Total pages in book: 197
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Yes, with a wide brim, and off to the side, usually with a bandana underneath it. If that was Antony’s kid—thank God it wasn’t—he’d burn every fucking hat.
Antony grinned. “Nonetheless ... I’m proud of you for holding it in check.”
He fell back to the bed again. “S’was still hard.”
Yeah, Antony bet.
“So, why didn’t you?”
Gio made a noise under his breath. “Because then Ma would be sad, you would bitch, and Lucian and Dante would glare at me for the rest of the week while I walked around on eggshells. Honestly, he’s not worth the trouble, so ...”
“You know, I think that’s called maturity. Growth.”
“Stupid fucking shit, that.”
Raising teenage boys was all about the give and the take. Sometimes Antony had to give a little, and sometimes he had to take. Gio’s mouth and bad language was something he ignored a lot of the time—like now—unless they were at the dinner table.
He had more important things to focus on.
Antony chuckled. “Part of growing up, figlio.”
“Besides,” Gio said, waving one hand high, “if I really wanted to mess with the asshole, I’d just fuck his girlfriend. I feel like that’s good enough for me.”
It took Antony a second to respond.
His brow lifted high. “Gio.”
“Hmm?”
“Are you safe?”
“Like—”
“I’m not fucking around with you right now, Giovanni David. I swear to God if someone brings a pregnant girl to my doorstep, I will have you neutered like a goddamn dog. I hear they’ll do that in Tijuana. Imagine flying through turbulence to come home with stitches in your fucking nuts. I can have you there by next weekend.”
“Jesus. Yes, I’m safe.”
Okay, that was good to know.
“Gio?”
His son tipped his head up and met his father’s stare from across the room. “What?”
“Women aren’t trophies or weapons and we don’t use them like they are. Don’t you ever do that. Boys will be boys—but not my fucking boys. My boys will be gentlemen who behave how I taught them. Do you understand me?”
Gio sighed. “Well ...”
“Gio.”
“Yeah, Papa, I hear you.”
Antony’s shoulders sagged a bit with his next breath. “But do you?”
Tipping his head to the side on the bed, Gio met his father’s gaze and he smirked a bit. “I always hear you—even when you think I don’t.”
Yeah.
Antony certainly hoped so.
Killing
“Tell me he didn’t just walk out of this office without as much as questioning you on who would do the job.”
Antony righted the papers on his desk and carefully replaced all the documents of John’s will back into the file.
“Antony,” Paulie pressed.
“He’s tired,” Antony said in explanation, “and he just spent hours in interviews with police detectives who treated him like a criminal because of his last name instead of a victim after nearly being killed. Lucian isn’t stupid, but he’s needing something. Something I can’t give him.”
Jordyn.
Antony didn’t need to say it to know his friend would get the hint.
“Thank you for playing along,” Antony added.
Paulie pursed his lips, unhappiness shining through brightly. “He’s my Godson, just like Giovanni.”
Antony sighed. “I’m aware, old friend. I was there for the Christening. He’s my son, remember. I picked you for the job.”
Although, Antony wasn’t sure if Lucian had ever been baptized under a different religion when he was a baby. Antony, knowing what John would likely want for his son, had Lucian Christened by the same man who had performed the rites on the other two Marcello sons.
“Then you know how I feel about lying to him,” Paulie said simply. “I don’t and never have.”
Antony’s sons might as well have been Paulie’s own children, too. Paulie and his wife never had children, but the man had an active role in helping Antony raise his sons. Grateful wasn’t a good enough word.
“Dio,” Antony prayed quietly, “forgive me.”
Paulie laughed darkly. “God is not the one you should be worrying about, Boss.”
Antony nodded. “Cecelia.”
“Cecelia,” his friend echoed.
But .... God, too.
Antony would ask for clemency and forgiveness from God as much as he would ask for the same from his wife simply because he knew no different. When he did wrong, when his life and his choices and his sins were overwhelming, Antony prayed.
“How many more?” Antony asked.
Paulie quirked a brow. “How many more what?”
“How many more sins do I have to commit before the forgiveness runs out?”
“It doesn’t work that way, old friend. God is a—”
“Vengeful God,” Antony interjected. “He’s a loving God, but a vengeful God, too.”
“I suppose.”
“I’ve had a great life.”
Paulie smiled briefly. “We all have, Antony.”
“Then where is the punishment for my wrongs?”
“I told you, it doesn’t work that way. You ask to be forgiven, to be absolved of your sins and misdeeds, and so you are. That’s what we’ve always been taught.”
“Funny,” Antony murmured.
Paulie eyed him from the side. “What is?”
“That’s how you see it. I don’t, I suppose.”
“Because that’s what we were taught,” Paulie repeated quietly. “Confession and forgiveness walks hand-in-hand. With repenting comes absolution.”