Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“It’s fine. It’ll do.”
“Fine.” He sighs and closes his eyes. “Fine. This place is exquisite. I should be insulted, but honestly, I’m not surprised. You’re impossible to please.”
“Not impossible, only difficult, and you said it yourself. This isn’t my kind of house.”
“What about your future bride?” His eyebrows raise. “Think she’ll like it? I suspect she might—we’re a lot alike, you know.”
“You’re nothing like her.”
“Come now, we’re from the same family backgrounds. We’re practically cousins.”
“The idea of marrying into your family is horrifying and repulsive.”
“Said the snake to the even bigger snake.” He gives me a flashy grin and he’s not wrong. “But seriously, what do you think? Will your future wife like it?”
I look away toward the expensive rugs and the designer, hand-made furniture. Most of this shit comes with the sale. Ford’s trying to flip it fast and though he didn’t tell me why, I figure someone got murdered in here at some point and his family is trying to bury the heat. Doesn’t matter to me, so long as the body’s not on the premises and the mess is all cleaned up. I just won’t mention that part to Brice.
But will she like it? The house is a lot like her family’s home. This one reeks of new money but it’s hard to find something like the Rowe Manor without hunting around for a while and waiting for some old bastard to die off. It’s not perfect, but it’s close enough.
“I think she will,” I say finally, almost reluctantly, because the idea of living here feels like giving something up to her. “I’ll bring some of my own house staff down here and fill it up with my people, make it feel like a home, but yes. I think she’ll like it.”
“Better question. Do you care if she likes it?”
I laugh and grin viciously. “Now you’re cutting to the core of it.”
“Really, Carmine, I’ve never seen you give a damn about a woman before. Your whole life’s been about work and your family, and now suddenly you’re getting married?”
“Comes with being a Don.”
“Please, if all you wanted was a pair of good tits and a pussy to pump out kids, you wouldn’t marry a fucking Rowe. What’s with this girl?”
How do I explain it to him? I’m not even sure how to explain it to myself. There are too many emotions mixed up in my too-cramped brain but there’s only one guiding principle: I want her, want her as my own, want to keep her and control her and dominate her and show her the real underside of the world, not her pretty little sanitized existence.
I don’t know why I care so much. Why I crave it so much. Maybe I’m simply broken and depraved from all these years in the mafia. Whatever the reason is, I can’t get Brice out of my head, not since making this offer to her grandfather, and especially not since feeling her come under my fingers.
“I want to build something bigger.” I get up and walk away from the bar toward the back door and step onto the back patio. I gaze out at the twin swimming pools—really, what a fucking absurd extravagance—and watch the water ripple. He joins me, quiet and smiling, like always. “Getting into the oil business is only one step. You know better than anyone how constrained our families are by all these fucking laws and all these damn cops desperate to make a name for themselves. You’re just coming at it from the other side. Marrying Brice might be my ticket to bypass all that bullshit. My straight shot to the upper levels. The big leagues.”
“The real game.” He says it quietly. It’s a concept we had back at Blackwoods: there’s a game most people play, and there’s a real game happening behind the scenes. Men like us, we get glimpses of the real game, sometimes we even get to affect how the game shakes out, but we’re not players. Ford even more than me—he can spot them at the country club and his grandfather, the man that sits at the head of his family, might be a real insider. But we’re not in the big league. Not yet at least.
“Old Man Rowe’s a player, or at least he used to be,” I tell him. “The Rowe name still carries weight. If I can marry Brice and tame her and keep her on my arm—”
“You can be a player too.” Ford hums to himself thoughtfully. “The thing is, not anyone can step up and join in. You’ll have to earn it.”
“That’s what we’re all doing, isn’t it? Trying to get a shot at them.”
I don’t elaborate on who I mean, but he knows damn well already.
Ford seems thoughtful. “Say the girl’s family can unlock some doors. Are you really going to step through them? Isn’t your family going to be pissed when their Don moves from their territory down to fucking Dallas, Texas?”