Page 4 of Forgive Me, Father (Don #1)

FOUR

THE WHITE RABBIT

“So, Nico tells me that you’re in the same predicament?” I inquired, as she simply stared at me. I knew what I looked like. The tattoo on my face was a bit scary, but if she could look beneath it, she might find my soft side. The little I owned.

“Sorry, I don’t speak Italian,” she said softly.

I looked at Nico. I was sure he’d told me that he’d gotten a feeling that she was part of the Dons.

“I never learned the language, or more like I tried, and it never took.” Her explanation drew my attention back to her.

I switched over to English. I had to say, she was gorgeous. Even with her face smeared with running mascara, she was fucking beautiful. She had this long chestnut hair that glistened, and her messy curls were practically begging me to grab her and fuck her mouth.

I rose from the chair behind my desk, slow and deliberate, and stepped around to the front, closing the distance, just enough to unsettle, not enough to scare.

“What is your name?”

“Camilla Santore.”

Santore? It was a real Italian name.

Nico glanced up from his phone, the glow of the screen still casting a glowing hue on his shirt. I knew that look. He was already digging into her family’s background.

When he gave a subtle nod, it confirmed what I suspected. She was connected to the Dons. Definitely not in the inner circle or close to it, but still enough to matter.

“What happened?” I questioned, planting my ass on the desk behind me.

She glanced nervously around the room, her fingers fidgeting in a silent rhythm of unease. The delicate fabric of her wedding dress was slightly creased, a subtle sign of the chaos she’d endured, but even so, it clung to her with quiet elegance, still breathtaking despite the strain.

“I found my would-be groom fucking one of my bridesmaids. My best friend.” Her voice broke on the last part.

“You ran away?”

“I’m not sure why I ran, to be honest. There’s no way out of a betrothal.” Her voice lowered. “I know the markings on your face. I know what that one beneath your left eye means.”

“Do you love him?” I asked, ignoring her remark about my tattoo.

Her left eye twitches. “I thought I did. But betrayal has a way of killing such feelings with a finality.”

“And what of your duty to your family?”

Her shoulder sagged for a heartbeat before she straightened her spine. Her gaze clashed with mine as she spoke. “I just need a minute to compose myself. I will not bring shame to the Santore name. I will fulfill my duties as demanded of me.”

“Does that include marrying a man you would rather kill than fuck?” I asked harshly. “Or would anyone in the Il Volto Nero be enough to make your family proud?”

She let out a sudden snort, then recomposed herself. “Sorry,” she murmured, her cheeks coloring with a faint blush. “Pride isn’t something my family has ever felt for me, nor will they. I’m expected to do what a good daughter does. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

"Who were you supposed to marry?" I asked, though the answer was irrelevant. Whoever he was, he didn’t matter.

No one outranked the Pontisellos.

Her lips parted, voice barely above a whisper. “Philip. Philip DeCosta.”

I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

“Then you’ll marry me,” I said, the words sharp, certain, like a promise carved in stone.

“Why do you need a wife?” she asks, suspicion lacing her words.

I lifted my ass off the surface, killed the distance between us and towered over her as I neared.

She smelled like warm vanilla and something wilder beneath it, sweet, addictive, and dangerous enough to make me want more.

Her throat bobbed, but she refused to take a step back.

Defiant. I loved it. Loved the thought of breaking whatever spirit she had and making her submit.

I leaned closer to her so that she could hear me.

“Because the one I was betrothed to also fucked one of my groomsmen.” The last part was a lie, but the girl could relate to the situation.

It would make her more open to choosing the path I want. The path I need.

Her gaze met mine.

“You’re still intact?” I asked.

She nodded.

My lips curved upward, pleased that no man had touched her that way. “Good.”

I stepped out of her personal space and could hear her taking a breath. I opened a drawer. Mica had dropped this off early this morning. It was a contract. I pushed it in front of her. “I’ll give you time to read it, and then you tell me if you are ready to become my wife.”

She looked at me and then at the contract. She stood straight, puffing her chest out and showing the perfect shape of her tits. “What’s in it for me?”

“Oh, a lot more now than what’s in that contract, la mia piccola fuggitiva .”

Her jaw muscles pumped softly.

My lips curved again as she walked toward the desk and picked up the contract.

