Page 5 of Legacy of Deception

Which was exactly why I knew with zero uncertainty she was the acid to the embers of my disgust. Together, the toxicity we’d produce would do more than burn this building down in the way a simple lighter would.

My heart clattered against my ribs as the sound of her trilling voice filled my ears, memories of her swirling around in my head. I wouldn’t describe us as close or anything remotely in the same realm as that. It was only because Capri and Brooklyn were childhood friends that I’d possessed any amount of knowledge about Brooklyn. However, it was more than enough for me to know she showed a consistent pattern of being reckless and an impulsive troublemaker who would no doubt spike a man’s cortisol levels.

When she had been a freshman in high school, she had a crush on Frederick Lamons. He had been years older than her, seeing some girl from his class. Long story short, she had some ridiculous belief he would have asked her to the prom if he hadn’t had a girlfriend. So, she had invited Lamons to a party at our place, sending him upstairs where she had known Carmine had been sleeping with Lamons’s girlfriend.

She had faked a twisted ankle to garner tender attention from Augustus something-or-other. He had practically been wrapped around her finger, which was the only reason that made any sense as to why he would have believed something that had been clearly fabricated. It had been nothing more than a ploy to make sure he was sympathetic toward her in an effort to spend more time with him.

Somehow, she had gotten tangled up with EJ Gray, and in the time she had spent with him in Vegas, she had managed to get him drunk enough to spill some of the best-laid secrets on the Strip. She had even taken him to a chapel with every intention of making him her husband. Of course, EJ had no qualms with it. Then again, he hadn’t had all of his faculties. Fortunately, Capri had been able to talk Brooklyn out of that one.

None of that was even the tip of the iceberg as far as threats, manipulation, and sabotage went. She had woven such an intricate web of deceit throughout her short life, I wasn’t sure if I should be impressed or repulsed.

“And if people don’t?” I asked, sitting down. My anger was cutting deeper as nothing but a deafening silence mushroomed around us. I slammed my glass down on the desk, the liquid jumping and nearly spilling. “Believe it?” I pushed, fully aware he likely knew what I was saying and was deciding to watch my annoyance bubble to the surface in lieu of answering my question.

“Make sure they do,” he hissed.

I chuckled at the sheer absurdity and picked up my glass, swirling the ice cubes as I rested my other hand on my knee. “I have to wonder what Isabella will think.”

“Who is Isabella?”

My gaze falling to the alcohol, I answered, “A woman who will never get the chance to be with me, apparently.”

“Madonna.”1 His brows pinched together as he strolled back to his desk, taking a seat. Sadly, some kings got dethroned. I didn’t care to be present for a stranger’s misfortune, but I would be right there, watching Santo’s downfall, trying my best to memorize it.

Madonna was my father’s way of saying “why me?” or “my son is an idiot” or “be serious for one lousy time in your life,” but it was too bad I didn’t care enough.

I tapped my finger on the glass, squinting as I tried to push him and prove a point at the same time. “You might consider Dario for the job.” Naturally, he would have never done that. He had too much respect for him. Well, as much respect as he could have for a son. But that leather-wearing bastard was tied for second in line to being most like our father. Also, his personality was as dry as dry pasta. “I doubt anyone will marry him unless they’re forced, so it makes the most sense.”

He ignored my comment. “Raf’s demands are meaningless to me, and I normally wouldn’t entertain such a silly request, but I’ve decided I’ll play by his rules. This time, at least.”

I read somewhere it was good for older people to make friends. My father didn’t have a single one to speak of, so if I didn’t know any better, then I might’ve thought this was his way of trying to start somewhere. “Sounds like that’s your problem.”

“He wants the pedigree and respect that comes with our name.” Once again, not necessarily my problem. In fact, it seemed like it didn’t even have to be my father’s problem, even though he’d made it his. This was all on Raf, who clearly didn’t deserve to have any part in a company. Unless the objective was to tank it. He was a lousy businessman with piss-poor acumen. If he had been depending on his gut for the decisions he had made thus far, he should have looked to another body part. It was evident his gut sucked.

Standing, I finished my drink and left the empty glass on the desk. “Well, thank you for considering me. Truly flattered.” I shook my head. “But you have other single sons, so why me?”

“You’ve always been a good listener.”

I’d always been a pawn. “I draw the line at an arranged marriage.”

“You’ll be engaged first, and we’ll plan the wedding in the meantime.” I didn’t know why I bothered talking when he was going to ignore what I said anyway. This was always how it had been. If I had my way, it wouldn’t be like this for much longer. He better enjoy calling the shots while he still could because that kind of power had a fast-approaching expiration date.

Calmly, I laced my fingers together in front of me. “What’s in this for me? I have no stake in this company. Not really, anyway. You’ve made that clear with the way you’ve situated things.” Everything was a game to him, but marriage was no game, and I wasn’t going to be forced into it by him or anyone else. Loopholes existed for a reason.

He sighed, relaxing back in his chair as though this conversation was tremendously strenuous. “You like to pretend you have no stake but imagine what it’d be like if that were true. Do this and I won’t take away your shares and cut you out of my will,” he answered flippantly.

Blood pounded in my ears. “Leverage,” I ground out, my jaw tensing. If leverage held the same monetary value as the fentanyl business did, he would have had wealth beyond compare.

He drummed his fingers on the desk, his mouth screwing up in an evil grin. “My son, I knew you would try to fight this. Predictability is not a good thing, but it is something I expect from you.”

Cracking my neck, I tried not to do anything rash like lunge across the desk and choke him. I wasn’t violent, but it was easy to see red when I was around him for any considerable amount of time.

“I do wish you wouldn’t force me to resort to it.” His gravelly voice loudened, and he was making it abundantly clear I didn’t have a choice in the matter.

Brooklyn was about to be Mrs. Marco Deluca. “What makes you think Brooklyn will accept the terms?” I asked, reluctantly succumbing.

“Good thing I didn’t, in fact, raise a fool.” The pride that seemed to be filling his cup at the moment was completely unfounded. “These equine centers are just the beginning.”

Yes, they were. They would be the first move in a brand-new game of chess. One that I was starting myself. He wanted to treat me like the pawn, then I’d be the pawn, but I could guarantee he wouldn’t like the subsequent moves I’d make. “More control over the company,” I said with conviction.