Page 32 of Bene

“Better be,” Marcus replied, “and don’t show up smelling like a fucking brewery, either, because Johnny will let me know. You hear me?”

Bene cleared his throat. “I didn’t drink last night.”

“Good.”

“What will I do for the—”

“Whatever the Capo wants, and whatever I can dream up.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means,” Marcus said, “don’t fuck this up, Bene.”

That’s all Marcus said.

Then, he hung up the call.

Bene was left staring at the dead cordless phone in his hand, wondering just how much trouble he would get in to if he beat the hell out of his older brother. Not that he could … sure, Bene could handle himself in a fight fine, but he also grew up with Marcus, and they had gone on a few rounds together more than once.

Might be worth it.

Right.

He ignored his taunting brain, knowing he had to get a move on, or he’d surely be hearing it from his brother once again. Heading back to his bedroom, he didn’t even have time to put the shower to use considering he was already running late, and with traffic, it would take him a good hour to get to where he needed to go.

He yanked clothes from the floor, tossing them aside to find his car keys, and whatever else he left in his pockets from the day before. In the walk-in closet, he grabbed a clean pair of slacks, and a pressed shirt along with clean underwear, and a pair of shoes. It didn’t matter that he was a criminal, or that his family was full of them, he didn’t have to dress like it, too. Or, that’s what he had always been told.

He eyed the empty bed when he came back out. Messy sheets, indented pillows, and the room still smelled like whatever sugary sweet perfume Vanna had worn the night before. He didn’t have time to be pissed that she up and left his place before he could even wake up. In fact, he wasn’t mad about it at all considering it was usually him slipping out of a woman’s bed before the sun rose in the morning.

He did, however, notice the handwritten note on his bedside table when he plucked his watch from the glass bowl resting on the far corner. Her number. That’s all she had written.

That, and a simple, swirled V.

Well, then …

Bene wasn’t a second-round type. He wasn’t the kind of guy who led women on, either, just to get them into bed, but a one-night stand suited his needs fine considering he wasn’t looking for much more. And yet, he found that he was willing to see Vanna again as long as she was up for it, and he had time.

He stuffed the note in his pocket.

Another day.

Two fucking weeks.

Marcus had Bene running non-stop for two entire weeks. From one job, to the next. The first Capo he had to see was just the beginning, and by the end of that first day, Bene was already exhausted, and over whatever trick his brother was trying to pull.

Some of it wasn’t even work.

Gian wanted take-out from his favorite hole-in-the-wall diner in the middle of Quebec City? In a whole different province? Bene was called to go and get it. And the thing was, he knew that he couldn’t complain about it. Not one negative word could leave his lips every time he was sent on yet another wild goose chase for his father, one of his brothers, or any other made man who suddenly now had his phone number.

Because yeah, that was another thing.

Made men kept calling.

All the made men of their family.

Or rather, the ones with enough position and status that they could order Bene around and get away with it. He couldn’t complain or refuse an order or a job because that wasn’t how the life worked. Mafiosi ran the show, and as Bene wasn’t yet a made man, but wanted to be, well, that meant he had to do whatever they wanted him to do, whenever the fuck they wanted him to do it, no questions asked.

Oh, someone needed a pack of smokes at two in the morning? Bene dragged his ass out of bed, drove to the closest convenience store, and then delivered the cigarettes to the Capo—or whoever—with a fucking smile on his face while at the same time, asking if the man needed something else from him.