Mafia & Miss Honey | Mafia Heirs #1 | ✓

19. Diciannove

"All the noblewomen with strong ties to famiglia have already been promised." Father said, blatantly putting his approving stamp on Isabella's character. It's my father's own fault that I'm still single. He had been waiting on tying me with a girl whose father could have become the governor if he hadn't died of a heart attack. I seriously would have considered Isabella as my wife, if she had a little taste in men, no matter how many. But now with Zara in my life. Giving a chance to Isabella to stop her whoring ways with her father's business partners to her bodyguards has been wiped out.

"Then make sure one of us wins the next election. I will wait." I said raiding my glass, gulping down the whole content. A muscle in my father's jaw ticked in anger.

"They might not be Italian." he said calmly, a threat undermining in his tone, to what I had meant by suggesting this blasphemy of marrying a non-Italian.

"Then we must ask Bianchi to join politics. He has a better chance of winning. Everybody loves him. Either way, I will wait. I don't want another conspiring woman to force me into giving her bastard the Armani name." I say leveling my gaze with the Russo's. "The child must be my offspring. Hundred percent my DNA, not some distant blood relative." I added further, looking nowhere in particular. If my father is conspiring to make my brother my son, then he must know that I'm not having it.

Russo chuckled humorously. "Very well, Gian." I raise my brow in dare, but he continued "A woman out of the famiglia wouldn't be able to understand our... rules. Isabella has been bred like mafia royalty. She is capable of becoming an ideal wife-"

"Yet, she forgot one rule." My father growled, Isabella gasped, becoming teary-eyed all of a sudden. She might have mistaken that she has my father wrapped around her finger because of her sexual prowess. My father's loyal to no one but himself.

"Send her to London, Giovanni. See, if they would like to have her. If not..." his eyes bored into Isabella, her heavily painted red lips parted in fear. "You will be married to one of our enforcers." He grunted, dabbing his mouth with the napkin. All the color drained of Isabella's face, a small whimper escaped from her mouth watching my father as a lover who had betrayed her. My hands balled into a tight fist, sure my mother didn't care who my father fucked. But this drama unfolding in front of her disrespectful.

Marrying an enforcer is not at all a bad deal. They collect money from the high collared assholes, who are due. They receive a hefty percentage of the recovered money. But they are not like The Bianchi family, whose job is to rub arms with the men who are pure in the eyes of the innocent world. Enforcers usually don't attend the parties Isabella craves. As the daughter of Cosa Nostra's consigliere, she deserves an underboss or capo. Not an enforcer again.

But now, She will do anything to seduce whoever English prick he is talking about. Father waved his fingertips, dismissing them. Russo's family scurried off like pussies. Giovanni had never been fit to become a consigliere. But he was my father's favorite lap dog since they were kids.

I was watching the Russo's retreating back with a ghost smile on my face when my face was roughly banged forward toward the table.

The handmade Italian plate cracked under the right profile of my face. Only the slight sound of the ceramic cracking and my father's nose flaring like a bull could be heard. Another crack sounded as he tried to dig my face deeper into the plate with his rough fingers clawing over my face. I was not happy when I received this dinnerware along with my shipment of guns. And my anger had ten folded when my father was more worried about these handmade fuckery than the arsenals. But this is a solid motherfucker, bearing the impact.

The man hurting me has never been a father to me but right now. I am getting punished by my boss. Don brought his face closer to me. The weight on the plate slightly tilted, the spicy gravy slid inside my right eye, burning it painfully. The heavy silver fork pointing upwards now was a mere inches away.