Page 2 of Forgive Me, Father (Don #1)

TWO

ALFONSO PONTISELLO AKA THE WHITE RABBIT

“I’m not marrying that whore!” The words tore out of me like a blade.

I slammed the phone down so hard the glass console rattled beneath it, cutting off my father mid-command. Let him stew in silence for once.

The penthouse pulsed with low light and the cars humming thirty stories below, trying to get to their final destinations for Christmas. But all I could hear was blood pounding in my ears.

Rules were rules.

And she’d shattered them, fucked someone when she should’ve kept herself intact, and the worst part of it, he wasn’t even a Don. She’d disgraced herself, and by extension, the family name they wanted to tie to mine.

Simi had always been a slut. I’d always known she was sexually active. She was wild and reckless, and sorry, she’d just crossed that line.

Her family was nothing but smoke and mirrors, pretenders wrapped in silk, clinging to a title they never earned. But I saw through the act. Always had.

It burned me, the way they walked into rooms like they owned them. As if bloodlines could be bought.

Our marriage had been inked into existence long before either of us had a voice in it. It wasn’t love. It was strategy. A merger. Our family’s hotel enterprise folded into their construction enterprise, neat as a ledger entry.

On paper, it was gold. A perfect front: missile routes buried beneath luxury resorts, hidden in plain sight under the cover of their import-export trade.

Together, we would’ve built something untouchable. A dynasty.

But she torched it. Carelessly. Stupidly. And now, all that potential burned to ash before it ever had a chance to catch fire.

And all because she couldn’t keep her fucking legs closed.

I was supposed to be in New York today, standing in front of a gilded altar, binding my life to hers in a ceremony planned down to the second.

Instead, I was in California, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse.

The reason? A thirty-second video.

It hit my phone two nights ago. No message. No warning. Just her caught in a moment she could never take back. After that, there was no flight. No suit. No vows. Just silence and the cold rage that had kept me in this chair ever since.

Think Alfonso, think. The girl was groomed to look the other way. Fuck that. A deep growl pushed through my lips. She fucked everything. Fuck!

My Nonno’s list of ultimatums echoed in my mind like a prayer carved in stone. I loosened the top button of my shirt. For the first time, I didn’t have a plan. No angle. No out. Just a wall I couldn’t punch through.

I needed a wife.

He hadn’t said I had to love her. Didn’t care if I cherished her, respected her, or even looked at her twice. Just that I had one. A name to put on paper. A body to stand beside mine.

I exhaled slowly, the breath heavy with something I didn’t want to name.

And an heir. Always a fucking heir.

FUCK IT!

I’d get married. The shares Nonno left me would be signed over today. But it would happen on my terms. No strings. No sentiment. And if I had to pay for the bride to make it happen? So be it.

I was done with Simi Deluca and her cheap whoring ass. She was supposed to stay intact for me. Hell, every other woman raised the Don’s way had managed to do it, so why couldn’t she?

The door opened, and Nico Bellantini entered.

He stood a full head shorter than me, his bulky frame trimmed by messy blond hair that curled over his ears. Dressed in his sharp three-piece suit, part of the uniform that came with being my right hand, always by my side. He looked the part.

People assumed he was my bodyguard. It was almost laughable, considering I towered over him, but no one dared to question the image we projected.

“Is there anything I can do for you, boss?”

“Yes, find me a bride,” I spoke harshly in Italian, my irritation bleeding through my usual unreadable demeanor.

“Sorry?”

“I’m not marrying Simi. Find me a bride to marry today.”

“Who?” His face painted a picture of pure horror. I’d never asked him anything that would be woven this tightly into my life. That was how much I trusted him. Fuck, if I could marry him, I probably would. It certainly would make my life a hell of a lot easier.

“Anyone who looks desperate for a husband. Just find me a bride.”

He nodded, and I turned my gaze back to the vast ocean, its waves crashing with a rhythm that seemed to mirror my thoughts.

This hotel had been my Nonna’s haven, her sanctuary.

She’d always found peace in the sea’s embrace, and when my Nonno had been gifted this prime piece of land by the Delucas years ago, he’d built something that would honor her.

He even named it after her, Hotel de Anna.

I always stayed here whenever I was in the States. My Nonna was my favorite person, my closest confidant. I missed her and I made a mental note to go and visit her again soon.

My phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with my father’s name.

Rico Pontisello.

A reminder of the weight our name carried.

I refused to marry her, and he was about to learn exactly what happened to defiant little girls who dared break centuries of tradition. I knew the consequences for her and her family, but I didn’t care. I was ruthless, unapologetically cruel, and I wasn’t going to back down.

An entire family engraved on my body would not make any difference. They were going to learn the hard way that if you wanted to keep your spot in our circle, play with the big guys, you had to respect the traditions and rules that had been in place for generations. No exceptions.

Her parents had failed to raise their wayward daughter in the way they should have and will share her fate.

That reminded me.

I pulled out the chair, dropped into it, and rolled forward until the edge of the table kissed my stomach. The laptop blinked awake under my fingertips. I opened a blank email, the keys clicking with a rhythm that felt like vengeance.

I attached the file. Her indiscretion, frozen in digital clarity, and cc’d every high-ranking member of Il Volto Nero . No one was spared.

Then I hit send.

The Deluca family wouldn’t recover from this. They’d be cut off, exiled. A poison no one would dare touch.

Vengeance was sweet. And I reveled in it.

I’d never liked Simi. She was a spoiled brat, accustomed to getting everything she wanted with a snap of her fingers, as if the world would bend to her simply because Daddy’s wallet was deep. It wasn’t a mindset I was raised with, nor one I could ever respect.

My family taught me the values of time-honored traditions, and we all followed the rules that we couldn’t break. You worked for what you wanted, and that counted for men and women.

Simi wasn’t even my type. She had no ass, and her tits were fake and way too big for her chest.

No, I liked a round ass that I could fuck till Tuesday come, and I loved natural tits that were in proportion with a woman’s body. A handful was enough.

My phone buzzed again. This time, it was my mother. No doubt she’d already heard and was ready to plead her case. She’d ask me to reconsider. Not for love, never for that, but for the merger, for the family name, for appearances.

Simi had been prepared for this. Groomed to handle my darkness.

I didn’t give a fuck anymore.

My mother should’ve known better by now. There was no reconsidering. Whatever came next, the elders would handle it. Probably spare their lives, offer a slap on the wrist, and call it justice. Either way, they were no longer my problem.

My focus was on Nonno’s shares.

He’d left me fifty percent of his hotel empire, locked in a trust temporarily controlled by my father’s corporation. My younger brothers would each get twenty-five percent. The conditions were simple: marry, settle down, and build a family to carry the Pontisello name.

It wasn’t asking much. Legacy in exchange for control.

And if it came down to paying someone to carry my children? So be it.

In today’s day and age, people were desperate, and they would find the Don’s way of life extremely exciting. Invigorating.

Another text came through. This time it was from the slut herself.

I’m sorry Alfonso. Please reconsider.

There was no reconsidering, Simi. You picked your loyalty. Hope it buries you gently.

My phone rang. Nico’s name flashed on the screen, and I picked it up.

He laughed and couldn’t stop.

“It’s not funny,” a woman said.

“Sorry,” he apologized and then continued in Italian, “I found you the perfect bride, ready to say her I do’s.”