Chloe raised her gray eyes to his blue-green ones.
“It happens to every made man once. I thought it happened to me when I first became made, then when my mother died, and then when I saw you for the first time. But that wasn’t when it happened, either.”
“W-When did it?” she asked when he didn’t continue.
Lucca rubbed his finger down her scar. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day, but not today, darlin’.”
She snuggled back into him, letting Lucca heal her broken heart. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, darlin’.” Twirling a strand of her hair, he then dropped it to hold her close. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better? I can cook you something.”
A slow smile appeared on her lips. Raising her head, she looked back into his eyes playfully. “Anything?”
Lucca stared hard into the two men’s eyes before him, the future of this family. He took a hit of his cigarette, letting the end burn bright, “You two owe me.”
Nero and Vincent gave a sharp nod to their heads.
“We three have the same problem.” He flicked his ashes into the tray.
“What’s that?” Vincent asked.
Nero’s emerald eyes narrowed knowing exactly what it was, “Our women are not Italian.”
Lucca smiled, seeing the wheels turning in their heads. “They will give you an ultimatum; they will make you choose between the family and your girl. Our fathers have done it to others who will hold lesser power than us, and they will eventually make us choose.”
Both Nero and Vincent’s jaws squared knowing it to be true.
He could see the two men torn; one side of them who lived and breathed the Caruso family, and the other side finding true love. To make a man choose like that will surely kill him, no matter the choice.
“I gave you both the girl of your dreams, and in return you will choose them when the decision has to be made.” An evil glow cast over his face. “As will I; then the Caruso future will be destroyed.”
Nero grinned, “So you turn the tables and give them the ultimatum?”
“An ultimatum with only one choice they can live with.”
“Thank you, fucking God. I’ve been waiting for the day when you would finally fuck over my father,” Vincent began praying, a tear looking like it was going to stroll down his cheek. “And what’s even better… I get to help you do it.”
Lucca stared at the blond dumbass who thankfully at least had his good looks going for him. “If you think you are going to be my consigliere, you are shit out of luck.”
“I’ll be your consigliere,” Maria chimed in, smiling as she flipped her magazine and tapped her high heels.
Vincent scoffed, “Like he would choose you over me.”
“Over you, I would,” he told him with certainty, hurting his pretty-boy pride.
“On one condition.” Maria smiled. “That I don’t have to be with a man of Italian blood, either.”
Taking a hit, he blew the smoke at her, “No.”
Her expensive heel stopped tapping the ground, “We’ll see.”
Forty-Eight
This is Your Final Purpose
Maxwell poured another generous portion of liquor into his glass. He didn’t even look to see what he was drinking. As long as it gave him enough of a buzz to hide from the wretched mess he had made out of his life, it didn’t matter.
He should have put a bullet through his head long ago, but he was too much of a coward. He also could have divorced his bitch of a wife, and not cared about the political power he had enjoyed the last few years.
“Maxwell?” A woman’s sharp voice had him lifting his head from the desk he had been slumped over.
“Wh-What?” He tried to focus his gaze on his wife as she walked into his office. Fucking bitch. “Is it dinner time?”
Elaine curled her lips in disdain. “We had dinner four hours ago.”
Maxwell tried to remember what he had eaten, but drew a blank.
“I’m not ready for bed. You go ahead.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t care when you go to bed.”
“Then what do you want?” Maxwell reached for his glass, finding it empty. He started looking for the bottle of liquor, squinting his eyes as he looked around his desk, not seeing it. Then he searched where he must have left it after filling his glass.
“Maxwell, can you give me your attention for one second?” His wife came to the side of his desk, picking up the bottle from the floor.
“Go ahead. I’m listening.” He took the bottle from her and started unscrewing the top.
“I just received an interesting phone call.”
“Tell the telemarketers to call in the morning. Lana can answer their calls.”
“It wasn’t on the house phone. It was on my cell phone.”
“Then I don’t see what it’s got to do with me.” He poured another full glass, waiting for her to leave before drinking it. It wouldn’t be worth the bitch session if he drank it in front of her.