Irish Gold

Irish Gold
TRIGGER WARNING: There will be fat shaming included in this chapter, but I'm going to ask you to trust me as it necessary to the plot in this case and I promise, the agony will be worth it in the end.

ALEX

It has been four months since I left New Zealand behind without my angel. FOUR GODDAMNED MONTHS.
Four months since Ruby deserted me.
Four months since my cousin disappeared.
And four, blasphemous, mind melting months since my best goddamned friend fucking betrayed me.
You see, I know he is with her, Romany, wherever she is. And I know that Tiny - that BIG little fuck - also is with her, the fucking harlot. Mickey, however - who at least answers his phone when I ring him, even though he refuses to show up for roll call - has not the first fucking clue where she sailed off to.
It's almost funny, the way he's been scouring the earth for her while he steadily loses his sanity. Refusing to give up his pursuit, even though her lack of contact speaks volumes about the way she truly feels about him. At least, it does to me.
That damned siren has bewitched us all, and of all the things that she has ever done to aggravate me... not, at the very least, calling me so that I might hear her throaty little voice is the very goddamned worst. I mean, a simple 'fuck off Alex' would mean the world to me right now, because then I would know that my memory plagues her. At least then, I would know that she sees me from time to time. In a crowded room. Or a dream. A thought. A fantasy. But... there's been nothing. Not a single peep.
And now I hate her more than ever.
However, out of all that has happened, what bothers me most is the fact that I have yet to present her with the gift I prepared on the night she vanished. The one thing that I knew might keep her near me, indefinitely. It also happened to be a statement of sorts. A grafting of a large piece of my soul.
It waits here, growing colder and colder with every passing day.
Out of all of them, Mickey, is the one I am most angry with. He... is the one I have set aside a single, cold, engraved bullet for. Why? Ha! Well... because he left me here with an unfulfilled contract and a blemish on our family tree. Because he, and he, alone, left an entire dynasty without an emperor. Instead of engineering a vehicle to weather the storm and navigate around the tides the way I did - by threats and blackmail - and consequently voiding my marriage agreement with Angeletto's daughter, Mickey left dear Ana with a signed contract and without a fucking groom.
I at least managed to convince Don Angeletto to forgo my suit in favor of allowing his daughter to carry on her love affair with the Romano widow. Him keeping his power and money, in which I promised to absorb and destroy if he didn't demolish our contract, and me free to rid myself from said bondage in order to pursue open heaven with the one and only angel I have ever known.
Romany.
I was going to make her my partner, because I couldn't make her my wife.
Now, instead, I sit here in a fucking chapel while my bride to fucking be, Ana fuckable mouth Romano, readies herself in the bridal suite right next door.
That's right, I am being made to honor Mickey's marriage contract or else risk losing, not only all that I have built and all that I have conquered, but my dear cousin would have forfeited everything he has as well.
Naturally, I couldn't allow that to happen. Better I become the man in control of his territories than lose them to the Dons of the dick table.
Whether or not I return Mickey's power to him when he returns will depend upon whether or not I happen to be in a good mood on that particular day. And judging by the fact that I am currently dressed in a fifteen thousand dollar clown suit, awaiting my fiancee while she squeezes her fat ass into an extra large wedding gown that I will probably have to cut off of her when I am forced to mate with the walrus under the big top tonight, I doubt I will be for the forseeable future. What a fucking circus tonight promises to be. Good thing I have a big enough dick to service the depths of her likely overdressed pussy.
I mean, how many sets of lips is a walrus known to have? Three? Five? I should call the aquarium and find out. The need to be amply prepared for such a fest is as vital for me as whiskey, because I'll definitely be drowning myself in a few bottles before the big event.
A sharp rapping on the door prompts me to guzzle the remainder of liquor already in my glass and I busy myself pouring another when the door opens to reveal one of the Romano goons on the other side.
"It's time," the bastard says, watching with thoroughly amused eyes as I throw back and entire eight ounces of burning amber courage.
"It's time for a lot of things," I grumble, throwing my now empty glass into the wall and watching it shatter. "Fuck it."
Thirty minutes later... I leave my new wife at the alter, her lips as cold and as untouched as they were when she waddled up the aisle, and I disappear into a bottle of Irish fucking gold.