Chapter 1:6 Being Frank, By Vince 

By Vince

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............One Week Later .............

Rolling out of bed, I find my partner already in the kitchen. The Titan, I, personally, find as sexy as I do savage, is gulping down swill, I have no idea how he drinks without ‘unsaintly amounts of cream and sugar’, like I do.

Alaric Rourke Farelli, Rourke to his friends, is my step cousin. After my Uncle Gio adopted him at age ten, we more or less grew up together.

If we were at his family home or mine, we’d have a full wait staff to deal with the breakfast he’s starting to make. I won’t say that the six-foot seven, yoked out enforcer is a master chef, but he learned basic recipes well before his stint in the Allied Forces.

I, on the other hand, never enlisted, and remain allergic to any and every household task. Entirely unashamed to admit that I would be ordering a full spread, including coffee, if Rourke wasn’t already working on it.

Even if I feel like I’m quiet, it never takes those blue eyes of his more than half a heartbeat to pick up anyone’s presence in a room. Part of the reason that Rourke is security for the city we run.

Don’t get me wrong.

The man, whose hand is practically swallowing the mug he’s doctored for me with a cringe, is an enforcer for the syndicates, but he’s not just that.

Even without our family ties, I like to believe that we’d still be a duo after fifteen years of friendship and commitment. I also have to believe that no matter how pissed he is at the bomb I dropped last night, we’ll work through it.

Rourke isn’t into dudes like I am, in any respect. He and I share women, while my twin brother Nico and I share men. Same rules apply with both of my partners.

No touching anything but the person between us.

It’s no secret that anyone coming to my bed, won’t be alone with me in it. Ours being a polyginous society, there’s nothing scandalous about that.

Being frank....nah I’m way too arrogant and self-absorbed to be anyone but Vincenzo Morretti, Don of the North-Point Syndicate, and the official head of the Haven underground.

Haven being the most scientifically advanced of the five monarchies in Lumeria isn’t why people call it the great experiment.

That title comes from it being a sounding board for politics, as well as the home of the world’s top geneticists. So not only is the crime syndicate I run secretly sanctioned, but a test to see how much better things go with us on the streets and royals remaining in their palaces.

A necessary thing with the Division Wars. When the King lost absolute control, and our once united nation became five monarchies, twelve districts, and three independent democratic cities.

Even after all this time, Elves are less than one percent of the planet’s overall populous. The decades long war, wiping out thousands, didn’t help with our endangered status either.

Meaning things like monogamy are a practice of the past.

Sad truth is, crime happens, no matter where you go. Every major city in the world, human or not, has an underbelly. Better for our Senate to know what’s going on and use that to their advantage.

Sure Haven is one of the official sister nations, and technically, King Mythander Arinbas makes our laws and policy. Still, one against millions never worked out for the one, obviously.

So our King and his court are supported by a Senate or Parliament of aristocrats, much like England.

The elite that make up the twelve seats, saw the benefits of the families my great-grandfather put in play when founding Having from crop dust to the metropolis it is.

Doesn’t mean we don’t have rules, just that our services were deemed necessary as they were beneficial when the Division wars began with the draft twenty odd years back.

The slogan of great power coming with great responsibility is something we’ve always known. Just like Rourke has been aware that I’m subject to the marriage laws, even if he isn’t.

Being that we’re supposed to be bringing back the fabled race of Elvan people, every high-born is expected to have a minimum of three spouses and a child with each by the age of one hundred....

Even if we're not 'immortal' like all the fables. Elves generally live between three hundred and eight hundred years a piece, depending on blood purity. We develop like humans, until we hit maturity, but don't really hit middle age or over the hill until our second if not third century.

Now, I’m no where close to a hundred. I'm in my late thirties, but the problems we are having in the underworld, require me to take above board action.

Rourke being a soldier, neither has to marry nor provide his sperm if he doesn’t produce in the allotted time frame. Soldiers of the AF are encouraged to ‘donate’; just not required to participate in the continuation of the species mission of Genesis Labs.

It’s where our genetic material is stored, tested, and combined to make the most ideal Elvans via surrogates for the high borns of our society to adopt.

I have no desire or intention to breed with Elena. If that or monogamy were part of the deal, I wouldn’t even consider the alliance that I am.

Sex is no longer required for procreation, and therefore its own separate agreement to marriage. A professional, if not political arrangement.

Bringing us back to the rules and expectations I can’t escape in either realm.

Mob is such a catch-all term, and we’ve come a long way from rum running and arms trades. Over sixty percent of all the businesses operated by my people are legal these days.

Can’t say that drugs, weapons, protection, booze and women aren’t in the mix, but it’s better to control the flow of the unsavory things than it is to pretend they don’t exist.

All denial gets you is that shit running rampant.

Won’t say that my grandfather was humble, no true Italian is that, but Mercutio was smart as he was stubborn, and knew the recipe for success long before the ousted royals caught onto it.

One against many may never work out for the one, but have what the people need, and it’s not like they can turn their backs on you. It’s as simple as supply and demand.

Being a farmer never seems glamorous, but thanks to the fact that Mercutio Moretti Senior never giving up one acre of land, I’m now in the position of owning every food supply chain on this side of the continent.

I also own seventy-five percent of the hospitals and medical facilities in Haven. Keeping the people fed, if not happy is the only reason the Morrettis have kept our seat, as it were.

Mine and Nico’s father, Frederico, picked up a lot of the entertainment trade, which my twin now runs.

I mainly stick to the boardrooms of our conglomerates, which are surprisingly even more cut-throat and ruthless in their own respect.

Torelli’s are the major construction contractors throughout Haven, and Porcuccis run our farms on the outskirts of the city.

Uncle Giovanni may have started out as an enforcer, but quickly moved up the ranks when my father married his sister. My uncle and Rourke’s adoptive father is now the most sought after lawyer in the city.

Like I said, most of our power and wealth is from legit if not legal means.

Rourke and Gio have always fallen into the protection category, but unlike his father, Rourke is still in the trenches.

Upon retirement from the Allied Forces, my partner opened a private security firm. Knowing when and where to blur the lines, and live in our world of gray.

Just like there is a criminal element in every major city, there will also always be a demand for the shit I don’t want on my streets.

Our agreement with the Senate, who has always had the power to wipe us off the map; is that as long as we stay out of the headlines and don’t cause a headache for the capital, our somewhat experimental society of a mixing pot lives on.

Lavish as my lifestyle is, no one would do the job that never ends and is the equivalent to a big red cape in a valley of stampeding bulls, without significant benefits.

A job I couldn’t do without the man who hasn’t said a word yet, or my twin brother Niccolo.

I expected Rourke to be pissed, but was hoping the scene of a petite brunette bowing and begging between the two of us would soften the blow of my upcoming nuptials.

Now it seems like her moaning from the loft bed thirty feet to our left is only a reminder of the facts.

“Puppy will be here soon,” Rourke’s first words of the morning are absent and stiff while he continues to run the spatula that might as well be a toy in his meat hook hands over the bottom of the pan.

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Chapter 1.7 Contracts, By Vince