“I don’t even know your name,” she said, staring at the pages.

“Just call me Alfonso. Nico, take her to the spare room; I still have some business to conduct,” I ordered my second.

He nodded and left with her.

I watched her walk away, her presence lingering long after she was gone.

This arrangement had the potential to become the best move I’d ever made.

She understood the world of the Dons, how it operated, what it demanded, which meant less work for me, fewer battles to fight. And she was undeniably stunning.

Whatever else this marriage turned out to be, it wouldn’t be a burden. Not in any sense of the word.

Nico returned a few minutes later. “I told you she was perfect.”

“And she just ran into you?” I asked.

“If that isn’t fate, I don’t know what is.”

“I will need all her family’s details before this hour is up. Make it happen.”

“Already busy. You’ll have it in a few.”

I indicated to him to leave me alone. I needed to think about how I was going to punish Philip DeCosta.

No one gets away with it.

It was part of the code, but one could interpret it in a million ways.

I had already taken my revenge on the DeLuca family, and I will deal with that fallout later.

If my Nunno were still alive, their legacies would’ve been wiped away from this earth.

My phone buzzed, and I saw it was a text from my mother. I read it.

Come home now. You have your wedding to attend. I’m not playing around, Alfonso. You can forgive her this once.

I chuckled. “No fucking way.”

I switched off my phone, sliding it into the drawer with a sense of finality. My parents would check their emails soon enough, let them. The truth would come to light, whether they liked it or not. But first, I needed Camilla to agree to the marriage.

As for my father, he was about to learn a hard lesson. He may still sit in the highchair, but his weakness would end, one way or another.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Nico dropped the file on the Santores in front of me.

It was quite big.

“Impressive.”

“Oh, wait till you read it. These mergers would’ve gotten the sovereign’s attention.”

My gaze dropped from Nico’s to the file. I opened it.

My little runaway was the oldest daughter of the Santore family.

They had a son, Milo, two years older than her.

Their great-grandfather Levi had opened the distribution company fifty years ago in New York, and for the past fifty years, they’d worked hard.

I saw it in their file. Saw it through their bank statements and financials.

They had another daughter, Emily, a few years younger than Camilla. She didn’t look anything like her sister. She reminded me of Simi.

I kept flipping through her file, the weight of the information sinking in as I scrolled through the details of their company. How had we not realized just how much S.A.N.T. had grown? This merger with the DeCostas would have brought them into the spotlight.

Their children could easily have become part of my own future, a union that would’ve brought them the kind of recognition they clearly deserved. The kind that this merger was meant to create.

A merger that Nunno had warned Father about.

The kind that could be wrong for the Pontisello Family.

And it was. But now that we would marry, we would merge with S.A.N.T distribution, and the percentage of the docks that my family already owned would chuck the DaCostas to the bottom, or exile if I have my way.

My lips curved. Philip was going to fume. Losing to a Pontisello was not easy, and he was going to learn the hard way just how difficult losing can be.

I turned the page and found the DaCosta’s file.

Philip DaCosta was the oldest son. The guy was handsome, that I had to give him. He was three years younger than me and had no markings whatsoever. Translation: he was a pussy.

I paged through their financials. I knew most of them as the Pontisellos had bought eighty percent of it to help them keep their title in the tiers.

Something told me the Santores had no idea about that.

This merger was everything to the DaCostas.

Maybe if Philip had known that, he wouldn’t have fucked around on his bride.

I prayed now that she would take my offer and was even contemplating changing that ridiculous contract. I could offer her and her family so much more than the DaCostas.

I hated dishonesty, and this family was only riding on the backs of the Santores to get to the top.

Her brother and sister were set to marry into other families.

One in security, the other in the entertainment business, usually drugs.

Fuck, Noah Santore had vision. That I had to give to the old man. I would have to tell them how Victor DaCosta deceived and lied to him for years.

They deserved the annihilation along with the Delucas. We needed new blood. It was something Nunno had said, and my father had promised he would look into it, trying his best to get new blood into the inner circle.

But my dad was a fucking pussy too. I had the proof right here in this file. Something he should never have missed.

I chucked the file into my drawer. I knew everything I needed to know to make her my wife. Now the ball was in her court, and I vowed I wouldn’t show her how badly I wanted this merger.