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Filthy Mafia paws. Creep. You’re just a fucking pimp.
I sigh, trying to suppress the memory. “And this is now my problem?”
“Yep.” Matteo makes it clear with this one word that I’m not getting out of it. It’s the Don talking, not the brother. “Thing is, she doesn’t have a phone with her. You’ve met her and know what she looks like. So, conclusion: you need to pick her up.”
“And then? What’s she even doing here?”
Matteo is quiet for a full ten seconds, and already I’m pacing the office.
“She’s calling in a favor,” he finally says.
For fuck’s sake. There it is. I knew our trip to Europe was going to haunt us. There’s no such thing as a free lunch. “You’re the one who used their yacht. Hell, you spent more time with her than I did when shekidnappedyou.”
This isn’t exactly true, but?—
“I have a meeting in the morning,” he says, ignoring my segue. “She’s with her younger sister, Carla, so?—”
“What level of favor are we talking here, Matteo?”
There’s a lot ofI scratch your back, you scratch minein the crime circles we function in, but before I commit to something, I’d like to know what I’m getting into.
“We didn’t have time to discuss the details.”
Well, shit. This could be anything. From a private tour of Boston to burning a body. “So, I pick them up and drop them off at your place?”
“Probably, yes.”
“Still don’t understand why a driver with a name board can’t do it. I train at ten.”
“I’ve a feeling they don’t want their names plastered all over the place.”
I drop my head back with a groan. No phones. No names.Mafia princesses on the run. “I’ll pick them up. But when I drop them off, I’m done.”
“That’s fine. Tasha will be at home.”
We ring off, and I pocket my phone. For a moment, I stand idle, wrapping my head around seeing Gigi again, four weeks after I made her come with a bottle of champagne.
A lady who fucks like a whore.As if I’d ever call a woman that.
Mafia paws. Creep. Pimp.
Of all the things she called me, the first one hit the hardest.
I know why her words still eat at me, why they made me spin slowly out of control until I tossed the vilest thing back at her, knowing how it would hurt.
Ever since I nearly beat a kid to death at fourteen, I’ve been keeping myfilthyMafia pawsin check. I was expelled from school for what I did. It was kept under wraps, but I spent time in a juvenile facility for two years for anger management. None of that helps whenit’s in your blood.
If it weren’t for Alex, my older brother who died in the shootout twelve years ago, I probably wouldn’t be here today.
He’s only half your blood, Stephano, but it doesn’t mean you’re like him. Be the better man and learn how to control it. Otherwise, he’ll have control over you forever, and that’s the last thing any of us want.
As if Alex knew he was going to die young, he had the most wisdom of us all. He knew how to work the Don, warding the man off when he could. Between him and Matteo, they made a barrier between us and the man who fucked with my head. Turns out the damage was already done, though.
Now Don Scalera is dead. He died just after we came back from Cannes. I never saw him again, but he haunts me, just like he did when he was alive. You can fight all your demons, butwhen it’s in your blood, in your veins, it’s so much part of you, youarethe demon. You’d die without it, and you die with it.
I beat him out of my system every day. An exhausted man isn’t keen to use his fists. Now I’m going to miss my training session tomorrow, because as karma has it, the one woman I’ve treated like a piece of shit is coming to town.
18
