𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 is your average do-good lawyer on the rise to fame as a representative of young victims. Except her motivations aren't all that innocent. Rayne's only goal is to run from her past, to leave confrontation for the courtroom, no...
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"𝗔ntwon, listen to me, and listen to me well."
Emmet shifted his cell phone from his hand to between his cheek and left shoulder pallet. Talking incessantly in his ear was his associate – the person in charge of all shipments in and out of the Dock's he owned up in Seattle. Lately, his actions and words have proved his, already, shitty IQ was beginning to further deteriorate upon old age.
I need to replace him soon. Stupid fucker...
"Well, it's not my fault," Antwon continued, "—they just got lost. The new trainees have been fucking up lately. Two of them are French and hardly understand their roles."
"Unlikely," Emmet scoffed, "They speak English fluently. Don't try to pin it on them."
"Uh – I ... look maybe—"
"Shut up! Just shut the fuck up!" he grabbed his phone and spoke – well yelled – into the microphone, "My fucking eleven year old son could do your job with his fucking eyes closed you mother – fucking idiot! If my shipment isn't in the warehouse, collected and stored by tomorrow, I can make certain, you lose a couple fingers alongside your job!"
Hijo de puta! (son of a bitch/whore), he thought, hanging up and tossing his phone on his desk.
Emmet took a couple breaths as he pinched his nose in annoyance, desperate to calm himself down. There were a lot of steps and strict ways of doing things when it came to being in command of the docks – he knew that, but still, he needed staff who could follow through even so. Someone who persevered before he needed to step in and teach them how to do their fucking job all over again.
He had that person – his son, Rueben. He used to be in complete control of it alongside Matteo. The two handled the job swiftly and for years, Emmet never needed to intervene. They balanced the harshness of it while also taking on and training every single person he threw their way. That duo was unmatched and resourceful.
But Matteo was gone – and Rueben resented his title.
I'm going to lose it.
He released one final exhalation before he leaned against the red – stained, oak structure that was his desk. The more he stood alone in his office space – the more he had time to reflect on his life. Being the Capo of the Spanish Mafia was a hard job, but it wasn't necessarily an excuse for how he's treated the people he's supposed to love.
With Rueben especially. Even a man as prideful as he, know how much he fucked up their relationship – on an independent basis too. Rueben didn't do anything to fuel his neglect. He did as he was told, but Emmet never bore it to be enough. He made him feel useless, used, and groomed him to believe nothing would ever please his father. Which was wrong.
Rueben is the best son he could ask for.
But again – it was his fault. Even though Emmet knew Rueben was slipping away from him with each passing day, he did nothing to fix it. Instead, he fueled his hatred by talking down on Lilliana – by talking down on Matteo. As much as Rueben's lack of faith in him bothered him, he knew it was justified. He never gave him a reason or action to think otherwise. Emmet was a shit father, but it was all for a purpose. To achieve a greater goal.
