Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
"I need someone. And not one of your guys," I added. The kid got enough testosterone in his world. I wanted him to be able to have a woman around. Even if it was just when I had to be at work.
"Yeah, well, you can't hire some poor woman who has no fucking idea what she's getting into either," Lorenzo insisted.
"I'm assuming you have a suggestion then," I said, waving out a hand.
My brother wasn't typically someone who came to you with problems. He came with solutions. So if he was showing up bitching about a nanny of some sort, the man already had an idea in mind.
It was an annoying trait in a brother, but an understandable one in a boss.
"I propose we let one of the Morellis do it."
"You can't be serious."
"They're allies, Santi. They didn't kill Brit. What's wrong with letting one of them help?"
"I just said I don't want one of your guys around here all the time," I reminded him.
"I'm not talking about a guy," he said, shaking his head.
"Since when do the Morellis have women on their payroll?"
"It's a gray area," Lorenzo said. "You know Giovani, right?" he asked.
We'd grown up with Gio. That was a bit of a stupid question. Though, to be fair, I hadn't seen the man in years, not since I'd left the Family.
"Yeah. I've got memories of him."
"I don't know if you'd remember his little sister," Lorenzo said, waiting for a response.
"I thought Elio was the youngest."
"Yeah, so did Gio's mother. Until a girl showed up at the door claiming to be Gio Sr.'s daughter from some out of town prostitute."
"When was this?" I asked. "Is she even old enough to do the job?"
"I dunno... eight or nine years back? You had a baby still, I'm pretty sure. She was seventeen at the time. Showed up because her ma wanted her to get in the business."
"What kind of mother wants her daughter to become a prostitute?" our mother grumbled as she whisked the pancake batter.
"The kind who is hooked on H and in debt to her pimp," Lorenzo supplied. "Gio Sr. had a paternity test run—like that was necessary with all the fucking around he did—"
"That poor doormat of a wife of his," Ma said, shaking her head. "Went from a negligent father who cheated on her mom to a negligent husband who cheated on her."
"But yeah, she's his," Lorenzo said. "And she was, essentially, a street kid. Rough around the edges, smart, knew how to handle herself. Gio was having trouble controlling her, so he decided to put her skills to use instead. She's done various jobs over the years, but he's refused to give her an actual position for obvious reasons."
"Those obvious, cemented-in-sexism reasons," our mother mumbled to herself as she tested the heat of the pan.
"If she's working for Gio Sr., why would she want to work for me? As a nanny?" Did I even want a former street kid taking care of my son when I wasn't around?
"She'd do it because I'd ask Gio Sr. as a favor. And because she'd be paid well to be a glorified babysitter. It's not like Ottavio needs help tying his shoes or anything anymore. But he does need someone around who knows about the Families, who can spot something being off, who would know how to respond to a sticky situation."
"I guess that's true," I admitted.
"Ottavio is going to have to go back to school eventually," Lorenzo went on.
He was right, too. I'd managed to get Ottavio out of school for a few weeks because of losing his mother. And I figured I could swing a couple more weeks with home instruction if he didn't seem ready, or I was worried about security. But he'd have to go back eventually.
"So, how much time is he even going to spend with the woman? Between getting home from school and bed on nights you're working late. A couple hours, max. It's not like she's going to be raising him."
"That's true," I agreed. The raising him was my sole responsibility now. It was more daunting a task than I could have ever realized before. No one else around to bounce ideas off of, to figure out the right course of action for every part of his life.
"She's going to need a room, though. Even if she's not living here full-time, on the nights or weekends when you have shit going on, you need someplace for her to feel comfortable. You have a back room, right?"
It was Brit's room.
Unofficially, but hers.
We hadn't shared a bed in ages.
Some nights, she passed out in Ottavio's room. But mostly, she was with him until he went to sleep, then she went into the back room.
I don't know if we were actually fooling Ottavio anymore. He wasn't a little kid. He had to have realized that his parents weren't together in the typical way, but we'd both decided to put off the talk of actual divorce and changes in living arrangements for another couple of months. We'd wanted to get through the holidays. We hadn't wanted Ottavio to always associate Thanksgiving and Christmas with a bad transition in his life.