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All could crumble under my tenure.

Or—

We could grow more powerful than any of them imagined.

All I have to do is marry this girl.

What is she really? What does she matter? I’ll be a good husband to her. I’ll treat her well. Give her what she wants. Provide her with a nice life and as much freedom as is reasonable.

No, it’s probably not what she dreamed of, but it’ll be good.

“You’re right, Don Nardo. We’ll grow together.”

He beams and takes my hand, shaking it tightly, before proposing a toast.

“To blood and treasure.”

“Blood and treasure,” I echo, thinking of Mari pressed against me, the warmth of her body, the soft moans of her bliss, and I don’t know how I’m going to get through this.

The meeting goes more smoothly after I make it clear that Marisol will make an acceptable wife. Ruben chirps a few more comments and I get the feeling she’s relatively low in their hierarchy, and maybe they see this as passing off a problem to me, but it doesn’t matter.

Once I decide on her, there’s no turning back.

And it’s not like I could take another woman now that I know she’s an option.

I sit alone in the penthouse suite an hour later swirling my whisky and staring out the window. A week earlier, Marisol was moaning right here, only a few feet from where I am now.

Can I really do this to her? Can I do this to myself?

I close my eyes. I slide back to memory, the way I always do when there’s a difficult decision to make. The old woodshed waits there in my head, this ramshackle hut barely holding itself together at the very far edge of the ranch’s property, out in the wilder acres, the places where nobody goes anymore. Rocky soil and limestone, loose stones jutting from the earth like the bones of dead giants. Oaks loom in the distance. My father’s impatient voice as he trudges away. Cicadas screaming. The door of the shed slammed shut, but Dario shouting from inside, half in anger, half in bravado. Come back here! Give me a fucking light at least! You fucking cowards! Come on, I’m not dead yet! At least give me a fucking light!

There’s a knock at the door. It takes a moment to realize the sound isn’t from my half-dream, half-memory. Dario’s voice fades into history, long gone. I get up to answer, finishing my whisky, mouth dry, eyes stone cold.

Mari’s standing with the food cart in the hallway.

“Good evening, Mr. Bass.”

Fuck, she’s so beautiful. It makes every inch of my body clench. Her hair’s up, but the top button of her blouse is undone. I swear, I catch a glimpse of something dark and lacy underneath. Did she dress for me again?

My blood pulses and I want her, Goddamn, I want her bad.

“Thanks for this.” I reach out and pull the cart inside. I’m not hungry, but I don’t want to embarrass her.

She lingers though. She wants me to invite her in. And it hurts to say nothing. I can’t think of anything I’d like more than to drag her into this room, to dominate her mouth with my lips, to tease her pussy with my fingers, to bring her to screaming orgasm in my bed.

I’d keep her here, fuck her until she can’t breathe, and do it all over again when I’m done.

Instead, I shut the door in her face.

I catch a glimpse of her expression before the door fully closes:

Devastated.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I turn my back and shove the cart sideways. It rams into the wall, cutlery banging and toppling to the floor.

I could tell her the truth. I should open up and tell her everything about the marriage, about her family, about what it all means.