Chapter 11
Carlo
"Son, you barely even come home or call your mother. That’s not very nice," my mother says, her voice soft and composed, as if everything is peaceful.
Hell, it’s not. My insides are on the verge of fucking combustion, and I’m sure as hell my father can feel the heat from where he’s sitting. My so-called brother, the prick I just found out about six months ago, is sitting across from me. I’m still trying to figure out how the fuck my mother is completely fine with this bullshit.
"Sorry, Mother. I've been really busy," I mumble, forcing out the words because I know she won’t let it go otherwise.
"If I had a daughter, I wouldn’t be so bothered, but the worst part is my only son has refused to bring a woman home."
My fork freezes mid-air. “Not this shit again, Mother.”
"What do you mean ‘not this shit’? The last time I saw you with a woman was three years ago. What kind of celibacy streak is this?!" She yells, waving her fork around like it’s some kind of weapon.
I bite back the urge to snap. I fuck, alright? I do fuck, but not just women like she expects. But saying that out loud would blow up this table and give that smug prick sitting across from me something to smirk about.
"Please, honey," my father cuts in, his tone annoyingly calm. "As the current Director—and soon-to-be President—you should avoid getting caught up in scandals."
Great, Dad. Thanks for the fucking support, probably the only time my father’s ever agreed with me on a matter. But, of course, that doesn’t last.
"Your brother Williams will be taking over the management of the hotel for now," my father adds, casually dropping the bomb like it’s no big deal.
I freeze. My fork clatters onto my plate as I glare at him. "What the fuck are you saying, Dad?"
"Language, Carlo!" My father shoots me a sharp glare. "You heard me, son. Your brother Williams will be taking over the management of the hotel for now," he repeats like it’s gospel.
"I heard you the first time, but you can’t be serious!"
"You worked hard, I know that. But Williams needs experience, and this is a good opportunity for him," my father explains, his tone condescending as hell.
"Experience? Are you fucking kidding me?" I growl, slamming my hand on the table. "You’re giving the hotel I’ve poured blood, sweat, and fucking tears into to some dickhead who walked into our lives six months ago Just because he’s got a face that looks like yours?"
"Your brother—"
"Don’t call him my brother!" I snap, cutting him off. My chest heaves with anger, and I feel my control slipping.
"Dad. This is bullshit. If he’s your son, find him another project. The hotel is mine."
"Language, Carlo, before I send you out!" My father roars back, his face red now.
Across the table, Williams has the audacity to smirk. "I just want to lighten your load, brother. You’re stretched thin with everything else going on."
"Load?" I laugh bitterly, turning to him. "You think you’re doing me a favor? Don’t flatter yourself."
"Carlo, that’s enough!" my father yells, his voice booming.
He’s smiling like he’s doing me a fucking favor. Of course, my father’s eating that shit up. But I can see what a manipulative jerk he is. The deceit is practically steaming out of him.
"Sorry," I hiss through gritted teeth, leaning forward. "And don’t fucking call me your brother. I’m yet to understand how you became my brother," I spit, my father turns to me again, obviously pissed I still didn't watch my damn language.
I push back my chair and stand. "You know what? I don’t have time for this shit. I’ve got a meeting in thirty minutes. Excuse me."
I grab my suit jacket from my secretary, who’s been waiting patiently by the door. Before leaving, I glance at my mother. "I promise to call more often, okay?"
Without waiting for a response, I walk out, my blood boiling.
It’s only 9 a.m., and the day’s already a fucking mess.
By the time I slide into the backseat of my SUV, my anger is still simmering. My secretary hands me a tablet with the morning’s agenda, but I ignore it, scrolling through my phone instead. Blaze’s contact catches my eye. I had sneaked it from his phone as he was sleeping.
He hasn’t changed at all.
That mouthy bastard still looks like the same kid I met years ago—plump lips, perfectly arched brows, and a sharp tongue that could cut steel. His petite frame is deceptive; you’d think he’s harmless until he opens that damn mouth.
A smile tugs at the corner of my lips as I remember his defiant words. "I’ll pay you back." Stubborn as ever. Looks like he’s the type who never takes help for free. Fine by me—I’ll hold on to my request for now.
"Sir," my secretary interrupts. "We’ve located the four men involved in the incident. How should we proceed?"
I clench my jaw, my grip tightening on the tablet. Just thinking about what those bastards did to Blaze makes my blood boil all over again.
"I’d love to see their dicks cut off and shoved up their asses and throats," I mutter darkly, leaning my head back against the seat. "But no, I don’t want to see their ugly faces. Handle it."
"Understood, sir," He says, his voice steady.
I turn my attention to the files in my lap, flipping through them half-heartedly. My meeting’s in less than thirty minutes, and I can already feel the tension building again. But in the back of my mind, all I can see is Blaze’s face. Damn that bastard.
The meetings today were ridiculously long, By the time I’m done, it’s already past noon, and I feel like strangling something—or someone.
"Sir, your next appointment is with Mr. Fitzgerald in an hour," my secretary informs me as I get back into the car.
"Cancel it," I snap.
"But—"
"Did I fucking stutter?"
"Understood, sir."
I don’t know why I’m so on edge, but I know exactly where I need to go to clear my head.