Page 3 of Always Meant To Be

He groans, slumping back in his chair, which gets my attention. I look at him and see him run his hand frustratedly through his black hair.

He's a year younger than me and the image of our mother and father combined, having father's eyes and mother's hair. Leonardo, our younger brother, who is twenty-one, is the spitting image of our mother, with brown hair and blue eyes, with a hint of green.

I, on the other hand, have our father's deep black hair, and our mother's piercing blue eyes.

"Fratello…" he groans, calling me brother in Italian, hoping to soften my decision to cancel his arrangement set for two years’ time. I chuckle.

Picking up my coffee, I state, "It's out of my hands, Antonio. You know this," before taking a sip.

I wince. Fuck that's nasty.

Grimacing, I put the cup down, and he snaps, "Why can't you take over now? Why is Papa adamant you find a wife first?"

I shrug. "I don't know,fratello, but even when I do take over, you both signed the contract, and the only way out of it is death. You're bound."

He grumbles, picking up his stale cake, and I check my watch again. Sighing, I pull up my father's number, and press call.

I'm not fucking waiting all day in this dingy café. I don't even want the woman to begin with, and the fact she is running late on purpose, making me wait, is a joke. She's not that important, and neither is this alliance.

He answers on the fifth ring and, without saying hello, states, "They'll be there within the next ten minutes,figlio. Mikhail has apologized repeatedly."

Chuckling, I say lowly, "Calling me son with warmth is not going to keep my ass in this seat, Papa. She's two hours late. Anyone else I would have slit their throat."

My father laughs, not one bit pissed at my back talk, and he chides, "You wanting to become Don next week is what's keeping your ass in that seat. We need a marriage contract signed and your wedding date in place before you can take over. You know the men want a family man to run things after me, and they want it to be you. She was temperamental this morning, and something came up, and I believe her sister is also attending."

I sigh. "Papa?—"

He cuts me off, "I understand you don't feel ready for marriage, Romeo. Neither did I, but I've held off for you,il mio ragazzo. You're twenty-four, and it's time to settle down. Now, this alliance will be perfect for when you take over."

I hum, leaning back in my chair. Several of our men are in the surrounding area as a precaution, protecting their heir and spare, as Antonio calls himself—while continuously thanking me for being born first, not wanting my role within the family.

We've been at war with the Bratva, the Russian Mafia, for over a decade. Now my father and Mikhail want to put it to bed, which means an alliance, and being the first-born son, the next in line for the throne, so to speak, I'm on the fucking chopping block.

Lucky me….

My father has run our operations with a tight fist, while ensuring the men stay family-orientated, which means our men won't follow me if I'm fucking my way through New York.

"All I'm asking is for you to give it a chance. If you don't get along, then I'll cancel the contract, encourage the business route, and find someone else—but Romeo, they've sent the sister for a reason…." I furrow my brows, sitting forward a little.

"What reason may that be, father?" I question, because surely Mikhail would not put his youngest daughter up for consideration, a daughter no one has seen. Antonio sits forward so he can hear.

My father sighs. "One of the men we have following her to collect intel saw the woman you are supposed to be meeting coming out of the clinic."

Antonio's eyes widen, and he asks, "Please tell me you mean a clinic for mental health, Papa."

I roll my eyes at my brother. We all know that is not the kind of clinic our father means.

"Let me guess, her innocence is not intact like her mother assured, and she's just had an abortion?" I inquire.

Papa hums and confirms, "According to our intel, this is the second abortion she has had in the space of two and a half years. I've investigated it personally, and it seems she likes to sleep around. Age and marital status do not matter."

I roll my eyes. "Great, my future bride's a whore and only wants the title of Don’s wife."

Papa chuckles. "Indeed. Now, I know you wouldn't be happy with this news, so your Mamma encouraged Mikhail to ensure the sister goes as well. He's unaware we know what his eldest daughter is up to."

I sigh, run a hand through my hair, and huff, "You want me to vet both women to see which one I'd want more?"

Papa doesn't need to confirm; he taught me well.