Sold to Mr. Giordano

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I roll up the sleeves on my white button up and tuck the rest into my black dress pants. In the kitchen, I grab a pad of paper and write to Arielle that I’ll be gone and won’t see her until tomorrow at the altar. We still respect tradition of not seeing the bride for twenty-four hours, I’ve been avoiding her all day. It’d be easier if we still lived at her father’s crappy penthouse on the other side of town. She’s still at the spa with Arabella and I pray to God that she’s finally gotten over herself, stopped crying, and fucking relaxed instead of being so high-strung.

Rocco meets me in the lobby of the hotel/club/casino the Famiglia owns. He’s holding two drinks and hands one to me, I’m quick to down it all and just forget everything about the past few weeks and the next few weeks to come. We head down to the club first, Rocco immediately finds a girl to dance with while I’d rather watch the fresh ass shake while I sit at the bar and observe.

A redhead with piercing green eyes makes her way over to me, she barely wearing anything. Just a tight clad of leather around her waist and a matching bra that barely covers her massive breasts. She licks her lips and places her hands in my knees as she slowly makes her way up. My cock twitches and body loses all its tension—until my damn phone rings.

“Yeah?” I answer in my most pissed-off tone. It’s one of my men, there’s been an emergency. I push the red bombshell off of me and make my way to the dance floor to grab Rocco.

“We’re leaving. Duty calls.” I pull him by his collar and practically drag him out of the club.

We’re driven to the hospital where Angelo was taken to. Normally, our men are taking to the Famiglia’s doctor, but in the event of a situation where too much blood was lost, our men are told to go to the hospital.

Angelo was shot by one of the bastard Russians, scrapped one of his organs, but doctors still managed to save his life. No one dares tell me visiting hours are over, I go in to see Arielle’s brother pale and disheveled.

“Sorry boss,” he coughs.

“You look like shit.”

“Does Arielle know I’m here?”

 “No.”

Angelo looks taken back and wait for me to say more, but truth is I’m not going to tell my fiancée the night before our wedding that her brother is in the hospital.

“You’re going to get better and make it to the wedding tomorrow. She’s barely getting enough sleep as it is, I don’t need her here all night crying over you too.”

 “Too?”

“Arielle doesn’t stop crying,” Rocco chimes in.

“Because she doesn’t want to marry you!”

“Too bad,” I growl and inch closer to his face. “If you weren’t Arielle’s brother, I would’ve finished you myself for talking to me in such a tone. Pull yourself together and be at the wedding tomorrow, you can tell her yourself.”

Angelo opens his mouth, probably to tell me what a selfish bastard I am, but he’s a smart man who knows he doesn’t want to die tonight.

“Rest up.” I exit and talk to one of the doctors on my payroll about his healing process. He’ll probably be walking with a cane tomorrow and will likely be in pain, but he can still attend the wedding.

Walking in the hospital entering the wing Angelo is in, is Marco, Luca, and Valentina. I wasn’t aware anyone called them. Angelo wasn’t near a phone and he certainly wouldn’t waste a phone call of his piece of shit father, he’d call Arielle —who isn’t here, but hopefully in bed sleeping and unaware.

Someone must’ve told him, and I’ll figure out who.

“Marco,” I approach him.

“He got fucking shot the night before his sister’s wedding.” He mutters angrily more to himself than to me.

“He’ll be at the wedding and he’ll survive.”

“He better survive, I expect him to be better protected when out with your men, or I’ll have to call them back to New York. Four of my men I sent to you are already dead, Moretti. Now my son is injured.” Is this a threat.

“Nearly twenty of my men are dead and are you forgetting my father is dead as well. The Outfit has helped out New York many times, and you asked that I take your daughter in return, give your son Arabella, and keep Angelo here until you want him back.”

 Marco bares his teeth and snarls. I won’t hesitate to stick my knife up through his jaw and into his brain, if it comes to that. Doesn’t matter if this man is Capo or my soon to be father-in-law, I won’t let anyone disrespect me in anyway. I’ve worked too hard and blackened my soul to get to this point.

“I will see you at the wedding tomorrow,” I dismiss Marco and turn on my heels before he can reply.

I clench my fists so tight in frustration that my knuckles are white. I either need to kill a man or fuck the hell out of some whore. Too bad none of that will be happening tonight. It’s best if I go home, take a shower, relieve myself, and sleep.