Mr Handsome, Will You Procreate With Me?

2

Pouring myself a whiskey, I motion for the others to grab a glass and then sit down. Dario and Sandro have just taken the two chairs in front of my desk with their own drinks in hand when their dad walks in. I wave a hand at my uncle, making it clear he should just help himself, and once he’s taken the leather seat beside his oldest, he raises his glass in a toast.

“To my brother Antonio, may he finally find the peace that was denied him in life.”

We raise our glasses and drink to my father and the peace that he may or may not have found. I’m on the fence about religion, but I hope my uncle is right. I hope he’s reunited with my mom and Isabella and is at peace.

“So,” my uncle begins, “what are your plans, Dominic?”

I sigh and look out the large window that faces the Ionian Sea. I’ve lived in this house since I was born, and there’s no denying the beauty of the southeastern coast of Italy, but I know where I belong now, and it’s not here.

Looking back at my uncle, I say, “I’m going back to America. I’ve been gone too long as it is.”

He looks like he wants to argue, and when he manages to bite his tongue and keep quiet, I let out a soft laugh.

“That looks painful, Uncle Salvatore. Just spit it out. We’ve always had honesty between us.”

He looks relieved to not have to hold his words back and lets out a sigh at what had clearly been a battle of wills before saying, “Your family is here and your home is here. You should find yourself a nice Italian girl and get married, start a family. You need heirs, Dominic.”

I groan, because I’ve heard this a million f*****g times from him, while Sandro lets out a soft laugh because he knows how much I hate the you need to get married to a nice Italian girl talk. “My place is in America now. You know this, and I have no desire to marry.”

The very thought of marriage makes me feel like I’m suffocating, the air slowly being cut off as I’m trapped in a situation I have no desire to be in. I’ve never met a woman I can tolerate for long. A few dates, a few f***s, and then I’m done. I’ve never wanted anything more, and I’ve always been very upfront about that. They want the Alessi name, the money, the designer clothes I can buy them, and the bragging rights of being on my arm. They don’t give a f**k about me, but that’s only fair since I don’t give a f**k about them either.

My Uncle Salvatore refuses to accept my decision to remain single. He’d married my Aunt Maria when he was young, and he swears it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. I know my uncle. I know all about his various affairs over the years, but he’s always said that coming home to Maria is what’s kept him sane. He never wanted to be the boss. He’s always been more than happy to be the muscle behind the scenes, but his days of killing are over—about eighty pounds of extra weight and arthritic hands have seen to that. Probably for those same reasons, his days of whoring around are also over.

“It’s not good to be alone,” he tries again. When I meet his dark eyes, he adds, “Isabella would have wanted you to be happy.”

I narrow my eyes at the mention of my sister, letting him know he’s on dangerous ground. He backtracks and holds up one of his broad hands. In his prime those hands were feared, but now he can’t even straighten his fingers out. They remain in a constant bent position that I know he despises. No one enjoys becoming weak, but it’s even worse when that weakness is so obvious to others, especially in our line of work.

“I’m going back to America,” I tell him, my tone making it clear that it’s not up for discussion. “As soon as my father is buried, I’m leaving, and I’m taking Dario and Sandro with me.”

His grey, bushy eyebrows raise at that. I look over at my cousins, not at all surprised to see Sandro grinning while Dario gives me a wary look. I hadn’t discussed this with them, but I need them with me. I’ve divided my time between these two countries long enough. I’m tired of all the travel and stress. My future is in America, and that’s where I need to be. My top men are coming with me.

“What? Why are you taking them from their home?”

“They’re mine to do with as I please, Uncle Salvatore. You know that.”

My cousins swore an oath to this family, the same as we all did, and that means they’re mine. They will bleed for me, they will die for me, they will do whatever the f**k needs to be done for this family, and that means both their asses will be coming with me to the States.

“What about Italy?”

I look back at my uncle, feeling my patience start to dwindle as I take another drink. “What about it? The other families haven’t tried to encroach on our territory in a very long time. We have an agreement with all of them, and I see no reason for that to change. I won’t be as active here, they know that, but I also won’t be interfering with their s**t, and that’s all they really care about. If things change in the future, I’ll deal with it, but right now, there’s more money to be had in America. I have a good thing going there, Uncle, and I’m not about to lose everything I’ve worked so damn hard for.”

“You mean with the f*****g Russians?”

He looks like he wants to spit over his shoulder after he says it, but instead he tips his glass and finishes his drink.

“They’ve been loyal friends to me, and without them we wouldn’t have found Isabella’s killer,” I remind him.

“Papà,” Sandro starts to say, but Salvatore waves a hand at him, and even though my cousins are both in their thirties now, they respect their father too much to speak over him.

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