Deluca

ONE

He didn't like killing, but more often than not, it worked as a means to an end.

If he didn't kill this man, then people wouldn't take him seriously, they may overthrow him or assume he's weak enough for them to make small moves on their own.

No there was no room for error in Francesco's life.

"Are you even listening to me or am I talking to myself?" Giuseppe's thick whiny voice rang over the sound of the running water.

"You call me in the morning to question me on listening to you? You interrupted my day." Francesco said through the foam in his mouth while picking up the cell phone and placing his brother on speaker.

"We will be arriving at seven o'clock tonight; I will be meeting her tonight," Giuseppe stresses.

"How much did you pay her?" It hurt Francesco to ask the question, knowing that the only way he was getting married was because she would be paid.

The ideal woman he wanted in his life would be there simply for love. Knowing this woman would probably just be seeking his money made him feel some sort of ashamed.

"The amount is inconsequential," Giuseppe said, leaving a cryptic undertone.

"I will be ready when you all arrive," Francesco said before quickly hitting the end call button.

Stepping into his closet Francesco pulled out grey dress pants, pulling them on. He would be meeting his future wife today; he didn't know how presentable he should be.

He decided on a deep purple shirt and pulled it on over the wife beater he wore. It took him moments to complete his outfit with dress shoes and a Rolex.

Once dressed, he exited his master suite and made his way downstairs. His men, Louis and Henri sat at the bar of his kitchen; it wasn't uncommon for them to let themselves into the house in the morning.

The men handled everything for Francesco, they ensured he ate, ensured he was safe, cleaned up after him, killed for him, and spoke for him.

If Francesco didn't want to, he made them. They never complained about it either, it was quite often he wondered if they followed him out of respect or simply because it was his dollar that fed their families.

"Ciao fratelli," Francesco mumbled as he walked into the kitchen. On the counter was a smoothie freshly made sitting on the counter.

"Ciao, I got your favorite smoothie from the deli," Louis said.

Louis was a tall French man who held the fatherly trait Francesco missed out on getting in his childhood. He was years older than Francesco, originally his father's omega. Francesco found wisdom in Louis that he couldn't get anywhere else.

Louis was the only person besides Giuseppe that would tell Francesco how it is without sugarcoating a thing.

"Grazie," Francesco mumbled, grabbing the drink and taking a sip from the thick green straw. It was Francesco's favorite, something he never mentioned allowed but Louis picked up on after nearly raising him.

"You meet your new wife today, how are you feeling?" Louis asked, Louis sat at the bar wearing jeans, Nike's, and a leather jacket over a white t-shirt.

His style had always been casual and laid back, you'd never know he's killed more men than a small-town dictator.

"I had forgotten." Francesco lies.

Henri sat silently, listening to the conversation. He was never a man of many words, he simply obeyed.

He was another French man who was shorter than Louis and a lot meaner. Francesco had never seen any emotion on the man's face besides rage.