Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“A trust meeting.”
“Oh, that’s gonna suck.”
“It always sucks.”
“Let me know if you want to drink afterward. Pick up a couple women.”
“We’ll see.”
My driver pulled up to the building so I could get out.
I looked at the historic building, a building that had been in my family for generations, handed down through the ages until the present day. I stepped out, and my driver immediately took off.
The guards opened the front door and allowed me inside. It was the place where the greatest artists of the Renaissance had created their works of art, had even lived there temporarily. We opened it to private events for rich foreigners who wanted to feel like royalty for the night. If royalty were such a thing for Italians, it would run through my veins.
I moved upstairs to the grand room, the ceiling a hundred feet in the air, paintings of my ancestors along the wall. My blood was rich with European aristocracy, from French nobleman and even the royal line in England. I had ties to Greece and Norway as well.
The room was enormous, but somehow my father’s presence filled every corner. He sat at the table that was placed there, a lawyer on either side of him, because he’d never been in my presence one-on-one since that fateful day.
I pulled out the chair and sat across from him.
He immediately opened his folder and started looking through the pages.
“Nice to see you, Father.” I relaxed in the chair, one ankle on the opposite knee, my joined hands in my lap.
He continued to ignore me.
“Your beard’s coming in nicely.”
Once he had his papers in order, he straightened and looked at me. “Let’s get this over with, Axel.”
“What a shame,” I said. “I love small talk.”
“We can discuss the upcoming events at all the properties, the harvest at the winery, and the hotels…or we can discuss something else.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a check.
We’d done this dance before. He made an offer—and I rejected it.
He handed it to his lawyer, who got off his ass and carried it across the table to place in front of me. We were seated far apart because being within ten feet of me was too insufferable for him.
“How’s Mom?” I asked.
He ignored me and stared, waiting for me to look at the check. “We’ve doubled our offer.”
“Wow, I’m impressed,” I said with a slow nod. The check remained in front of me, and I didn’t touch it. “I guess you’ll pay anything to get rid of me.”
“I don’t do business with criminals.”
“Because your hands are so clean…”
“Take the money, Axel.”
I glanced at the check before I looked at him again. “I’m not sure if you would be able to afford this if you were actually paying your taxes.”
His eyes narrowed. “And you pay taxes, Axel?”
“Like you said, I’m a criminal.” I smirked. “But if I don’t pay taxes, and you don’t pay taxes…then you’re also a criminal. Right?” I cocked my head slightly. “That’s how logic works, doesn’t it? That’s what I remember from that hoity-toity philosophy class you forced me to take.”
“Just take the money, Axel. Get out of our lives once and for all.”
The smirk remained on my face, but truth be told, I died every time he spoke to me this way. “You can’t buy me out, Father. I will never relinquish my inheritance, the assets that’ve been handed down through the generations. I’m proud of my ancestry.”
“Well, your ancestors would be ashamed of you.”
“You should brush up on your history because they did some pretty horrible shit.”
“Take the money—”
“No.” I grabbed the check and ripped it into shreds before I sprinkled it across the table. “Sorry to disappoint you, Father.”
The rage in his eyes was indescribable. A trapped inferno burned in his gaze, wanting to break free and incinerate everything it could touch. His temper had no place to go, so he had to bottle it inside, like a shaken bottle of champagne. It was strange to see your own father look at you…and know he hated you. “I’m not your father.” He rose to his feet and took the folder. “And you aren’t my son.”
The gates to Dante’s estate opened, and I drove onto the property. He had an entire corner of the street to himself, allowing him the privacy that was hard to come by this close to the Duomo. I parked the car then approached the courtyard, knowing he would come to meet me at his leisure.
I didn’t look for Scarlett. Wasn’t going to chase her anymore. Truth be told, I never had to chase anybody. I’d never wanted a woman who didn’t want me in return—even if they were married. Her rejection probably heightened my interest, but now I was done.
Heels tapped against the stone, and then Scarlett emerged. She wore skintight jeans on her nice curves and a top that was low cut in the front. She rocked heels like they were flats then dropped into the chair across from me. Her beautiful hair was straight, and her plump lips had a sexy shine.