Page 57 of Unholy Union
The SUV has lowered its windows, the barrel of a machine gun sticking out.
My jaw drops open for another scream as the gunfire goes off. A hail of bullets fill the air as Lazaro jerks the wheel and our car fishtails off the road, headed straight for the trees.
Chapter 13
Cato
Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea - MISSIO
You’d think bribing a Corsini board member would feel more thrilling. Instead, it’s just another Tuesday morning meeting, where everyone sits at the sleek matte table and stares at the PowerPoint on the projector screen.
Sergio De Rossi rambles about how he’s successfully bribed Mr. Bonaduce, the first loyalist on the Corsini Construction board to fall.
“Sealed the deal with him last night,” he boasts. “Man practically begged for a reason to jump ship—he just needed a nudge and wire transfer. He’ll be voting how we want from now on.”
With the push of a button, he clicks to the next slide on the projector screen. It’s a photograph of the current Corsini Construction board members. An animated red X slashes across the cockeyed bald man on the top left, otherwise known as Michael Bonaduce.
“One down,” says Sergio. “Couple more to go and we start swinging the outcome of board votes.”
Papà nods in approval from the head of the table. “Excellent work, Sergio. Let’s hope he stays bought. Otherwise, I expect you’ll remind him what happens when men go back on their word.”
“He knows if he so much as breathes wrong, his kneecaps’ll be blown out.”
“Good, good.”
Cassian starts speaking next, briefing everybody on how he’s fucked a girl from theNew York Timeswho promises to leak a story about Rinaldo Corsini cutting corners on materials for low-income housing projects.
A crooked grin lights up Cassian’s face, his green eyes gleaming. “I told her I had something big for her. She thought I meant the scoop. Turns out, neither of us were wrong.”
Low chuckles ripple through the boardroom. Papà remains expressionless, both agitated by his younger son’s crass humor and pleased by the ultimate results. He merely nods and tells Cassian he expects to see the story running in the next copy of theTimes.
I glance down at my phone, checking notifications. Usually, I’d be more engaged at a meeting like this—the hostile takeover of Corsini Constructionismy masterplan after all.
But today I haven’t said more than a word or two.
My mind keeps drifting back to the argument the other night.
Back to her.
I told myself it was strategy. That I had to say what I did to keep control. It was to remind her who she belonged to and who was in charge.
But the truth is, I was parroting my father. Trying to sound like him, act like him, channel that cold-blooded authority he’s always wielded so easily, like it’s second nature.
You’re meant to be seen, not heard.
The impact landed immediately, flickering in her eyes. Heat rushed her freckled cheeks, making it look like she’d been out in the sun.
Like she’d been slapped hard across the face and was about to burst into tears.
Realtears in a way I hadn’t yet seen of her.
If she was being honest that she had been upset at the start of the night, thenI’dpicked the fight this time.
Still, I didn’t apologize. I never have before and pride couldn’t allow it then. Papà had spent too many years hammering away the message that strong men didn’t apologize; only weak men ever uttered those words.
It wasn’t supposed to be in my vocabulary.
But that didn’t mean there wasn’t some level of guilt. Some second-guessing that I’d pushed too hard.
