27. Simon

We tumble into each other for a few days after the funeral.

I keep thinking Emily will wake up, realize what she's done, and run screaming. I'm the man who caused her friend to die. If I hadn't attacked Santoro, none of this would've happened. And yet each morning, Emily wakes up, kisses me, and we spend the day together, fucking and cooking, laughing and drinking wine and fucking some more.

She's grieving too. I catch her crying in the shower. I hold her while she stares wordlessly at the TV. She's hurting, but she's also coming into herself, like her friend's death unlocked something inside her. There's a new confidence, and I like it. She's not afraid to ask for something she wants.

"On your knees," she says one afternoon. She's naked and glorious, her tanned skin glowing in the sunlight slanting through the living room windows.

I do as instructed. "What else, baby?"

"Mouth open. Tongue out. I'm going to ride your face until I come." She approaches me, looking like sex incarnate, hips swaying as she walks. "And if you do anything but lick my clit and groan with approval, I'm not going to give you what you want."

I stick out my tongue, happy to play along. And god, does she want to play. She comes for me over and over, her tasty pussy suddenly very eager now that our walls are crumbling down. I've never been this satisfied before in my entire life, but it's like Emily's finding new ways to make me happy as we explore each other.

Part of me is worried though. This began when she was near-catatonic with grief, and I'm waiting for her to suddenly wake up and realize what she's been doing. All this filthy, wonderful fucking is great, but I don't want her to feel like it only happened because she was extremely emotional.

And I don't want her to decide that I'm the cause of all her problems.

I get four great days. Four days of being with her, learning about her, talking with her, fucking her, cooking for her, and basically getting to be a person in a way I haven't in a long time. I'm not Simon, heir to the Bianco Crime Family—I'm Simon, Emily's husband, and that feels good.

Until my father summons me to his office early on the morning of the fifth day. I kiss Emily goodbye, tell her to stay in bed, promise I'll be back soon, and meet with Davide out on the street. We walk over to my father's house together.

"Been hearing lots of rumblings on the street," my brother grunts as we take our time. "Santoro's planning something."

"You don't think he's done?" I tilt my head because of course he isn't. Santoro can't stop until the Bianco Famiglia is destroyed. There's too much history between him and my father, too much violence and blood. There will be more.

"We both know he isn't. The real question is whether Dad's going to do anything about it." Davide stops at the stoop and looks up at the door. "He's been holed up in there for the last couple days cutting deals."

I feel numb as I follow his gaze. "With who?" I manage to ask, and I'm afraid of the answer. While I've been busy having fun fucking my wife and feeling good, Dad's been out here making plans without me. I should've been on the streets with my brother taking the temperature off the Famiglia and planning my next move.

Instead, I'm infatuated and distracted. I knew this would happen, and now it's happening, and I can't stop it. Because the sick thing is, I would go back to my house right now and fall into bed with Emily, the Famiglia be damned.

"Rumors are all over the place." Davide pins me with a hard look. "We need you right now."

I head inside with those parting words. I find my father sitting behind his desk, looking drained and exhausted. He's pale and thin, and it breaks my heart seeing him like this. Gone is the big, hale, outgoing man who raised me and my siblings, replaced by this bitter wreckage of a human.

We pretend like nothing's wrong as I greet him and take a seat. He updates me on the usual Famiglia business, like this is a normal meeting, and I act like that's what I expected. But the unspoken tension is still thick between us.

"That wife of yours." Dad's studying some papers on the desk in front of him. "You're still serious about this?"

I lean back, not sure what to say, because this was completely unexpected. I assumed we'd talk about the Santoro war, but for some reason, he's bringing up Emily. I'm instantly on guard.

"I'm still serious," I confirm.

He grunts, nodding to himself. "And you married her to prove a point, correct? You want to show me that you're ready to step up."

I lean forward, rubbing my hands together. "I married her to provide the Famiglia with continuity. Emily might not be the most politically expedient match, but she's loyal and she's clever, and we're going to have children. That's what you want, isn't it? Another generation to make sure that the Bianco organization will continue on?"

Dad still won't look at me. He shuffles the papers and takes a long breath before nodding as if he's coming to a final decision. "I want you to divorce the girl," he says, finally meeting my gaze. "She's nothing. Give her what she wants and send her away. Once she's gone, you'll marry a match I've chosen for you, you'll get her pregnant, and I'll prepare to hand the Famiglia over to you."

I sit back in my chair, stunned into silence.

This can't be happening. It makes no sense. He refused to so much as discuss his retirement, and now suddenly he's got a three-step plan. The first step of which is to divorce Emily.

It's madness. It's absolute insanity. "I already have a wife," I manage to say. "I'm not just going to throw her aside because?—"

Dad slams his hands down on the desk. I grit my teeth to keep my anger at bay. I'm shocked by how much I want to strangle him right now. Even as an unruly teenager, I never hated my father, not even when he made me sacrifice my social life, made me destroy my childhood, all in the name of learning how to lead the Famiglia, but in this moment I despise him.

"The girl is nothing," he says, staring at me, and I think he hates me just as much. I don't know how we came here. I'm standing at the bottom of an impossibly large pit staring up at a tiny sliver of light up above me. "I have a better match. If you can do as you're told, you'll secure your future and the future of the Famiglia. This is the only way I will ever consider naming you Don."

I swallow against my anger and force myself to sit forward. I try to picture leaving Emily, but can't. I've wanted this exact conversation for so long now, and suddenly it's poisoned, the only thing I've ever wanted rotting and turning into putrid muck.

"Who?" I ask, saying the single word as clearly as I can.

Dad's face tightens. He sits back and looks at me like he knows I'm not going to like it. "Her name is Valentina Santoro," he says. "She's Luciano's daughter."

I sit back like he kicked me in the chest. My pulse hammers in my head as I try to make sense of what he just said, but I can't do it. That's insanity—it's beyond insanity, it's criminal.

"You have to be joking," I choke out, my fingers digging into the armrest of the chair.

"This is how we will guarantee our family's future." Dad's voice sounds distant as I shove myself to my feet. "I know you don't like it, Simon, but you will listen to your father. No, don't you dare turn away from me right now, boy. You will divorce that girl. You will marry Valentina."

I walk to the door, feeling like I'm splintered wood. I leave chips of myself on the floor as I grab the handle and step forward into the hall. My father demands that I come back, but I can't even look at him right now as the full horror of what he's saying descends on me like an anvil from the sky.

I'm crushed. I'm beyond broken. I'm gutted and horrified.

My father wants me to marry the daughter of our enemy.

The daughter of the man who kidnapped my brother and kept him in the cage. The daughter of the man who betrayed our Famiglia in such a vicious way.

Santoro nearly killed my father. He caused the death of Rachel, and his scammers might've ruined Emily's life.

And I'm supposed to marry into that family.