Scorned Heir: A Fake Dating Romance (Scorned Fate)
Scorned Heir: Chapter 3

The phone calls started the second after I freshened up and got ready for bed. Two missed calls and six messages from Ivy. One missed call from Luca, including two messages.

Hmm, whose call to return first?

A knock rapped on my door.

“Sera.” It was Tony. He probably had just arrived. As I suspected, boxes of contraband were in the kitchen. Russian caviar as well as top-shelf whisky.

Opening the door a crack, I asked, “What?”

He shoved a phone between the opening. “Luca wants to speak to you.”

“I’ll call him…” He was already shaking his head. My bodyguards made such an interesting duo because in contrast to Rocco’s stocky build, Tony was tall and lean. When they weren’t babysitting me, they were collectors for the outfit. Tony was the talker while Rocco was the muscle.

“Fine.” I snagged the phone from him and shut the door. “Hi, Luca.”

“Hi? Hi? That’s all you have to say after pulling a stunt like this?”

“What stunt? I got into a car with a guest. He’s Carlotta’s nephew. I was hardly in danger.”

Carlotta was married to Matteo’s uncle. It was such a small world, my mind did a jig to really make sure I wasn’t blood related to Matteo, otherwise his suggestion to fake date was vomit-inducing.

My nonno, Emilio Moretti, had three wives. He was called the black widower because he outlived the first two. From his first marriage, he had three children. My father, Emilio Jr., was the eldest son. Carlotta was the middle child, and Ange was the youngest. Nonno’s second wife bore him three sons. Luca was the youngest of that brood. The two older ones denounced our crime family, dropped the Moretti last name, and moved back to Italy. I hardly remembered them. When Nonno married his third wife and had another daughter, that was when the problems started with Carlotta. My aunt simply didn’t get along with a stepmother who was younger than her.

After my father Emilio Jr. got killed, Ange was expected to be the next boss. But Nonno held on to that position until his deathbed two years ago when he named Luca as his successor. Many were surprised because he was the youngest son. Not me though. I understood why Nonno picked Luca. He was a visionary unlike Ange who remained rooted in the old ways of organized crime. I was also biased because he was my favorite uncle.

Most of the time.

“If you were here right now…” Luca growled.

“What? You’d send me to the convent? You and Nonno have been threatening me with it since I was sixteen.” I grabbed my other phone and shot a quick text to Ivy to tell her I was fine. She might very well be pestering Daniel to check on me. I’d be mortified if her brother showed up in Brooklyn.

This was a strange night.

Propositioned by a De Lucci.

“Now is not the time for that smart mouth. What did De Lucci want?”

“He offered me a ride home. Why are you up in arms about this? You’ve done business with the man.”

“You’re a double major business and economics degree. Master’s from Stanford. Magna cum laude. You want to act like an airhead, don’t do it around me.”

“Ouch. It’s not an act. It’s nothing. Maybe he’s interested. I don’t know.”

Silence.

Then I rewound the conversation we had in front of the brownstone.

“Okay, he asked me out.”

“Finally, she admits it.”

“Then you know I didn’t say yes.”

“But why is he interested?”

“You know, just because you replace me annoying doesn’t mean that other men won’t replace me attractive.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t need me to pander to your ego. The Chicago society pages do enough of that.”

What the hell? Had he and Matteo compared notes?

My frequent appearance in the society pages had nothing to do with me having unusual beauty, a sparkling personality, or a giant trust fund. It had everything to do with the family’s publicity machine to build me up as a lucrative commodity to be used in an alliance through marriage. It could be political, but I was looking more like a mafia bride. The underworld had its own politics anyway.

“As if you had nothing to do with it. You write the checks to pay the family’s PR.”

“I take their advice on how to position family interests. And I’m told you are a Moretti jewel, a rare rose.”

More like a rose among the thorns.

“At least you didn’t call me a mafia princess.”

Luca chuckled. “The press likes to romanticize it. I’m merely pandering to what they want.”

My uncle was a grandstander sometimes. “I think you’re fattening me up for the kill.”

“Santino Conte is a good match.”

“He’s the highest earner of the Galluzo mafia. Most of his money is from drugs and there’s also a rumor he’s involved in human trafficking. I’ve made my position clear on this.”

“The Galluzo is planning to diversify into more legitimate business. Real estate around the olive oil industry. You will be an asset to him.”

“Dear uncle, why don’t you put yourself on the chopping block? The Galluzo has their own prized princess. And she’s not even in Italy but in NYU.”

“I don’t have time to play Romeo. She’s bookish and a romantic at heart. She’d be miserable married to me.”

I wasn’t surprised Luca had considered marriage and investigated the possibility of a Conte bride for himself. The family consigliere had suggested it would cement his position as head of the family.

“And we’re not talking about me. Don’t change the subject.”

“Where the hell was Santino at the Wheeler-Conte partnership gala if he was interested in this marriage?”

