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“Fucking some random Irish girl because you want to get your dick off is one thing, but if you actually love her, that’s another. Despite what you think, I’m not the biggest piece of shit in the world.”
“I know that. Have you met Carlo?”
That gets a laugh. “Just handle it. I’ll trust you to tell Renzo when the time is right. Which I suspect is soon, since he thinks you’re going to marry someone else.”
“Yeah, that’s not happening.”
“Obviously, but he needs to know why.”
“Fine. I’ll deal with it.”
“Great. I’m glad we could hash this out like mature adults.”
“You’re always a fucking pleasure to deal with, Dante.”
I walk off, annoyed with myself for losing my temper, but feeling at least somewhat optimistic for the first time in a while. Both Stefania and Dante took the news pretty well—which means maybe my brothers will handle it better than I think they will.
Chapter 26
Saul
I throw myself into work and avoid the mansion for a while. Renzo keeps bugging me about the marriage and I keep telling him it isn’t happening—which only makes him threaten me more.
Unfortunately for him, I have an important job going and he can’t just drag me into his office and fire me. I’m his fucking brother and his underboss, whether he likes that or not.
“I swear to whatever fucking god watches over fast food, if I have to eat another chicken nugget again, I’m going to throw myself off a bridge.” Carlo crumples a fast food box and shoves it into the empty bag.
I make a face at him. “What’s with you and those things anyway? Why not eat something else?”
He sighs and rubs his forehead like he’s talking to an idiot. Which is very annoying.
“Chicken nuggets have been scientifically formulated to be perfect.”
“Come on. Fuck off.”
“I’m not kidding. You think these big fast food chains don’t have like dozens of food scientists working on this shit around the clock?” Carlo looks at me like I’m some naive little baby. “Get your head out of your ass, bro.”
“Yes, it’s consistent, but perfect? That’s fucking dumb.”
“No, it’s not. Think about it. Nuggets have that golden, crispy breading, and the inside is like this white chicken slurry?—”
“Chicken slurry?”
“Yeah, bro. You don’t think chicken protein comes in those shapes do you? You’ve seen a chicken, right?”
“I’m going to fucking strangle you.” I squeeze my eyes shut. This is what happens when I’m stuck in a car for hours at a time with him. Carlo gets bored and starts talking about the most insane shit and I start to imagine very elaborate murder scenarios. Like right now: I could drag him out into the street and slam his head under the loose manhole cover sitting in the road a few feet away.
“Slurry, bro. It’s like chicken thigh, beaks, guts, whatever random chemicals, all blended up into the perfect slurry. They have it down to a molecular science.”
“If it’s so fucking good, why are you sick of it?”
He stares at me like I’m not understanding him. “Because man was not meant to feast upon perfect forever.”
I lean my head back, close my eyes, and try to block him out.
We’ve been watching this boring hotel for the last few weeks. Every day I come out here with Carlo and take a shift, staring at every car that drives up, peeping at them through binoculars, staking the place out. It’s obscenely boring, but it’s too important to trust it entirely to the soldiers. They take the night shift—this place has to be under surveillance day and night, every single second of every single hour—and my phone’s always on and ready to wake my ass up if Finn arrives when I’m not around. But during the day, it’s me and my brother.
And he’s going on about chicken nugget slurry and ambrosia, the nectar of the gods. He’s way off the deep end now.
