Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“You brought it up.”
She throws the slippers at me. I catch them and toss them aside. “Maddie wants to know if you’re going to be around for dinner.”
“Not tonight.”
“Got a hot date with slippers girl?”
“Yes, actually.”
Stefania looks surprised. “Huh. I was just messing with you, but you’re serious.”
“I am serious.”
“Is this something we should be aware of?”
“No, it isn’t.”
She hesitates and clears her throat. “There’s a little rumor—”
“I don’t want to hear about it.”
“Dante was talking about some girl you went home with? And you were going back to a bar to hide from her or something?”
I grimace. The story got mangled on the grapevine. “Don’t worry about Dante. Everything’s fine.”
“You know me, I’m happy if you’re happy. But our eldest brother—” She leaves it at that.
“Thank you. I’m aware of what Don Renzo might think, thank you.”
“Great, as long as you’re prepared for his cranky ass to give you a whole lot of shit.” Stefania beams at me. “Anyway, I’ll let Maddie know you’re busy.”
She leaves with a wave and some of my good mood is soured. I don’t need her to remind me about Renzo. He’s the damn reason I feel like I have to hide my unborn child from my own little sister.
Molly’s Irish. Not only Irish, but related to the Lynch Clan, and they happen to be our mortal enemies at the moment. Them and the Aslanov Bratva. If Renzo knew that I was providing backpacks, fuzzy slippers, prenatal vitamins, and groceries to an Irish girl, he’d lose his fucking shit.
I couldn’t blame him either.
I’m not sure how this is supposed to look. I’m the underboss of the Famiglia—I’m actively involved in planning and executing the war effort. Even if Renzo’s micromanaging all that shit, I’m still very much involved. What would the soldiers and the Capos think if I was busy sinking my dick between Irish thighs? They’d flip the fuck out.
Which is why Molly’s a secret. For now, at least.
I check the clock, make a few more calls, then gather up my stuff. I shove it into a bag and hurry out, making sure nobody stops to ask me any questions. I’ll have to deal with Dante and his rumors some other time. For now, I’m getting dinner.
Molly’s diner isn’t busy. I sit at a table in her section, and when she comes over, I tilt the bag toward her. She peers inside, looking like a rabid badger is about to leap out and claw her eyes to shreds.
“Very nice,” she says.
I shake the bag and pills rattle. “You should start taking those tonight.”
“Wonderful.”
“The slippers are Dolce & Gabbana.”
“Seriously?” She snort-laughs, just like that first night. “Nana’s going to love them. Designer slippers. I never thought I’d see it.”
“Nothing but the best. Your brother’s getting Gucci.”
“Are you done showing off?”
“For now. Do you mind if I put in for some food? I’m starving.”
Her jaw works. She does that when she’s pissed. Which means she does it a lot when I’m around. The girl’s gorgeous though, even when she’s pissed. I love that thick auburn hair and her bright green eyes. And those lips—she licks them each time she sees me. She might not think I notice, but god, I notice. I can’t help myself. That mouth is the opening to fucking heaven, far as I’m concerned.
“Fine. But don’t linger.”
I linger. For hours. Each time she comes back, looking more and more harried, I ask for something else. Fries, a milkshake, a soda, more fries. She’s getting exasperated, and she manages to ignore me for an hour before she finally breaks.
“Yes, hello, could I put in an order of—” I glance at the menu. “Hash browns. A lot of hash browns.”
“Why are you still here?” she hisses at me. “Thank you for the things. They are very appreciated. But we’re done now, right?”
“Not even close, baby.” I lean closer. “What else does your family need?”
“I’m not doing this again.”
“Then what do you need? Ten minutes to yourself? I’ll rub your feet. I’ll finger fuck you until—”
“I’m at work,” she says, looking around to make sure nobody heard. The pervy old guys one booth over have their hearing aids turned down and they’re all shouting at each other.
“And I’m trying to take care of you. Start letting me.”
She sucks in a deep breath, whirls around, and marches off.
The hash browns come out a few minutes later. They aren’t bad. I notice her older friend is working tonight too, and the pair of them keep whispering to each other and giving me looks. I think the friend likes me, but I don’t want to jump to any conclusions. It’s just, I know what a horny older woman looks like, and that waitress is practically salivating at the thought of getting me alone. It’s flattering.
“Come with me,” she says another half hour later. She doesn’t wait to give me a chance to reply, only storms out the front door. I slide out of the booth and mosey on after her, smiling the whole way. This is fun—she’s pissed off and frustrated, but I’ve never enjoyed myself so much before. I’m doing the right thing, and it gives me a sense of calm purpose.