Page 62 of Beni

Beni tensed at the comment, his gaze traveling to the fool that dared to say it. Sitting on a box in the corner, the crew member with his hair a little too long, curling around the nape of his neck, and dark blue eyes seemingly pensive, glowered at Beni.

“What was that?” Beni asked. “Speak up, and share with the rest of the class, now.”

Dillan was his name.

Beni wouldn’t soon forget someone who insulted him.

“I’m just saying,” Dillan muttered, gaze darting away from Beni’s, “we all know a Guzzi doesn’t need to be selling fakes on the street to make bank, you know? Bet you were born a fucking millionaire, man. What are you even doing here?”

A millionaire several times over, in fact.

Not that it meant shit. Beni still had to work for his respect—he still busted his ass trying to get his in to the family business, just like everybody else did. And comments like Dillan’s weren’t anything new, either.

Beni opened his mouth to tell the guy right where he could shove his opinion, but it was only Neil coming around the side of the wall of boxes that shut him up. Or rather, what the man had to say.

“Beni’s here to work,” Neil said, “like the rest of you fucking idiots. Stop wasting time—you can see the shit we’ve got to unpack and distribute. Get to work.”

That was all it took for the group of them to move. Including Beni and Kenny, who jumped down from the crates to move for the boxes. Neil stood back for a while, surveying the crew as they worked in a line to open and separate all the fake goods.

Carrying a box of what looked to be a knock-off of a luxury makeup brand to the right side of the warehouse, Beni passed a stone-still Neil. The guy’s gaze caught his, and Neil quirked a brow at him.

“You got something to say?” Beni asked.

Neil shrugged. “Just watch your back here, huh? Don’t cause a fucking problem.”

Right.

Beni realized something, then … he couldn’t trust any of them.

Busy?

Beni stared at the screen of his phone with his back to a punching bag that was currently getting the stuffing beat out of it by Tommaso. He was acting as a resistance for it, although he was supposed to be facing the bag.

What difference did it make?

Finishing up a piece of this pitch, came the reply.

Beni sighed. He liked that August had goals, for sure. The fact that her job was important, and she made it a priority, was attractive. Women who had places to be, and shit to do that mattered to them at the end of the day was something he respected. Because as a man trying to be made, Beni had to constantly be on the grind, too.

Nonstop.

And yet, it also messed him up—or rather, August’s work schedule did. Because he didn’t know if she would appreciate him outright asking if she would put it away for a night to go out and have a good time with him.

After all, if it was that important to her, then he shouldn’t be stepping in on it to ask her to sacrifice time for him.

Right?

Fuck.

He was getting too deep here.

This was too deep.

A hard punch landed to the bag, making it snap away and then bump into Beni. It took his attention away from the screen of the phone. Cussing, he turned to shoot Tommaso a glare that he hoped voiced his displeasure at being interrupted without having to say anything at all.

Tommaso wasn’t bothered.

He stared right back.