Page 7 of Wicked Sinner

"The kind that shows you're committed to this life.

To this family— the greater Family of all those assembled here in Miami.

To the stability of Miami's underworld." Konstantin's fingers drum against the mahogany desk.

"Your father's death has created a power vacuum.

Tristan has been managing some of the Genovese interests since he took over the Russo empire, keeping things stable, but that's a temporary solution.

There are other, smaller families watching, waiting to see what happens next.

They fall in line behind Tristan and me, but that could change if things are mismanaged. "

The thought of Tristan—this newcomer with no ties to Miami who somehow curried Konstantin’s favor and has usurped the second-highest power in the city—handling anything to do with my father’s legacy makes me see red.

But I force the anger down, letting it burn hotly in my chest as I respond as calmly as I can manage.

"So give me what's mine," I reply curtly. "Let me prove myself."

"It's not that simple." Konstantin stands, moving to the window that overlooks the bay. "The other bosses need to see that you're serious. I need to see that you’re serious. As does Tristan. That you're not going to disappear again the moment things get complicated.”

A feeling of dread roots itself in my stomach. "And how do I prove that?"

Konstantin turns back to me, his expression calculated, and I can see that the conversation has been leading to this since it began. He’s already planned all this out. "Marriage."

The word falls like a gavel between us. I stare at him, that feeling of dread spreading. "What?"

“Your father is gone. You have no family here any longer. No ties to keep you grounded. What’s to stop you from liquidating all that your father left behind, taking your business connections elsewhere, and leaving Miami?

No.” Konstantin shakes his head. "You need a wife, Caesar.

Someone who can help secure your claim. Someone the other bosses will see as a solid choice for a mafia bride. "

Konstantin returns to his seat, his movements deliberate and controlled as he continues. "A woman with the right connections, the right background. Someone who understands this life and can help you navigate it."

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The curse flies out before I can stop it, and I see Konstantin’s expression harden. “Understands this life? Help me navigate it? I was born in this fucking life, Abramov—”

“Watch your mouth,” Tristan snaps, and I whip my head around, glaring at him.

“Are you going to get under that desk and suck his fucking cock, too? Is that the deal you made when you got an entire family’s worth of money and power, and connections, even though I’ve never seen or heard of you before?”

“Caesar,” Konstantin says my name with a finality that brings me up short, though I wish I could continue tearing both Tristan and him down. But it won’t get me what I want. “We’re talking about your future.”

"You're talking about an arranged marriage." The words taste bitter in my mouth.

“Correct.” Konstantin doesn’t flinch. “The right bride will add to your legitimacy. It will prove that you’re committed to putting down roots, to continuing your father’s legacy, to building on what he began.

It will solidify your position, add to your power, and convince both me, Tristan, and the other bosses that you are, in fact, focused on stability in this new era. ”

I feel my head spin, dizzy for a moment, as if I have a hangover. The office suddenly feels far too small. This isn't what I wanted. I came back to claim my birthright, not to be married off like some medieval prince. "And if I refuse?"

"Then Tristan takes over the Genovese interests permanently," Konstantin says simply. "And you walk away with the money and assets your father willed directly to you and nothing else."

I look at Tristan, who is doing a fine job of keeping his expression unreadable, but I can see the smug glint in his green eyes. I’d like to dig in with both thumbs and turn them to jelly, but I sit stock-still, evaluating my choices.

“Did your father force mine into an arranged marriage?” I spit out, finally, only barely managing to control the venom in my tone. Konstantin remains unruffled.

“He didn’t have to be,” Konstantin replies simply.

“He chose an appropriate woman, who gave him an heir. Her passing in the scope of that duty was unfortunate. But you, Caesar, can’t be trusted to pick your own bride.

You can’t be trusted to do anything at all until I see that you will make choices that benefit not only yourself, but the underworld of Miami as a whole. ”

Tristan taps his fingers against the arm of his chair.

“Do you think I was asked if I wanted to marry Simone Russo when I came here? No. I was told that marriage to her was the price of taking over the Russo empire. I did it willingly and happily, because I wanted what came with her. That my marriage turned out to be one of passion and love as well as practicality was a bonus, Caesar. Not the intent in the beginning.”

I run a hand through my hair, frustration boiling over.

"Fine. Who did you have in mind?" I don’t like this, don’t want any part of it, but it’s clear that Konstantin isn’t listening.

This was always where this conversation was headed; my input isn’t needed.

And Tristan seems content to agree with whatever opinion Konstantin has.

Unsurprising, since Konstantin elevated him to the position he has now.

"I'll compile a list," Konstantin says. "Women from good families. Women who understand what's expected of them. Women who can help you build the alliances you'll need to succeed."

The thought makes my skin crawl. Some pampered princess who's been groomed her whole life to be the perfect wife to a mafia or Bratva boss. Someone who will smile and nod and never challenge me, never surprise me, never make me feel the way—

Bridget.

The thought comes unbidden, and I push it away immediately.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I barely know the woman.

We had one night together, one incredible fuck, and now I can't stop thinking about her?

It's ridiculous. She's a mechanic from the middle of nowhere.

She has no connections, no understanding of this world.

She's exactly the opposite of what Konstantin is talking about.

But God, the way she felt beneath me. The way she tasted. The way she looked at me, like she wanted to devour me whole. She was innocent and fucking filthy all at once, and just the thought makes my cock twitch, swelling against my thigh despite how absolutely inappropriate the timing is.

