Page 111 of Dirty Pool

To kiss his wife.

Because that’s what Gabbie was now.

His wife.

A Marcello.

For life.

• • •

Gabbie sat in the rental as Michel leaned against the passenger side to talk to John. He decided they would take the evening to themselves before making the trip out of the city to visit his parents.

That should be fun.

Michel wasn’t really thinking about it right now. He had a million other things on his mind, and while he knew it was sure to be a shitshow with Dante and Catrina, in the end … they were going to be fine with what he did. They were his parents, and they loved him to the ends of the earth and back. That’s what counted.

So, he just pushed it out of his mind.

“I’m calling Andino as soon as I leave here,” John warned.

Michel chuckled. “Tell him not to be too offended. And make sure he doesn’t call my father first. I have to be the one to do that, John.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Seriously, make sure he knows.”

“He’s going to kick your ass.”

Michel nodded. “He can try.”

John barked out a laugh, and reached out to smack Michel hard on his shoulder. “We really fucking missed you, yeah? Detroit wasn’t made for you, man.”

Didn’t he know it?

Michel only shrugged as his response to his cousin, but John seemed to understand. Somethings were just better said without words. He didn’t need to confirm John’s statement verbally for it to still be true, and for both of them to know it.

New York was home.

It had always been.

In fact, he felt better already simply because he was on these streets. This was where he grew up, and these were his people. He’d wanted to get out of New York for medical school—despite there being perfectly fine medical schools in his home state—because he thought he needed to put as much distance between him and his surname as possible to become something other than just his surname.

Michel had been wrong.

He didn’t have so much pride that he couldn’t admit it, too.

“Better get back to that wife of yours,” John said, nodding at the car.

Michel had to smile at the way his cousin twisted the word wife like it was some sort of foreign concept to him. “Who’ll be next out of the three of us cousins? You maybe?”

John’s cheek twitched. “No woman can handle me, I think.”

“Right, right. You keep telling yourself that.”

“I will.”

“Until she knocks you on your ass,” Michel said, “because that’s how it’ll happen, John.”