“Father, why are we here?” I ask for what feels like the millionth time. I’m sitting in a large banquet hall, up on a raised dais with my father and brother. Looking out over the hall, there has to be at least 300 people here. Bigger than some of my friends’ weddings.
And on the other side of my father, sharing a table with us is Don Rafel Luciano, the head of the Italian mafia in this part of the city.
My family has a well off, though somewhat small publishing house here in New York, Rothschild's Reads. The business was started by my great grandfather when he came to America as a young man. It was a point of personal pride that my family did not allow the Italian mafia to get its fingers into our business ever during our history.
So why the hell are we sitting here at a banquet hall and sharing the stage with them?
“I told you, Quinn. We’re doing what is best for the company and for the family. This is about a merger,” Father snaps at me. He’s been like that a lot lately and I don’t understand why.
He has always been a great dad. Kind. Caring. Loving. But lately, he has been standoffish. Anger. Paranoid.
And now he’s insisting on this merger with the Lucianos? This is dangerous.
“Seriously, Father? How can you think that this is a good idea?” my brother, Stefan, hisses at him.
“I am doing what is necessary for our family and that is all that you need to know,” Father says.
I’m about to object again, but Don Luciano stands, taking a microphone from his assistant. The man is tall and imposing. Though every time that he looks at me, there is a kind of tenderness in his eyes. One that I would never have thought would come from a career criminal.
He speaks with a trace of an Italian accent, making his words sound more impressive. “I want to thank you all for coming here tonight for this wonderful occasion. To witness the joining of two great families in our community, the Lucianos and the Rothchilds. This joining will make two great families even greater for generations to come. Of which, I can not wait to have that future generation running around the halls of my home.”
The crowd gives an indulgent chuckle. Though several in the crowd who are obviously with the Luciano family cheer at this.
It’s an odd statement to make. What does he mean by future generations in his home? Is his son getting married?
That seems like a bit of a fat chance, since Dante Luciano is one of the biggest playboys in the city. He’s constantly in the newspaper, each time with at least one different woman. He was notorious for making scenes and for leaving broken hearts in his wake.
I sincerely doubt that he would get married.
But then what is the Don talking about?
“With the combining of the Lucianos and the Rothchilds, there is nothing that can stop our city from prospering. And so, I would like to acknowledge the two people who will make all of this possible. Where is my son?” the Don says, a good natured smile on his face.
That smile lasts for all of 30 seconds when Dante does not make an appearance in the crowd.
The Don turns back to his assistant and I can hear his angry murmurings, though I cannot make out the words that are being said. The assistant hurriedly speaks into a headset that he’s wearing and then there is a flurry in the back as some of the security escort Dante into the room.
There is no denying that Dante is a sexy man. God-like would be a better way to describe him. He’s tall, with the black hair and dusky olive complexion of his people. His muscle is lean in the way a swimmer’s body is and his presence just flows through the room, demanding your attention.
It doesn’t hurt that he’s rocking the “just been fucked” look, with tousled hair and the top two buttons of his shirt unbuttoned.
I don’t realize how apt that expression is until I see the waitress that follows him and the security detail with him. Because she has that same look going for her and I know for certain it wasn’t there when I inspected her at the start of her shift.
What kind of man goes to fuck a waitress during one of the biggest meetings of his family’s life?
Dante Luciano, that’s who.
I turn to see the Don is furious, his face red and his hand white-knuckling the microphone like it owes him money. I would hate to be in Dante’s shoes right now.
But Dante doesn’t seem to notice how upset his father is.
“Padre!” he calls, exuberant as he climbs up the stairs to the dais.
The Don forces a smile as his son comes to his side, though the grip that he places on his son’s shoulder looks as if it will leave a bruise.
For his part, Dante barely flinches. Though I do see his knees start to quiver under the strain.
The Don holds the microphone up to his mouth again. “As I was saying, we should celebrate the people who will bring our two families together. I ask you all to raise your glass to the Rothchild family.”
My father stands and pulls my elbow up with him as he goes. Stefan quickly stands with us, though my father pushes me slightly forward of the rest of us.
“Please join me in congratulating the newly engaged couple, Dante Luciano and Quinn Rothchild!” the Don says as he raises his glass.
I look over at my father, begging him in my mind to stop the madness that Don is saying. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t even blink an eye.
What the actual fuck is happening?
