Page 20 of Waste of Worth

Or, God forbid, their little sister Lily.

So he kept Ben’s attention on him through his later teenaged years and into his twenties. He made Ben focus on his fuckups, instead of Theo’s.

Well, as much as he could.

Sometimes he failed.

Those memories were the worst—the ones where he knew he hadn’t been good enough, or strong enough, to protect his brother.

It was really no wonder why Theo didn’t particularly like Dino.

Weakness came in many forms.

Dino had too many to name.

Perhaps that was why, when Dino was working on his third night of no sleep with little to no naps in the daytime, he found himself in a place where sleeping could very well be at the cost of his life.

Strolling into what looked to be an abandoned warehouse in the shipping district of Chicago, Dino was instantly alert at the sound of shouts—both excited and filled with pain. He paid the over-hanging, blinking lights very little attention as he followed the sounds of fighting down the long hallway. At the end, enforcers blocked the entrance, waiting for payment to move aside, though at the sight of him, they both moved anyway.

Underground fighting was a dangerous game.

There were no losers, per say, only dead bodies to dispose of.

And yet, while the violence wasn’t something Dino particularly enjoyed getting involved in hands-on, he did own the warehouse, and by providing the place, he earned himself an income. The fights were invite-only, and on a need-to-know basis.

That way, those who came in were known to only a few people who regularly attended or fought. The money was damn good, both for Dino, and the winners.

Finding a spot against the wall so that he could watch the two fighters beating the hell out of one another in the makeshift ring, Dino’s anxiety began to settle. It helped when there were people watching, because that forced him to make sure no one knew he had a constant war going on in his mind.

A war that was killing him slowly.

It was only when a form settled beside him on the wall did Dino finally look away from the fight.

“How’ve you been, Ghost?” Dino asked.

Damian Rossi—a long-time friend of Dino’s younger brother—shrugged his shoulders. “Busy.”

“That’s a good thing, though.”

“Maybe.”

Damian was a man of few words, and that worked well to his favor. After all, he hadn’t gained his nickname for nothing, and the man could blend into a crowd like nobody Dino had ever met before. Involved in the Rossi faction of the Outfit, Damian worked as both an enforcer, and a personal hitman to the boss, Terrance.

Though if truth be told, Damian was any man’s hitman.

For the right price.

Dino knew when it came right down to it, Damian only did what he wanted to do where the Outfit and jobs were concerned. He certainly made it seem like he and his set of skills were up for purchase, but Dino had also known Damian to decline more often than he accepted.

“What brings you around?” Dino asked.

Damian tilted his head to the side, his gaze sweeping the floor and the people. “Checking things out, man.”

That didn’t sound right.

“Why?”

“You’re paying dues on this place, right?” Damian asked instead of answering.