Page 27 of Sexting His Son's Ex
I stop in my tracks, glancing over my shoulder at my stepbrother who has a wild wide-eye expression. “What?” I hiss at him, trying to remember the time when we were actually a family.
Bianchi and I have known each other since we were ten years old. My father married his mother. They were happy and in love, the picture-perfect couple.
Except that both of them were ruthless.
Before they got married, Bianchi’s mother controlled the South and my father, the North. When they died, my father left the North territory and wealth to me while Bianchi’s mother left him the same, only the South.
We both control the areas that were left to us.
And for some reason, Bianchi has never been happy with that.
“Five hundred million. The money is yours for us to combine our territories.”
I sigh, pushing the door shut with a slight click. “Why? Why is this so important to you? And it isn’t because you want to bring the family together, Bianchi. We all know you never considered me your brother, so what is this about? Why? And five hundred million? That has to be most of the money you have. Why are you willing to drain your account for this?”
He chuckles, folding his hands on his lap as he leans back in his chair. “Most of my fortune?” Bianchi tsks. “You are a fool if you think that’s most of my fortune. Are you low on funds, little brother?”
I sneer, hating him calling me that when I’m nowhere near such title. “You only wish.” I rip open the door again, hating that every single time we have a meeting, they all end up the same.
Me pissed off and ready to kill him, but if I do, it will start a war between our territories. I’d rather not have that kind of eyes on me. Cops, the FBI, bounty hunters, everyone would be called, and we would be the most wanted men in the country. Bianchi has always been greedy. Even when we were kids, he never appreciated what he had.
“It’s only a matter of time. You’ll accept my offer one of these days.”
“You’ll be waiting a very long time, Bianchi. I have my own empire. My children will rule next. Who do you have?” I smirk, tugging on the lapels of my suit. “As always, it’s been a pleasure. Same time in a few months?”
“You can count on it.”
Omar and Lorenzo follow behind me and flank my sides. Stepping onto the elevator, the doors close, and I press the button to the ground floor, loosening my tie and unbuttoning the top of my shirt. I fucking hate meeting with him.
“Don’t say a word until we are out of here.” If Bianchi is smart, he’fs installed hidden cameras in here. It’s what I would do and have done. There isn’t one area of any building I own that isn’t covered by cameras.
“Yes, Sir,” Lorenzo says, standing with his hands folded in front of him.
“You got it, Dad.” Omar leans against the side of the elevator, takes out his lighter, and flicks it on and off.
The sound is grating after the meeting I just had with a person I only like to see, maximum, a few times a year.
Omar lights the flame again, the orange flickering from his breath. I cover it with my palm, suffocating the flame from its oxygen, uncaring how hot it is against my palm.
“Enough,” I warn.
Omar gulps, tucking the lighter in his pocket. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Luca doesn’t fidget. He’s quiet, an observer, watching everything unfold from the sidelines. It’s how he learned so quickly how to be good at this job. He’s always aware of his surroundings, which is what makes me sad about how short his temper is.
It will be the death of him.
Omar only needs some guidance. He’ll learn.
The elevator doors ding and Lorenzo is the first one to step out, hand placed on his hip where the gun is. He looks left, then right, clearing the space, and I step behind him with Omar covering my back.
The air is warm and the sun is hot as we step out of the skyscraper. Sam, the driver, is waiting on the curb, opening the back door for us. When we climb in, I punch the seat with frustration, and unscrew the cap of an expensive scotch, taking a large swig out of the bottle.
Not many can get under my skin, but my stepbrother does.
“What do you think he’s game is, Dad?” Omar asks. “I don’t understand what he wants.”
“He’s desperate. Something bigger is going on. Five hundred million is a lot of money to take over the North.” I take another swig, trying to think about what Bianchi’s plans are. “Obviously, my territory is worth the price. I run it better than Bianchi ever could.” Hard truths are just facts. The crime, murders, even drug busts are higher on his side of town.
