I stared at him with indifference, while my chest twisted with aversion before going cold enough to burn.
I’d thought a lot about this situation, what I could get out of Salvatore for breaking the contract, what I wanted the most. It started with an E and had long black hair. It was also my vice.
I wanted it, but I couldn’t let myself have it.
Nonetheless, now that I knew she belonged to another man, something violent spread through my veins like an internal case of frostbite.
My irrational side began speaking for me. “Contract signed?”
Salvatore nodded, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
I watched him closely. I bet after that little incident with the pool and me shoving Elena into it, he’d locked that man’s signature right down.
I had nothing against Salvatore, but there was something about sharing the same title with a man close to half his age he didn’t like. And I was fucking richer than him. He didn’t like how far my reputation stretched, and the details of said reputation. But after today, he knew he couldn’t afford to get on my bad side. We’d found the Mexicans involved with the drive-by, but there were still a few members that needed to be taken care of.
Frankly, I had more men on the streets than Salvatore. Even men on his, who I’d used to find the men responsible for today’s shooting. Salvatore hadn’t liked it when I’d used that card. I didn’t play by the rules, and the straight-laced don didn’t trust me. He needed me, though. I thought that was why he disliked me the most. He also just really didn’t want my Russo hands all over his favorite daughter.
“Who?” The question escaped me, and I fucking prayed he wouldn’t answer.
His gaze narrowed as he took a sip of whiskey. “Oscar Perez. Colombian.”
We stared at each other, and the cold bit into my chest.
“This problem with the Mexicans has fucked some of my connections with suppliers. Oscar has been an . . . acquaintance for a while. He has good product, but he wants Elena.”
Salvatore was trying to convince himself, it sounded like. Oscar was the kind of man the godly-rich with a twisted sense of ennui bred. Fitted with a malignant stain he’d try to rid with Elena.
I got up, buttoned my jacket, and turned to leave. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. It’s late.”
“And Adriana?” he said as I opened the door.
I hadn’t shown much desire in getting revenge on the man who dared to fuck Nicolas Russo’s fiancée, but only because I’d been fighting the possibility of her sister.
“Her phone records. They’ve contacted each other,” I replied, before walking out.
I didn’t care so much about who Adriana had slept with while engaged to me.
It was just the fucking principle of it.
It was eight o’clock in the morning as I sat on the couch, in a pink oversized Yankees t-shirt and shorts. I ate a bowl of Cap’n Crunch while the blonde newscaster filled me in on current events.
I watched the news every morning and night. There wasn’t much in the world that was reported on that I didn’t know about, from the Korean child labor crisis to the botchy Botox injections being given in L.A.
When a familiar face appeared on the screen, my pulse stilled. And when the words “Oscar Perez” followed by “found shot execution style in front of his apartment,” passed the reporter’s ruby red lips, I choked on my cereal.
Not ten seconds had gone by, before “SON OF A BITCH!” came from my papà’s office.
My eyes widened.
As I was sinking into the couch with the relief of Oscar’s death, the noise of Nicolas entering the foyer with my brother filtered into the room. They were talking about Adriana’s phone records. My heart dropped. If the report showed all of my sister’s messages, it would take little effort to find Ryan.
Tony and Nicolas had found something in common now? Disgust twisted in my stomach.
They headed past the living room doors to my papà’s office, while I watched the news, narrow-eyed and simmering.
Papà’s anger drifted down the hall like fog, and I wondered if I was going to hear gunshots, but another five minutes passed before his shout filled my ears.
“Elena! My office, now!”
I hesitated, but then got to my feet and padded barefoot toward his office. Dread sank into my skin with each step.
I knocked on the doorframe before entering the room. Papà was behind his desk, Tony sat in the chair across from him, and Nico leaned against the wall near the window.
I stood in the middle of the office, my fingers playing with the hem of my shirt. The sun warmed my clammy skin.
“Congratulations,” Papà bit out, his eyes a dark storm. I swallowed, having never seen my father so angry. “You’re getting married.”
A cold sensation crawled down my throat and filled my lungs.
Slowly, I glanced at Nicolas to see he watched me with indifference. Keeping his gaze, I let out a shaky breath and asked, “To who?” but I already knew. I hadn’t imagined this outcome, and I wasn’t sure why.
“To Nico.”
My heart beat so fast I fought not to choke on it.
Silence filled the room—deep and loathing from my papà, thoughtful from my brother, and apathetic from my no longer future brother-in-law but fiancé.
The silence I felt was instinctive, like how prey quiets to avoid capture. A survival instinct kicked in, and I shook my head.
“No,” I whispered.
A spark flickered through Nico’s eyes.
My papà shuffled some papers on his desk. “It is done, Elena.”
That must be the contract in his hand.
Nicolas could sign for me, and “it was done?” Of course, this was how it always worked, but something tasted bitter about Nico doing it.
This news was like a slap to the face. How could I process him being my sister’s fiancé to mine in less than five minutes?
That wasn’t only it.
I had never wanted a husband like him. He was everything my body thought it needed and everything my brain knew it didn’t. I would lose myself in Nicolas Russo, and I wouldn’t know where to come up for air.
My heart would fall for him and he would crush it beneath his feet. I could live a loveless life. I couldn’t survive a broken one.
I gave my head another shake. “Papà—”
“Enough, Elena! It is done. Now, go pack a bag. You’re staying with him until the wedding.”
My eyes widened.
“What?” I breathed.
He directed a sarcastic gaze at me. “It’s not like you’re a virgin, Elena.”
“Papà,” Tony snapped.
His words pierced my chest. I knew he was pissed and was directing it at me, but it hurt all the same. “How could you allow this? Do you think that because my reputation is already stained you can just rip it to shreds?”
“You can blame your poor reputation on yourself and your fiancé. After this issue with your sister and your . . . past, I agreed to his terms.”
What he meant was that Nicolas didn’t trust me not to fool around with other men behind his back before the wedding. Papà apparently didn’t have much say on the matter, considering the contract was broken on his end.