Past- 23 years old
I was a self-made god.
If I wanted someone to die, they died.
If I wanted someone to suffer, they suffered.
I could guarantee a man would have all the wealth he desired, and when he got it, I could just as easily take every last penny of it away.
And when people like, Ricardo Rias, came to me asking for help?
I made them get down on both knees and beg until their voice turned hoarse and the skin on their lips cracked and spread like a web.
After giving him my ultimatum, I motioned for him to get up off the floor where he’d been groveling for the past twenty minutes.
His knee popped as he rose.
Tilting my head to the side, I remained silent, not immediately giving him the attention he wanted.
What was left of his pride wrapped its fist around his throat, stopping him from being the first to speak. Instead, he began to pace, moving back and forth from one side of my oval-shaped office to the other, running his hands through his dark hair until it stood on end.
Unfortunately for him, patience just so happened to be one of my best traits. Leaning back in my leather chair, I sent off a few text messages, wondering how long it would take for him to open his goddamn mouth and say something.
I didn’t have to wait long.
“I don’t understand. You want me to sign off on everything with no guarantee?” His Spanish accent grew thicker with his mounting frustration.
Letting out a deep sigh, I slid my cell in my suit jacket and leaned forward, clasping my hands on my desk.
“You’re the one who came to me, which you still have yet to explain your reasons for. I suppose they don’t matter, though. Regardless of whatever they are, these are my terms.”
“You wouldn’t let me–––.”
Holding a hand up to silence him, I uncapped my favorite metal pen and placed it down on the documents using more force than necessary. Looking him straight in the eye I repeated my ultimatum. “You either agree , or you get the fuck out of my house. I have better things to do than continue to watch your pathetic mental breakdown.”
His adams’ apple bobbed up and down. He held my gaze for a full two minutes and forty-four seconds before picking up the pen.
I’m sure he had more than a few choice words he wanted to say, but unless his request included a bullet to the head or the removal of his tongue, he knew silence was best.
“What now?” he asked once finished, recapping the pen.
“Nothing on your end, I’ll get in touch with my lawyer to make this look legit. While we wait for that to go through, you’ll be going home and staying put until I say otherwise, and I’ll be going to eat a nice dinner.”
He attempted to fix his hair, trying to hide his glassy eyes.
If this filho da puta started to cry, I would be severely pissed. I wasn’t his therapist, and I didn’t feel sorry for him.
He put himself in this position by not having the balls to do what should have been done years ago.
This man was living proof of what happened when a relationship went sideways. Love was such a fickle, complicated thing.
I’d admired Ricardo once, for being exceptionally ruthless and never folding no matter how tough things got.
Now, he was up shits creek without a paddle or a life-vest and had come to drown right in front of me. He didn’t fight hard enough, in my opinion, thus losing all the respect I’d had for him.
“When will I hear from you?”
“Sometime tomorrow if I’m not too busy drowning in pussy, the unrelated kind, of course.”
With my final jab delivered, he turned away and shuffled from the room, looking as if I’d shoved a broom handle up his ass.
The door to my home office clicked shut with his departure. He’d knowingly just signed over his entire legacy to me, never obtaining my sworn word that I wouldn’t destroy it.
Which is exactly what I intended to do.
Another round of roulette won.
There were just a few more details to deal with. I flipped open the file folder Ricardo had brought with him and stared down at the information.
Skimming over all the details about his estate and bank account information, I stopped on a fairly recent photograph.
Two nearly identical faces stared back at me.
Elena and Eva Rias’.
I hadn’t thought about them too much, to be honest, and I was unsure how to handle this little hiccup. Thumbing my lower lip, I tried to think of a solution.
What the fuck was I going to do with two twelve-in-a half-year-old girls?