Bluebell

Bluebell
ALEX

The flight to the Maldives promises to be a real shit show. Why? For one, my attempt at losing my bride on the runway didn't work and now she sits to the left of me looking like a chubby little gnome dressed in an overpriced white table cloth.
She isn't ugly, that's not what troubles me, and to be fair I have fucked girls far more threatening on the ricter scale than her, but I never wanted to marry. Never. Not in the biblical sense.
As far as the late Don Angeletto's daughter is concerned, I was prepared to, but only because she and I had an understanding of sorts. An alliance of wills one might say. A common interest in not only power, but our love for pussy. Both of which would have been the driving force behind our successful partnership.
I would have had all of the Angeletto money and territory at my disposal plus the green light to fuck whoever wherever whenever I wanted to.
I would have kept my angel and my power.
But, no. I had to go and fuck that up by trying to be the hero. I ought to have known better. I should have realized. Villains are no good as heroes. Villains only make good villains. And now, here I am, on a flight to the Maldives courtesy of my soon-to-be late cousin, with my very own mafia princess - who may or may not be the entire reason this plane goes down over the ocean.
On the upside - if you can call it one - I am more or less guaranteed Pig Fuck Romano's cold seat at the big table. I will be the district boss by the end of the month and that is when the real games will begin.
Because... well... I plan to take it all.
Thanks to Ruby and her little sidewinding plot, Emilia Angeletto is now the only surviving heir left that's fit to rule the Angeletto family and despite that she believes her pending marriage to the Romano widow will solidify her seat, she would be wrong. Because I just so happen to know of a bastard that is dying to take her place, and when I say bastard I mean it literally.
As in he is the son only a few know about and although he is half Spanish, and born to an extremely wealthy noble line. His mother is the one that declined Angeletto's name, because his mother never wanted him legitimized.
Personally, I think the boy deserves the right to choose for himself. Especially because he will be eighteen in only a matter of weeks.
Apparently, fucking Don Angeletto was ony supposed to be an act of rebellion that the Duchess Quidore' partook in simply to enrage her now late father. The lady never expected to get pregnant, but she did. And when she did and refused to abort the child, her father disowned her. Then, as luck would have it, the viciously complacent Duke Quidore' suffered a heart attack five steps away from his solicitor's doorstep and never officially removed his daughter from him his will. Now? She owns it all.
Some might say the Gods were looking out for her and the unborn child that day. Others, myself included, would realize that Don Angeletto poisoned the good Duke that morning after an extremely colorful brunch. Consequently, the Duchess thanked Don Angeletto by expelling him from her country.
As far as I know, the late Don never attempted to seek out his wayward heir. So, of course, I took it upon myself to do exactly that. Right at the moment Don Angeletto and his son Antony hopped inside of their SUV in New Zealand and exploded like a couple of ripe tomatoes in a microwave.
The boy was as unmoved by his father's passing as the bosses were. As I was. And he and I have been cooresponding exclusively over the past four months. He is scheduled to join me at the very next district meeting. I wll be introducing him to the Grand Table myself. Taking him under my wing, so to speak.
As far as Antony and Don Angeletto are concerned, I hear pieces of the father son duo can still be found all across the beach and hills beyond. Fucking Ruby and her little surprises. Our once unshakable bond has been ripped to shreds. First by me, then by her.
I'll kill her if I ever see her again.
She took my angel away from me and rode away on her Spanish mule.
I will never forgive her for it, Never.
"Where the fuck are we going?" An annoyingly breathy voice curls through my ear canal, spoiling the whiskey in my glass. "I thought we were heading to California for our honeymoon! Why did the captain just say the Maldives?"
I shrug, gracing her with a squinted glare. "Because there's been a change of plan. Obviously."
Ana pouts, her shrewd gaze narrowing on me. "This is not what I told my people. They will be expecting me in California."
"Well, then they can un-expect you. California is too dangerous."
Ana scowls, hissing the words, "Third world countries are dangerous. How in the hell is California dangerous?"
Rolling my eyes, I snort and take a deep drink of amber fire. "Do you have any idea how many farms there are in California? I am doing you a favor."
"What the hell do farms have to do with anything?"
I smile into my cup. "Where there are farms, there are slaughter houses. It would be much too tempting for me to get rid of you there. Use your brain, Bluebell."
"I am not going to the Maldives!" Ana spits.
"You are."
"I'm not!" she growls out.
"Fine then," I growl back, "then bend over that seat so that I may fuck you and consummate this scam of a marriage, then you may go wherever you please."
She flinches. "And then what? You'll take me to California?"
I grin. "No. But we can fly over it, and I will throw you from the plane."
"Oh? Is that right?" Ana replies, her voice sacharrine sweet as she smiles slowly, curling my stomach.
"That's right!" I snap loudly, downing the rest of my drink.
Ana loses her smile, leans in, whispers, "But I know where she is...I know where your angel has gone and it's not...the Maldives, asshole. It's..."
My chin jerks upward and I stare at her in shock as she sits back with a smile. "Where?"
Ana begins to laugh then says, "Where do you think?"
Califonria.
Goddamned it, Mickey.