Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“I want to make sure they can’t back out.”
“Fine, I get it, but you have the Rowe family by the balls right now and you’re dangling them over a lava pit. Do you really need to fill that pit with crocodiles too?”
I smile to myself, enjoying the image of holding old Graham by his wrinkly sack. “Your metaphor is a mess.”
Gareth laughs softly to himself. “Okay, true, but you get my point. Why this girl? And don’t feed me some bullshit. I remember the softball fiasco. You nearly got thrown out of school for that shit.”
I go quiet for a moment as the limo parks in front of the ornate columns. I let my eyes drift past the facade, linger on the fountain, and stop at the old housekeeper standing at the top of the steps, smiling like she’s happy to see us.
This place represents everything I hate.
Generational wealth. Unearned privilege. I’ll admit, Graham Rowe was once a very good businessman, but anyone can be good given the right resources.
Not everyone can be great.
True greatness requires brutality and strength, but families like this, they don’t have any of that left.
They’ve gone soft.
They hide behind their walls, their perfection, and hoard all their resources in the hopes that they can live off their accumulation forever.
I’m here to show them that even forever ends.
I choose not to answer Gareth’s question about the girl. Instead, I say, “Do you think they’d ever let men like us inside this house if it weren’t for this deal?”
He removes his glasses and shrugs. He’s a good-looking guy, square jaw, dirty-blond hair, blue eyes. Women fawn over him. But Gareth has a dark side, just like me, and his past is almost as checkered as mine. He’s also one of my best friends and a damn good lawyer.
“No, they wouldn’t. We both know that.”
“The son of a mafia don and an orphan. They’d throw us out like trash if given the chance.”
“The world is changing, Carmine. You sound almost bitter, but why do you care if a bunch of aristocratic has-beens look down their noses at you? After today, you’ll have won whether you marry the girl or not. Why take that stupid risk?”
I shake my head slowly.
And think about Brice.
Beautiful, perfect Brice. Blonde, blue eyes, skin like buttercream, a smile bright enough to light up any room. Lovely, incredible Brice. Pristine hair, clothes always spotless, nails manicured, not a stitch or a hair out of place. One of my favorite moments of college was “accidentally” sliding head-first into her and grinding her face into the dirt, even if it did cost me some favors.
I wonder if she still thinks about me.
The man that made her filthy. If only for a few seconds.
“This isn’t only about winning, it’s about extending my family’s power.”
“You think that’s where the girl comes in? I think you’re just obsessed. Seriously, putting her into the contractual language is a bad idea. If you give me a few days—”
“We don’t have a few days. It’s now or never. Some other investment firm could swoop in and offer them a lifeline at any moment. We need them now, while they’re desperate.”
Gareth sighs, closes his folder, and puts his glasses away. “You’re right. But this could backfire.”
“I’m willing to take that risk.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “I’ll let this slide, and only because you’re the damn client. But if I could talk to my friend for a second—”
“You can’t.”
“—I’d tell him, you’re making a stupid mistake. I know the capos all want you to get married and start reproducing as soon as possible, but why this girl? She probably hates you. And to put the whole marriage thing into a contract like this? It’s practically begging for scrutiny. I’m not even sure it’s legal.”
“She never thinks about me.” Which I hope isn’t true. “And you’ll handle the legality.”
“There are dozens of girls you could marry. Italian girls, connected girls. You could strengthen the Scavo Famiglia that way—”
“No, Gareth. It’s got to be her.”
He’s quiet for a moment, then opens the door. “The heart wants what the heart wants,” he says with a smile.
Even though he knows damn well I don’t have a heart.
We walk into the manor house together. It’s exactly what I pictured it would be: expensive paintings, rugs, pristine light fixtures, everything in its place and shining. Wealth screams from every surface and pore, and it makes me uncomfortable deep in my muscles. I’m tense, like something might jump out from behind the walls and scream, you don’t belong, you don’t belong. I didn’t grow up a poor boy—my family always had money and power—but compared to this, I might as well have been a pauper.
All that’s changing. I’m taking the Scavo Famiglia into the future, starting with the acquisition of a big stake in the Rowe Oil, and the acquisition of a pretty little blue-blood wife.