Huffs and grumbles work their way through the men and it's Drake who holds a hand up for silence.
Ever practical, he reaches for the decanter and refreshes everyone's glass with the calm efficiency of a man who has been waiting for this particular conversation to happen and is pleased it has finally arrived.
He sets the decanter down and looks at me.
"You are saying we skip the dating apps and the fake fundraisers and go fishing in the wish pile for baby momma candidates. "
I hold his gaze. "We set the price for our wishes, right?"
Drake grunts, his brows high on his forehead. "Always."
"Then the price for whichever wish we choose to grant is an heir.
" I pull out the chair at the head of the table and sit.
Since it appears we are finally having a conversation about how to move forward and save the empire we've all killed to build, I use blunt words.
"Massimo, you're our lawyer. Can this fly? "
Massimo considers me while Luca props his chin in his hand and says, "This is either the most efficient thing you have ever said or the beginning of a very expensive legal problem."
"Agreed. Massimo, which is it?" I ask.
Massimo is already staring at the ceiling. He's cataloguing the documentation this will require. "Both," he says, without looking down.
My phone buzzes on the table.
I turn it over and the screen shows a text from my father.
I pinch the screen open to see a photograph of a thick contract. He's peeled back several pages to reveal dense legal language that has my father's cruel, manipulative fingerprints on every subordinate clause. At the top of the page, in clean block letters it reads:
Redthorne Holdings, Inc. Bill Of Sale
And below the photograph, a single line of text glares up at me.
Tick-tock, son.
I set the phone face-up and scoot it to the middle of the table so everyone can see just how serious this is.
I pick up my glass and finish what Drake poured.
“Gentlemen," I say, my voice cold and absolute. "I either take what I need or I lose it all. Are you with me?"