"How long do I have?" I ask, forcing myself to focus on the conversation at hand.

Konstantin looks pleased that I’m no longer arguing with him.

"A few weeks. I'll arrange some meetings.

Social events where you can get to know the candidates.

But don't take too long to choose, Caesar.

The other families are getting restless.

They need to see stability, and they need to see it soon. "

I nod, though every fiber of my being rebels against the idea.

I don’t want to go along with this, but it’s clear that refusal right this minute is not an option.

I need time to think. To consider how I’m going to move forward when I’m not sitting trapped between two wolves. "And after I'm married? Then what?"

"Then you prove yourself," Tristan speaks up, as if he has any fucking right to give me his two cents.

"You show that you can handle the responsibilities that come with your father's position.

You build relationships with the other families.

You demonstrate that you're worthy of the trust Konstantin is placing in you. "

My jaw clenches as I force myself not to snap back, not to tell him exactly what I think of his input. "And if I fail?"

"Then you'll find yourself in a very dangerous position," Konstantin says quietly. "The Miami underworld doesn't tolerate weakness, Caesar. Your father knew that. I hope you do too."

The threat is clear, even if it's delivered in Konstantin's calm, measured tone. I'm being given a chance, but it's a chance that comes with strings attached. Strings that could very well become a noose if I'm not careful.

"I understand," I say finally.

"Good." Konstantin stands, signaling that the meeting is over.

"I'll be in touch soon with some options for you to consider. In the meantime, I suggest you think carefully about what you want, Caesar. This isn't a decision you can take lightly. Who you choose and how you move forward will define your place in this city. It’s no longer set. You’re starting from the ground up. "

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The weight of expectation, of responsibility, of the choices I'm being forced to make, settles on my shoulders like a lead blanket.

This is what I ran from, twenty years ago.

I thought I could handle it when I tried to return, and I thought I could handle it now, but after this meeting, I no longer feel so confident.

Tristan stands too, after a moment’s beat that has all the disrespect in it that he intended.

I know I’m supposed to shake both men’s hands, and I do, but I loosen my grip on Tristan’s hand, the same silent disrespect that he gave me.

From the look in his green eyes, he reads it exactly as I intended.

As I'm escorted back through the mansion, my mind races. Marriage. To a woman I don't yet know, won’t want, and will probably never love. All for the sake of proving my commitment to a life I abandoned twenty years ago.

The thought of walking away again occurs to me. I could take what was legally willed to me and leave. It’s an immense sum; I could go anywhere I wanted and start over. Just be Caesar, instead of Caesar Genovese, the heir to a legacy that has always come with a complicated history, for me.

But if I do, my father wins. Everything that he said to me when he threw me out after I tried to return will be true. He will have been right.

Am I willing to marry someone I don’t know just to prove him wrong? To shackle myself to a stranger out of sheer stubbornness, take over all of this to prove a point?

I’m wondering, now. But I don’t have to make the decision today, or even tomorrow. I have a little time left. Time that I intend to use to learn this new landscape, and decide how I want to move forward.

The valet brings the Ferrari around, and I slide into the driver’s side, my hands gripping the leather steering wheel tightly.

The sight of the car brings back the memories of last night.

Of Bridget spread out over the hood, her body arching beneath mine, her cries of pleasure echoing in the night air.

Stop it, I tell myself firmly. She's not part of this world. She can't be.

It concerns me that I’d even think something like that.

Bridget was a one-night stand. I’ve had countless, over the years.

None of them have ever stuck with me, and I don’t know why she is—except that maybe because she was the first notable thing that happened after I came home.

Maybe because she was a release I desperately needed, after the return trip and all the memories that came flooding back in.

As I drive back toward the city, I can't shake the image of her from my mind.

The way she stood up to me, refused to be intimidated by my money or my demands.

She didn’t know who I was. But for the last twenty years, I’ve been in places where the women I fucked didn’t know, either.

So it’s not that. I don’t know what it is that made me want to turn around and go back for more last night, when typically I’d avoid ever sleeping with the same woman twice if I could help it.

It's probably just because the sex was so good. That has to be it. The novelty of being with someone so different from my usual type, someone who challenged me and surprised me. It'll fade.

By the time I reach my penthouse, I've almost convinced myself that's true. Almost.

I pour myself a drink—whiskey, neat—and stand at the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bay. The sun is setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, and I try to focus on the beauty of it instead of the memory of honey-blonde hair and hazel eyes.

My phone buzzes with a text from Konstantin: Dinner tomorrow night. I'll give you a list of some potential candidates. Dress appropriately.

I stare at the message for a long moment before typing back: Understood.

This is my life now. Strategic dinners and arranged meetings, and a marriage that's half-chosen for me and will probably be heavily influenced by Konstantin’s wishes.

It's what I signed up for when I decided to come back, even if I didn't realize it at the time. I guess I didn’t exactly know what to expect. After all, it’s not as if I internalized my father’s lessons, or as if I didn’t run at the first chance that presented itself.

I take another sip of whiskey, letting the burn of it ground me.

Tomorrow I'll meet with Konstantin. I’ll look at his list, and I’ll research the women and I’ll treat it like the project it is.

The first of many projects, I’m sure, that I’ll be responsible for now that I’m the Genovese don.

I’ll find someone I can tolerate, someone who can help me build the alliances I need, who can play the role of the perfect mafia wife.

Someone who isn't Bridget.