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“Really? Who mentioned their grandfather first? You or him?”
She thought about it for a second and recalled their conversation. “What does that have to do with anything?” she asked.
“A lot. You mention your grandfather and to him that’s a way to make himself look good by doing the same thing.”
She shook her head. “Not Lucas.”
Marco raised an eyebrow. “Lucas?” he said, disgust smothering his words.
“Yes, his name is Lucas.”
“That’s a douchebag name.”
“Oh my god, no it’s not.” She loved her brother to death, but sometimes he really did take being a jerk to a whole new level.
“If you say so. Just do me a favor and don’t go out with the guy.”
Ella hadn’t dated many guys, but enough to know that Marco would never approve of any of them. He always found something wrong.
“We’re just talking, but if he asks me out I’m going to say yes,” she admitted.
“Then I want his full name, phone number, the numbers off his license plate, and if you can get a picture of his license even better.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you trust people too easily. You’ve got to be more careful.”
Ella tilted her head. “You need to give me a little more credit. And don’t think I didn’t throw twenty questions at him because you know I did. He didn’t hesitate to answer so either he’s a really good liar or he was being honest.”
“Be careful, okay?” he turned to her, his eyes filled with concern. After losing their mother, his protective streak became more dominant. It was no wonder when it was discovered his dad had voluntarily put Ella and their baby brother Tony in danger by dealing out of the house that Marco went ballistic. Ella held out hope for a reconciliation, but she wasn’t dumb. She knew that bridge was burned beyond repair, but at least for now she could ease his mind.
“I always am.”
“Except when you make friends with random guys on the way home from prison.” Ella swatted his arm and Marco laughed. He held his hands up. “Just saying.”
They pulled up to her house, and Marco came to a stop behind the other three cars in the driveway. Every Friday their grandfather hosted poker night with four of his closest friends. They played way past their bedtimes—eight-thirty—smoked cigars, and ate the leftovers from the restaurant so it wouldn’t go to waste. Ella was eternally grateful; she’d be eating lobster every weekend if they didn’t.
Marco put the car in park and turned to her. His black hair needed a trim. “I’ll have Enzo come by with the pickup and get your bike.”
She raised an eyebrow in his direction. “You’re not coming in?”
“I have to finish that table.”
She laughed. “No, you don’t want to have to deal with the Friday night poker crowd,” she said. “Admit it.”
Marco slumped back into his seat. “Every time I play Dominick cheats me out of fifty bucks. I think I’ll keep my money tonight.”
A giggle slipped from her lips. It was an unproven fact that Dominick cheated, but he would swear innocence to the grave.
“Suit yourself,” she said. Ella got out of the car then leaned back in. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Any time. And don’t forget to send me that guy’s information.”
“Goodbye Marco,” she said as she shut the door. With a laugh, she headed up the driveway and toward the front entrance.
When she walked inside, a crescendo of old men each trying to talk louder than the other echoed through the house. It was a welcoming, familiar sound that warmed her heart.
Her family might’ve dwindled over the years, but her grandfather’s friends and the people of the town were a part of a larger unit she also considered family. They helped fill the void her mother and grandmother’s death caused and helped ease the betrayal of her father.