It’s the end of the banquet and I’ve managed to pull my father and Stefan into one of the ready rooms. The second that the door is closed I light into my father. “I am not marrying Dante Luciano! I don’t care what you have to do to get out of this, but there is no way in Hell that I would ever marry that fuckboy!” I yell at my father. “Lower your voice,” my father says, glancing anxiously at the door. “The Don might hear you!” “And so what if he does? Who gave him the idea that I would marry his son? What have you gotten us into, Father?” I demand as I walk closer to my father. The Lucianos are nothing but thugs in Gucci suits. I will never get in bed with them, literally or figuratively. Stefan steps between my father and I, his hands separating us. Though I can see the tension in his shoulders that belies his anger, his voice is calm. “Quinn, you’ve got to calm yourself. Father is right in that we can’t have the Lucianos hear this conversation. Especially not after th
A week?! It feels like all of the air has been knocked out of my lungs. Had I not been sitting, I think I would likely have fallen down. It sounds like the words of the conversation around me are being spoken through water and it takes me several seconds to process them. “A w-w-week,” my brother sputters. “Why so soon?” “We will have all of the technology, domains, and legalities taken care of by then. Then we can start rolling out the second phase of the project, which is where Rothschild's Reads will come into play. We will need your help with identifying and signing authors, as well as editing services for those that we do sign and all of the copyrighting that goes with it,” Don Luciano answers my brother, his tone clipped. “I should think that you would want to get some cash flow into your company as soon as possible.” Through it all, my father just stands there. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at the floor and waits for the conversation to be over. There’s a knoc
I’m sitting at the breakfast table, trying to bury myself in my work. I am in charge of author acquisition and public relations at Rothschild's Reads. We’re supposed to have a debut gala for a group of authors that just did some fictional stories about living through quarantine. One is a murder mystery, one is a romance, one is an alien abduction story, and the final is a science fiction book about parallel universes. The gala is in a few weeks and we just had the venue pull out because they just found structural damage all throughout the building.Even though it’s only breakfast, I’ve already been in crisis mode for the past hour when my assistant called me at 6 am.“Call the Botanical Gardens, Julianne over at the events center for Central Park, Kendall at the Angel Orensanz Foundation, and any restaurant that you can think of. I’ll call Emily as soon as I’m on my way to work,” I tell my assistant, Grayson.“I’ll get right on it,” he says, urgency heavy in his voice.“Gray!”
I’m livid. In what world would any self respecting woman be willing to follow this contract? I can’t even look at my fucking “fiancé ” while all of this is going on, or my father or brother. My eyes are solely on Don Luciano in front of me. I know that my face is stony, my eyes flashing with anger. The pinched expression on Emilia’s face lets me know exactly what she thinks about his contract as well. Still, she doesn’t say anything to help me. Stefan starts to speak up. “I don’t think that you can truly expect my sister to - “ “I would like to speak with Don Luciano, my father, and my fiancé alone, please,” I say, interrupting him. “Quinn - “ Father starts, but the Don is the one who interrupts him. “Go,” he says to everyone else. Immediately, the lawyers stand and walk out of the room. Emilia stands as well, that pinched expression on her face until she turns to my brother. “Come, Mr. Rothschild. Won’t you allow me to show you the library. I’ve heard that you love r
By the time I’m at the office, there is a copy of the signed contract in my fax machine and a copy of my schedule to get ready for the wedding in my email inbox. Apparently I’m supposed to be at a catering appointment tonight at 8:00 at Tavern on the Green. Well, la ti da. It’s one of the most expensive and in demand venues in the city. The food is beyond reproach, the scenery is gorgeous, and the service is amazing. And of course, the Lucianos somehow booked it for a wedding next week. If only I had the magic touch to do something like that for the gala. The day is highly stressful and unproductive. Emily, Gray, and I are unable to find a new venue for the gala. And phone calls, hurried meetings, and one or two screaming fits on my part cause me to be approximately 15 minutes late to the Tavern on the Green. Unfortunately, I don’t have the phone number for my soon to be in-laws, nor do I know who I will be meeting there. I called the Tavern on my way, but I have no idea
I’m standing in Kleinfeld’s Bridal Salon, Don Luciano having rented out the whole place. It’s just me, Grayson, and Emily, my best friend. My wedding party is full of members of the Luciano family, their only concessions to our family being my brother on Dante’s side and Emily being my maid-of-honor. And each and every Luciano wanted to come to today’s appointment, none more than Dante’s mother, Emila, and his sister, Bianca. I don’t know how Grayson did it, but he managed to have their dress fittings happen at the same time as my appointment, playing it off as a scheduling error. With so little time between now and the wedding, there was nothing that could be done. Oh no, I’m so upset… Emila was rather upset, but I just reminded her that she would be seeing me in the dress in less than a week, so it isn’t really that big of a deal. It’s not like this will be like a real marriage, right? The one thing that the Lucianos did require was that I have a guard follow me around ev
Grayson, Emily, and I walk to Burger and Lobster Flatiron. It’s this great sit down restaurant that I found after one of my girlfriends got her dress at Kleinfelds a year or so ago. I hadn’t eaten all day and needed something fast before I passed out. The lobster rolls are the best that I’ve had outside of Maine and the Truffle fries are droolworthy. I’ve brought Grayson and Emily here millions of times since then. It’s just that damn good. We purposefully hadn’t told Josiah where we were going. I’ve made it my entire life without security, I really don’t see why anyone would want to hurt me now, just because I’m engaged to a Luciano. I mean, it’s not like I’m in the family yet. We take a seat outside, since it’s a beautiful day outside. The weather is turning warmer as summer approaches. You know, it’s weird. I’ve always wanted to be married in June. It’s always been my favorite month. The city starts bursting with life, all kinds of outdoor events, time spent in Centr
Emilio drives us to Warren Tricomi, one of the best hair salons in the city. On our wedding day, they will be sending several hair stylists, makeup artists, and manicurists to take care of us onsite and all of the women will be having their own consultations. But with my schedule at work and in preparation for this shitshow, I mean my wedding day, I have to do this appointment on my own. Poor Em is going to be doing it with the Lucianos tomorrow. I do not envy her. The entire ride to the salon, I stare out the window. It’s only a three mile rip, but in true New York fashion, it takes about 20 minutes. I manage to finish the whiskey that Dante gave me. He takes the glass from me. “Do you want another?” I just shake my head, keeping my gaze facing the window. I’m not seeing anything that we pass by, my mind speeding through the information that I’ve learned. When Don Luciano claimed me as his son’s fiancee, people saw me as a weakness. Death threats were sent to my famil