Talking about sadists, my gaze found my cousin Lorenzo a couple seats down. He was staring at the girl like it was his job. And not any job I'd given him—because he was good at turning those to shit—but like a vocation or something. You'd never know looking at the man nor talking to him, but the bastard had an inclination for S&M. Knowing that and watching him stare at Anastasia Angel, a sliver of irritation ran through me.
She probably liked it sweet and vanilla.
Probably preferred the man to get on his knees and beg a bit.
Lorenzo would.
I'd rather shut my dick in a car door.
She'd glared at me at church today, and I'd wondered what the Sweet Angel could have against me. I'd known the nickname before I even met the girl. It was an innocent pet name that became well-known—well, among men—because not only was she sweet, she had the sweetest body around.
I'd heard more about this girl's ass in the past couple years than I ever needed to. And truthfully, I'd grown sick of it. When something was overhyped, it was always a letdown.
I guessed the joke was on me because this was not one of those times.
I had always tuned out of conversation when she came up. I'd never seen her, but when my idiot cousins would waste time talking about the same pussy like it was what I paid them to do, it was an annoyance. Her name had become an irritation, like some kind of Pavlovian conditioning. So, when her papà had told me she was unfit for marriage, I hadn't even asked why. I'd signed the contract for the other one.
Then I saw her at church.
Son of a bitch.
My cousins would check out any woman under fifty. Any woman if she had just one decent attribute, so of course I had never believed the hype.
Talk about a man's wet dream.
Her body . . . fucking centerfold-worthy.
Her hair was a weakness of mine: black, silky, and long enough I could wrap it around my fist twice. The thought had flitted through my mind unwillingly. And at church. Jesus.
It was the soft, innocent expression of hers, though, that seemed to burn through my skin and straight to my dick. It was so damn sweet, and I knew that's where her little nickname had come from. Couldn't be from Little Miss Glare's personality.
I'd observed her from the back of the church for far longer than I should have. I'd watched as she gave the same smile to every man in the congregation who came up to her, like it was a queue to see Her Majesty.
I was six-foot-three—hardly inconspicuous—but she wouldn't notice me for another thirty minutes, at which time she would glare at me.
The Sweet Angel was sweet to everyone but me. I could have laughed, if for reasons unknown to me, it didn't piss me off. It was the first time since I'd become Boss that anyone had blatantly disrespected me. Maybe it was juvenile, but I wanted Anastasia Angel to know I didn't care for her much either.
No woman with that much male attention could ever be anything but stuck-up and shallow. By her pink designer heels, I could see she liked to spend her papà's money. Her sister was wearing flip-flops. I'd probably save millions of dollars by marrying her instead.
Jennie was a little strange, but attractive.
If you took her away from her sister, she was stunning; if she stood next to Anastasia, she'd blend into the wallpaper. This scenario worked for me just fine. I'd rather not have a wife all my cousins were jerking off to.
It wasn't like I cared much about who I married. It was time to take a wite, and in my world that meant profits. Salvatore had a little dispute with some Mexicans that was starting to grow into a problem. He'd grown soft in his old age. After the wedding, I'd help him find the root of the issue and deal with it the way I'd been taught: with a bullet through the head. This alliance was making me millions richer, not to mention would allow me control of most of the city.
A wave of awareness ran down my spine when Anastasia's gaze settled on me from across the table. It was a warm and annoying consciousness on the side of my face. I was going to ignore it, but I found myself glancing at her anyway. The back of my neck itched, but I held her stare until she looked away.
After her glare at church, I'd taken it upon myself to find out why she was unfit for marriage. Turns out the Sweet Angel ran away, got sweet with some man.
I knew her lack of virginity wasn't the reason Salvatore hadn't offered her to me. It was only an excuse. Salvatore didn't want me to have her, though I could hardly blame him. If I were him, I wouldn't give my daughter to me either. It was easy to understand why Salvatore had little trouble offering his other one.
Jennie sat beside me in a black dress, one leg crossed over the other. Her brown shoulder-length hair covered her face as she leaned forward and doodled something on her palm with a pen.
I hadn't said a word to her since she'd shown up to the table late. To be honest, I'd almost forgotten she was sitting here. I guessed it was time to get to know my future wife.
"What are you drawing?"
Jennie hesitated, but then turned her little palm around and showed me.
"A rabbit." It wasn't a question because that's what it fucking was.
She pursed her lips and pulled her hand away to continue. "Mr. Rabbit." she corrected in a tone that would have normally pissed me off. But I was already at my limit, so I shrugged it off and planned exactly what I was going to do to her brother.
"Right or left?"
Tony's jaw ticked but he didn't say a word just sat in the chair across from his papà's desk like he was at a board meeting. Blood dripped from his lip onto his white dress shirt, though he still wore a darkly entertained expression.
So I hit him. Again.
A burn traveled through my cracked knuckles.
His teeth clenched, but he took it without a sound. Tony was one of those men who were so high on their own shit they couldn't feel pain. He'd fucking feel something before I left this room.
Rays of sun shone through the blinds into Salvatore's office, lighting dust particles in the air. All the guests had filed out, and it was safe to say this lunch was a failure. Which only meant more lunches and parties I'd have to attend. None of the families wanted to risk acquainting everyone at such a large event, because shit like today could happen, before escalating into a bloodbath with women and children present.
Luca stood in front of the door, his cold eyes focused on the back of Tony's head. Benito and another of his younger cousins, who was close to Jennie's age, leaned against the wall with their arms crossed, while Salvatore sat behind his desk with a contrite expression.
I could start a war for Piero's death if I wanted, which was probably why Salvatore was going along with this. That, and the fact that his daughter's life had been threatened due to his son's stupidity.
"You fucked up, son," Salvatore said, clasping his hands on the wooden desk. "I warned you and you went and caused trouble anyway. If something would've happened to Anastasia, you'd be floating in the Hudson. You should feel lucky."
"Lucky," Tony mocked. He ran a hand across his jaw before saying, "Left."
Satisfaction filled my chest.
Right, it is.
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