Never mind your happiness. Do your duty.
—Peter Drucker
BASTIANO ROMANO
The Present
My cousin Asher tossed me the engagement ring like it didn’t cost more than a brownstone on the Upper East Side.
“Jackass.” I tucked it into the velvet case, slid it inside the inner pocket of my suit jacket, then threw him a clean shirt.
Blood clung to the fabric of his white tee, but it fazed neither of us. The Romano syndicate possessed no shortage of enemies, and Asher’s job as our fixer was to dispose of them when told. He swapped the soaked shirt for the clean button down, discarding the ruined material on my floor without a care for the stains on my hardwood.
“Ballsy,” Asher remarked. Like a true fixer, his footsteps made no noise as he followed me down the stairs of my penthouse to the open-plan living room, sidestepping Elsa’s lace panties by the piano with an arched brow. “Your dad won’t like it.”
Dad didn’t like anything to do with Elsa, so expecting him to like this proposal would be like expecting a virgin to fake a convincing orgasm.
I picked the panties up and pocketed them for later, already imagining them stuffed in her mouth as I slide inside her after she accepts my proposal. “My dad won’t know until it’s too late.”
“But Elsa’s not royal.” He shook his head. “Hell, she’s not even mafia.”
That was the point. Elsa was far from mafia with her Southern drawl, football obsession, and inability to eat any meal without a side of store-bought ketchup. She was also the smartest woman I’d ever met, fuck-hot, capable of script-worthy banter, and the first woman to make me fall in love. I had plans for tonight which included an engagement ring on her finger and my cock on her tongue.
Plucking my phone from my kitchen island, I shot a text to my assistant Lewis to confirm my plans. “Again. Dad won’t know until it’s too late.”
As far as I was concerned, my dad had no say in this. I’d done everything right. The top boarding schools. The Ivy League education. Learning the Romano businesses—legal and less legal—inside and out. Any fucker—my dad included—who got in between me and Elsa could acquaint himself with my fist and, perhaps, the jagged blade of the knife Uncle Vince had gifted me when I’d turned nine.
I hadn’t used it—that was what the enforcers were for—but I had the training and wouldn’t hesitate to. People saw me as the privileged, over-educated spawn of Giovanni Romano. I did little to alter their perception, mostly because I gave no fucks, but also because I enjoyed being underestimated.
Asher tucked his socked feet into his Jordans, still staring at me with those eery too-blue eyes of his. “Okay, Golden Child.”
He still didn’t believe I’d defy the syndicate. Dad expected me to marry another mafia royal. Not quite as drastic as his arranged marriage with Ma, but the daughter of an upper-level mafia figure of my own choosing at the very least.
Never once had I gone against my family’s wishes before Elsa. My Uncles Frankie and Eli didn’t have children. So, I’d been groomed to run the Romano empire from the business side, leaving enforcement to Dad’s twin Uncle Vince—and eventually Asher Black, Uncle Vince’s son by pseudo-adoption.
Asher got his hands dirty; I filled mine with business textbooks from Wharton. I graduated with my masters at twenty-two and came back with Elsa in tow, her Southern-belle eyes starstruck by the size of my penthouse and a lifestyle she never knew existed.
I loved that about her—how untouched she was by all this wealth, which never seemed to stop growing. Dad, on the other hand, hated every second he spent in her presence, nearly painted the town red when she moved in with me, and will probably stab someone when he finds out about my proposal.
Not like I gave a fuck.
I grabbed my keys and turned to Asher, who stood with his arms crossed, a little lanky but looking way older than his seventeen years. A smirk lifted the corners of my lips, my good mood bleeding all over my face. “There’s blood on your Jordans,” I remarked.
Then, I left Asher and his disbelief at the door, descending the elevator into the parking garage and sliding into the back of my Bentley Mulsanne. The driver took off, always briefed on my itinerary beforehand by Lewis.
I skimmed a few business emails on my phone. One of many Romano-owned businesses in the syndicate included Launder, Inc., the largest chain of laundromats on the East Coast. It started as a single cash business to launder dirty money through and grew into a corporation which grossed over one hundred million dollars last year.
I’d taken over as CEO a few months ago. Elsa didn’t like the hours, but she understood. We made time for dates twice a week, each time a different surprise to make up for all the time I spent working.
The car pulled up to the Empire State Building.
Lewis greeted me instantly, opening the door before the driver could. His weasel-like face pinched between the eyes. “Mr. Romano—” Frown lines covered his forehead, but I didn’t have time for his constant worrying. There was always something with him.
I slid out of the car. “Is Elsa here?”
“Yes, but—”
Taking long strides to the entrance, I cut him off. I was already late, thanks to Asher’s impromptu wardrobe change. “The building has been closed off?”
Lewis heaved out a breath as he struggled to match my pace. “Yes. Mr. Romano, I have—”
We entered the elevator, and I jabbed the button for the top floor. “Are the chefs done preparing the food? Ryker is on time, yes?”
Ever since he’d won Top Chef, he’d been a perpetually late pain in the ass.
“Mr. Romano, I—”
“It’s a yes or no question, Lewis.” I checked my watch. I’d been late for one of my dates with Elsa before, and she’d looked gutted.
“Yes. But I really have to tell you something.”