“He has other responsibilities.”

“To the Galluzo.”

“This conversation is going nowhere,” he said. “I’ve had my say. Know your duties to the family. I can’t stop you from seeing De Lucci from here, but I’m not going to make it easy for him to ruin my plans either.”

“This is my life we’re talking about,” I shouted into the phone. My outburst surprised me. The word “duty” said in Luca’s unequivocal tone triggered a resentment that was unfamiliar. Earlier this evening I was resigned to a possible arranged marriage. Was it because Matteo planted a future with Daniel in my head?

“You’re getting emotional. Sleep on it and you’ll see I’m right.”

The phone went dead.

I stared at it a second longer before I marched over to the door and yanked it open. Tony was leaning against the wall opposite my door.

I handed him the phone. “Snitch.”

“My job,” he returned without remorse.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell him, but he owes me tax for that crap you guys have in the kitchen and I want it in my account by tomorrow morning.”

I slammed the door in his face.

Matteo

“One more rep, champ.”

Sweat beaded my forehead before I grunted a final push, heaving the bar up to the rack where it landed with a clang.

“Three-fifty.” Nico smirked at me. “Not bad.”

I ab-crunched on the weight bench to a sitting position, accepting the towel from my brother’s hand before grabbing the water bottle at my feet to quench my thirst.

“Not bad?” I growled. “Is there a reason you want to maim me before I meet Sera for breakfast?”

Nico dropped his ass on the opposite bench, taking a draw from his water bottle.

I wouldn’t be lifting weights regularly if my brother didn’t drag me out of bed every morning. He liked the gym in my building. And although I’d given him a permanent pass, he still insisted we lift together. Nico had been a scrawny teenager before he turned seventeen and began to bulk up. That time it was me who dragged him into the gym because I had to remain fit as the quarterback on the football team.

After consuming the contents of his water bottle, he tilted it in my direction. “Does she know you’re meeting her for breakfast?”

“No.” The anticipation of seeing her outrage tipped my mouth at its corners. I didn’t know why I wanted to piss her off except it was incredibly fun to do so. “Dan told me they were meeting her for breakfast.”

“They meaning Ivy?”

I frowned at the inane question. “Of course. Who else? He wouldn’t see Sera by himself. His sudden interest would be suspicious.”

Nico rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Yeah. But what if Dan is just deflecting and he’s really interested in Sera?”

I considered that possibility. It was Daniel’s idea for me to fake-date Sera. He was convinced she had a crush on him. I would hazard to conclude he cared enough about her and he didn’t want her marrying the likes of Santino Conte. Maybe he was too chickenshit to jeopardize his deal with Gustavo by going after Sera, so he was siccing me on her to interfere with Chicago’s plans to marry her off while he took his own sweet time to pursue her with marriage in mind. “I haven’t seen him look at Sera that way.”

“He’s a wily businessman,” Nico said. “And he’s not bad at poker himself, though he couldn’t get any bluff past me.” My brother was a card shark and he had quite a reputation that he’d been banned in some games. “How far are you going to take it?”

I stood and walked toward the locker rooms. Nico followed and caught up with me.

How far? Maybe a kiss.

I earned a fucking kiss at least to agree to this shit although it would help our endgame. Not that it would be a hardship. Sera was sexy as fuck. It shouldn’t be a chore to kiss her. I might even enjoy it just to piss her off.

“How far?” Nico asked, pulling me back before I entered the locker room where other people might hear our conversation.

I grinned. “Are you asking if I’m going to fuck her?”

Nico narrowed his eyes. “Obviously, I wasn’t asking if you were going to kiss her hand.”

“Anything to make it convincing to the paparazzi so the news will get back to Gustavo and push our advantage.”

“You think he doesn’t already know?”

I shrugged. I didn’t bother responding to my messages this morning. One from Mom. One from Dad. Two from Aunt Carlotta, and lastly, one from Luca Moretti telling me to stay the fuck away from his niece if I was attached to my balls.

I had an email from Gustavo’s admin. She sent it at four thirty this morning.

I was suddenly looking forward to pissing everyone off. Because I was that De Lucci. Maybe I was a vindictive son of a bitch. I started learning the ropes of De Lucci Transnational when I was eighteen and became more involved when I turned twenty-three. I was cocky as shit until reality punched me in the face. CEOs refused to talk to me. It wasn’t about my age either. The problem mostly came from full-blooded Italians like Gustavo. It didn’t take me long to realize that they had issues with me being half Irish. And as an added blow to my ego, my father frequently intervened, but I’d learned to weather it. Every deal was a balance sheet, but like an elephant, I had a long memory. Money wasn’t any use without power, and I made sure the De Luccis had plenty of it and I wasn’t squeamish about wielding it.

Nico’s chest shook with a silent laugh. “I see that devil of a smile on your face.”

Yes, the devil was in the house.