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“Why? I love the atmosphere.”
“People are beginning to notice. You’re setting a routine.”
I wave a hand. “I’m rotating which days I show up.”
“Doesn’t matter. We’re in a fucking war.” He shoves the door of his Lexus open and gets behind the wheel. I walk around to the other side and strap in.
“We’re winning,” I say as I stare out the window. The city flashes by. Our new territory, barely more than a bunch of crumbling row homes and crappy rundown bodegas.
“Barely, and you know Jasha and the Russians are looking for any excuse to come after you. Their backs are to the wall, which means they’re dangerous.”
I know he’s right. Dante doesn’t owe me shit, and if he’s here, it’s because people are talking.
Why would the underboss of the Rossi Famiglia spend time in some random dive? I can only imagine the rumors.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, and we both know it isn’t true. I’m a fucking mess and I know it.
“She’s not going to show up. You have to realize that.” He glances at me and shakes his head. “The girl’s avoiding you.”
I think of the missing watch. I’ve gone back and forth over the weeks, but I’m sure she stole it. I don’t know why—maybe she really was a pro and she felt strange about admitting it. Maybe that whole night was fake, one long, elaborate con to grab an expensive piece of jewelry, something she’d done before and I fell for it like an idiot.
But that doesn’t feel right.
She couldn’t have faked all those orgasms. She couldn’t have faked the way she looked at me, the laughter, the moans, all of it. She couldn’t have faked it because it felt so fucking real and I haven’t been able to get her out of my head. I don’t want to wake up thinking about her and I don’t want to go to sleep with her on my mind. But she’s always there.
“It’s not about the girl,” I say and that only makes him shake his head in disgust.
I avoid the Sterling Duck for a while. Work keeps me busy. I’m running a sports gambling operation my brother started and it’s been going well. I replaced a few of his guys with people loyal to me, but I kept the core of his crew doing their thing. It’s insanely profitable with only a minimum of oversight, but I find myself getting involved anyway. Renzo micromanages the Famiglia business, and while I’m technically the second-in-command, sometimes it feels like he’d rather do everything on his own. Which means I’m always looking for something to keep my mind occupied.
Back when we were younger, it was easy. Father was hard on me, but he was hard on everyone in those days, and there were high expectations for his kids. Renzo was always the clear favorite and in line to take over the Famiglia when he passed, but I always pushed myself anyway. I wanted to prove that I could be just as strong and smart. It never made a difference. Father never looked at me twice, even if I pushed myself to the brink of blowing up. He never gave a damn. I craved his approval back then. Now, looking back, I wish I had gone easier on myself and on my brothers.
I last another couple weeks, but end up back in that same stool drinking the same lukewarm beer and breathing in the same stench-laden air. At this point, it’s more about getting away from my normal routines. Coming to the Sterling is my way of getting back some control from the Famiglia. Everything else about my life has been in service of the Rossi family name and furthering the Rossi Famiglia’s various interests. I love it, and I love my family, but there hasn’t been much room for much else. Coming to the Sterling is my way of carving out space. For what though, I’m not sure yet.
There’s a baseball game on the TV. I half pay attention while I text my Vegas guys about some upcoming bets we have planned. I don’t even notice when the door opens and someone sits on the stool to my left. There are always a dozen different problems to solve, from the mundane to the life-and-death variety. Trying to conduct business during war time doesn’t exactly make shit easier. One day, I’m trying to handle some problem with the odds on a big basketball game coming up. The next, I’m getting shot at in the middle of the street. My life has become all extremes.
“You look a little distracted tonight.”
I sit up straight at the sound of her voice. It’s like a choir of angels screaming at me from heaven. I turn and there she is, sitting with her legs crossed. No dress this time—she’s in jeans and a light sweater, her hair up in a messy bun, her makeup minimal, though still the cross dangling between her breasts—but it’s definitely her. I’m pretty sure my cum dribbled down her chin and onto that freaking cross at one point. A thrum pangs deep into my guts and I’m already hard. It’s half surprise, half desire. I never actually thought I’d run into her again.
“Molly.” The name tastes good. I like saying it, and I think she likes hearing it. She smiles a little.
“Saul. You remember me.”
“I remember you,” I confirm, because how could I not? It was the best sex of my life. “You stole my watch.”
She stiffens. Her face falls and she stares down at the bar. I wave down the server and ask for a glass of wine while Molly gets herself together.
“You noticed.” She sounds sheepish. “I hoped you wouldn’t.”
“Under normal circumstances, I’d be very upset about that. Do you know what happens to people who steal from me?”
“You throw them a parade and forgive them?”
I nod slowly. “Exactly. Except replace ‘parade’ with ‘gun’ and ‘forgive’ with ‘murder.’”
Her eyes narrow. “You throw them a gun and murder them? Why throw them a gun?”
“I like to be fair when I do my killing.”