The doors to the elevator opened to the top floor, where a little outdoor patio had been set up for my proposal tonight. I pocketed my phone and stepped out, an apology for being late on my lips when I came face to face with Dad and Elsa.
The New York City backdrop lit up the night, along with a string of lights I’d had Lewis set up. Our dinner sat on the table behind Elsa, untouched and growing colder by the second. Dad looked unaffected as he saw me, but guilt dripped from Elsa’s widened orbs to the shocked parting of her lips.
She wore the silver Herve Leger bandage dress I’d gotten for her last week, paired with teardrop earrings quadruple the size of the real tear sliding down her cheek. Her cherry-red hair whipped in the wind, but she did nothing to tame it as she stared at me with those fern-green eyes. Unable to speak.
Dad’s face gave nothing away. He took a step toward me, reached out to pat my shoulder, thought better of it, and straightened the lapels of his suit. “You have a duty to this family.”
My eyes narrowed at his words and the way he left without a better explanation. I eyed the guilt smothering Elsa’s face and turned to Lewis. “Return Senator Erickson’s call and let him know I will be attending his function tonight after all. Have the car pick me up in twenty-three minutes—after I finish my dinner.”
He glanced between me and Elsa. “Are you sure?”
I leveled him with a glare. “Do it.”
He left, and I stepped around Elsa, took a seat, and slid the cloth napkin over my lap. I didn’t know what I’d walk in on. Elsa had no interest in my dad, and Dad had no interest in Elsa. But something had plastered that guilt on Elsa’s face, and I’d wait for an explanation as I ate.
The ring burned a hole in my pocket as I took my first bite of lobster. If I were being introspective, I would have asked myself why I’d told Lewis to send the last-minute RSVP before learning what had happened. My gut instincts told me Elsa had betrayed me somehow, but every other part of me refused to believe it.
I knew this woman. We’d studied together. Snuck alcohol onto campus and drank it on the soccer fields at night. Fucked under the bleachers during home games. She’d agreed to move to New York with me when she realized I would have moved to Alabama to be with her.
That woman, the one who woke up early to make me breakfast and took notes for me when family called me away from school, wouldn’t betray me. She just wouldn’t.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not bothering to take a seat.
I finished off the lobster, then cut into the filet mignon, taking painstaking care to steady my movements.
She wouldn’t betray you, I assured myself.
Why else would she apologize? Dad’s presence in me asked.
Elsa stopped my utensils with a palm on my left hand. “I love you.”
My eyes cut to her hand, then shifted to her other one, where she clutched a strip of folded paper. I reached out and plucked it from her hand. Her unrelenting grip tightened, and the paper tore at the corners as I stole it from her.
She gasped at the sound, her other hand shooting out to take the paper back from me but failing. I opened it up. A check. Five million dollars. Signed by one Giovanni Romano. He’d paid her off. To what? Leave me?
Ice-cold frost trickled into my body as I stared at her with dead eyes. “Five million dollars? Really?”
I flicked the check onto my plate. The butter from my lobster wet the edges, and she grabbed it, her eyes screaming guilt, but her hands reeking of desperation. I watched as she dabbed the check with the table cloth, trying and failing to dry the butter.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out her panties I’d pocketed earlier, and tossed them at her face. She caught them before they hit the ground. Her eyes widened when she realized what they were, but she used them to dab the fucking check anyway.
I’d never seen anything more pathetic.
With the check dried, she met my eyes. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, sounding so stupid, I couldn’t believe she’d graduated top of our class at Wharton. Couldn’t believe this was the woman who’d insisted she pay for her half of every meal. “I-I… You don’t understand. It’s a lot of money.”
“You would have had so much more, so thank you for reminding me how pathetic you are.”
She flinched at my words, and I let loose a dry laugh and reached into my pocket. Her eyes widened when I pulled out the velvet case. She had to reach out and steady herself on the table when I unleashed the sixteen-million-dollar ring inside.
“Bastian—”
I plucked the ring out of its case and tossed it over the side of the building like it meant nothing. Like she meant nothing. She whimpered, running to the railing with an outstretched hand as I stole a fry from her plate and dipped it in her fucking generic-brand ketchup. If I took the time to stop—to breathe in the betrayal from her and my dad—I would probably burn the Empire State Building with both of us in it.
It wasn’t toxic rage filling my veins but bruising betrayal, inching its way to my throat until my breaths halved, and I had to cough to breath again. She returned to the table, the ring long gone, and the torn and buttered check clutched between her white-knuckled fingers, like she thought I would toss that off the building, too.
I was tempted.
I’d never loved anyone before. I saw past thinly-veiled advances and the mafia bunnies who wanted me for my money and status. But Elsa was different. The wholesome girl from the wholesome family who never knew a world of corrupt Senators, Made Men, celebrities, penthouses, and designer clothes existed. Untouched by the Romano syndicate I was heir to.
She’d inched her way beneath my skin, little by little, and I’d let her because she was supposed to be different.
How hadn’t I seen the signs?
She opened her mouth again—probably to beg—but I cut her off. “I never loved you, Elsa.” The lie tore past my lips, unapologetic as I ignored the fact that I would have given up everything—my family, money, and the entire Romano lineage—for her. “We were good for a bit, but it was just entertainment.” I stood, wiped the tear off her cheek with her butter-stained panties, and patted her head. “You’re not capable of providing anything other than a warm cunt to fuck, and I’m not capable of love.”