Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“Dominus et Deus, Mr. Scarcello.”
I nod in return and make my way over to my private elevator. This building is owned by Imperium Valens Invictum, also known as The Society, and only members are residents. But among them, I am the only Sovereign Son. The title means I am a descendant of one of the founding families. Our organization is powerful and secretive. We have our own hierarchy, rules, and expectations, and we are self-governed. Our members span the entire world and include influential figures in politics, religious institutions, finance, tech, law, and government organizations. The list goes on. In the pecking order, my family name means I belong to the upper echelon, which dictates that other members regard me highly. They often greet me with this common phrase as a sign of respect, but sometimes I wish they didn’t acknowledge me at all.
I use a biometric keypad to gain access to the elevator, and it whisks me directly up into the gallery of my apartment. The space is bright and airy, with floor-to-ceiling windows and panoramic views of the skyline spanning the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges and both rivers. It meets my requirements for when I’m in the city, including a library with a view of the Empire state building, a lap pool, a state-of-the-art kitchen, and a children’s playroom. I usually find myself contained to the office during my time here, which is where I head today.
After several hours of reviewing my contracts and making preparations for the busy night ahead, I take leave to the kitchen. I retrieve the chef’s prepared meal for my lunch, eating quickly and grimacing at my watch. As I suspected, there will not be time to push my body’s limits in the gym. I’m only halfway through the salad when Luca buzzes to announce he’s arrived.
Discarding the rest of the meal, I take a few mints from my pocket and suck on them as I step into the elevator. The descent is quick, and the journey to the coffee shop even quicker, given the proximity I chose. Luca idles at the curb and tells me he’ll wait nearby for me. I thank him and step out of the car, adjusting my tie. It’s only at that point I notice the speck of blood on my shirt cuff. Annoyance at the blemish has me trying to scrub it away to no avail, so with a sigh, I head inside.
A Society daughter greets me at the door with a shy smile. “Mr. Scarcello. So nice to see you again.”
I dip my head, avoiding eye contact with her. “Please thank your father for lending me the space today.”
“Of course. It’s our pleasure. Would you like me to stay and serve drinks while you conduct your business?”
I consider it and decide for my stomach’s sake that I would enjoy a coffee, but also because the type of beverage a person chooses speaks volumes to their character. I want to set the tone, and then I want to take my candidate’s choices onboard in the decision-making process. Every minute detail matters.
“That would be appreciated. I’ll have a true macchiato.”
“As you wish.” She curtsies before me, and I try to hide my grimace as she hurries off to do my bidding.
I sit at a table in the back and glance over the files one more time, committing the names and photographs to memory. There are already a handful I’m quite certain I won’t be considering, and I intend to dismiss them without delay when my gut confirms my suspicions.
The barista approaches with my macchiato and sets it down with an eagerness that betrays her motivations for volunteering her services today. As a Society daughter, she would be expected to offer regardless, but I suspect she envisions me much like I treated my client this morning. A prize fish to be hooked, captured, and displayed like a trophy.
“Can I get you anything else, sir?” she asks. “A croissant, perhaps? Or a cannoli?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” I dismiss her without a glance, not interested in sending mixed signals. It would break the hearts of many Society daughters to know I don’t intend to marry. Though they aren’t interested in me for my shining personality, but rather the status of my last name.
Five minutes pass before the first applicant arrives. Her sickly-sweet perfume blows into the coffee shop when she opens the door, standing there open-mouthed, gawking at the empty space uncomfortably.
“I wasn’t sure it was open,” she says, lingering near the door as she eyes me off like the grim reaper.
Her instincts are telling her I’m a predator, a threat, and she’d be right. I can’t have someone with no backbone looking after Nino.
“Are you Tiffany?” I inquire.
She clears her throat and jerks her chin. “Y-yes. That’s me.”
“You may leave,” I tell her. “You don’t have the necessary qualifications for the position.”