Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
“Maybe I am back," I mutter to Sergio, my glance sidelong and guarded. "And you know what that means."
Sergio crosses his arms over his chest, the only one among us who shows no signs of exertion in the gym today. He’d probably been practicing yoga or some other kinda shit with his wife earlier, a thought that only fuels my simmering irritation. Now it’s his turn to grunt, because we both know this is a conversation that must take place privately.
I became the Don of this family when our older brother Nicollo died, but had to step down because my wife was sick. Sergio stepped in, and he’s been the acting head of this family since then. I won’t take that from him. I’ve got a kid with no mother and Sergio does his job well. And I’ll show the respect due to him as Don, but I’m not under his headship.
“All I’m saying is, we could use you at the club.”
“So this isn’t some sort of fucked-up matchmaking? And you know what happened the last time I was at the club.”
Sergio shakes his head. “Nothing happened at the club, Ricco,” he says quietly, reminding me that we made every move to erase that night from history.
“Just come. I’m down two men tonight, Ricco.”
“Two? Why two?”
“Those dumbasses both went to the same seafood restaurant after work and got food poisoning. We’ve got a big crowd coming in tonight.”
I can’t tell if his plea is a thinly veiled excuse for getting me into the club or not. But I know I need a change of scenery. I’ve got a babysitter lined up, and I know it’s true—I am back.
I’m already in, but it doesn’t mean I’m not going to make the most of this situation.
“You got Sam Adams on tap?”
Sergio grins. “You know I do.”
God, I fucking love tap beer.
“It’s a deal, as long as you don’t need me to babysit,” I say, glancing at our little brother. Timeo, who stoically ignores me.
Timeo ignores me and finishes his set. I take his place but just to fuck with him, I add more weight to the bar.
“Show-off.”
“Fuck you.”
I start a set. Sergio takes out his phone and starts swiping as Timeo spots me.
“Any updates?”
He knows I’m talking about the guy I killed a week ago.
“Yeah. We settled with his wife.”
Wife.
A rush of pain and heat takes me off guard. Timeo grabs the bar.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
I press again, pretending I wasn’t affected by the knowledge that the man I killed was a married man.
“Kids?” I ask, issuing a silent prayer for something, anything, to give me a goddamn break.
“One. Little girl named Emmy.”
“Fuck…. Where do they live?”
“Ricco…”
I press again, not giving up. I have a right to this information. “Tell me.”
Sergio frowns and shares a glance with Timeo. “Ten miles from Bella Notte. Quiet, residential area. The wife’s a massage therapist and the kid’s in preschool. She’s got a good support system and she definitely doesn’t need you interfering right now.”
“Right.”
“Ricco,” Sergio says, more quietly this time, but there’s steel in his voice.
We both know… I’ve already said it, but don’t want to say it again out of respect…
I don’t take orders from anyone.
CHAPTER TWO
DREAM MAN
Dani
Three months later…
"Guess what I found in my purse today? A wet wipe from the rib place, two tampons that were obviously made into craft projects with Sharpies when someone wasn't paying attention, and a nifty little package of abandoned hopes and dreams.”
I smile and readjust the phone to my ear as I open the door and enter my studio.
"Maybe we should go shopping for a new bag. It's bad juju, carrying around a bag filled with forgotten hopes and dreams."
"I knew that as soon as you started with the whole massage therapy thing you'd start talking like a spiritualist."
I shake my head and roll my eyes. “Honey, I've been talking like a spiritualist for years. Where have you been?"
"Hello? Deciphering gibberish from my toddler? Turns out he wanted to discuss the meaning of life and an existential crisis he was having over spilled milk."
Sarah loves to give me shit about things, but we both know that we wouldn't know what to do if we didn't have each other. As close as best friends can be, sisters are a whole other breed. They don't just understand your troubles, they get them. They've walked in your shoes. They know the wounds you carry from your past, and likely carry the same ones. They can borrow your clothes, steal your boyfriend, and give you shit about things that no one else in the universe will. But in the end, they've got your back like no one else does.
"Seriously, Dani. How's it going?" The real concern in her voice makes my throat tighten. I can handle things quite well until someone shows me an ounce of compassion or concern, or worst of all—pity.