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But it's far from it as the two continue to groan and gripe. All morning I’ve been waiting for them to make an appearance downstairs after Giovanni told me last night I had to take them to the airport today.
However neither of them had come downstairs until about ten minutes ago, hair flying everywhere with bloodshot eyes, and frowns on their faces.
Completely hungover.
I don’t think I’ve seen them be anything but drunk or high this past week and I have to wonder what Giovanni’s thought process was when deciding that they’d be the last line of defense the family needed against Seven Quad.
In my experience, wineheads aren’t the most reliable.
Don’t get me wrong, I surprisingly like Primo and Ettore. They’re very different from their sister and yet the same in some ways. Wild, loud, bold, saying whatever is on their minds. However, they’re definitely friendlier than their sister who’d turned her nose up at me the first time that we met.
But this morning, I wouldn’t be too upset if they dropped off the face of the earth, because they’re definitely wasting my time.
I look down at my watch, frowning. I’d wanted to get to the airport early because I have a meeting with an arms dealer for Giovanni. It’s the biggest task I’ve been given to carry out to date since most of my duties have been isolated to body guarding. And I know how important it is that I make the meeting today and make sure everything goes off without a hitch. Giovanni is relying on me.
Embarrassingly, there’s been this little ache in me the last couple of weeks, beginning for something to do. My hands have been far too idle as I’ve been kept with the simple task of watching Giovanni’s six. Hell, even watching Winter had been more exciting.
The image of what we’d done in the polhouse flashes through my mind and I lick my lips, quickly pushing the thoughts away. We haven’t talked about it and frankly it's for the best because I have no idea what I’m doing with Winter at this point.
I like her, like putting my hands on her and ramming my cock into her pussy. But I also like the little looks I catch her shooting at me and the sound of her laughter. For so long, she’d been miserable when she came here, understandably. And now that she’s a little more relaxed, her personality has come out more, replacing the weak image of the woman I’d built up in my head.
And it only makes her more interesting.
“Is there no syrup?” Primo’s words pull me from my thoughts.
He’s standing at one of the cupboards, the doors standing wide open as he peers inside.
Donna rolls her eyes behind his back and when she looks at me, my lips twitch, eliminating some of my irritation. I’m not the only one who has to deal with the brothers this morning. They’d hawked Donna the second they saw her, demanding that she fix them breakfast.
Maybe demanding isn’t the right word. They’d asked as nicely as I imagined they could with their hangovers.
Donna had whipped them up some pancakes and eggs, adding more time to our delay.
And now apparently, not even that is good enough.
“It’s here,” Donna pulls the syrup from the cabinet, passing the bottle to Primo.
“Thank you,” he says, plopping down onto the stool next to Ettore who is already nearly halfway through swallowing down his food. He doesn’t seem to have near as many reservations as his brother.
I think it’s because his munchies are a little more extreme. Every time I’ve seen him this week, he’s had a blunt rolled and resting between his fingers.
I don’t know how he’s been aware enough to help Giovanni, but I haven't asked any questions.
All I know is that the brothers have hada lotof discussions with Giovanni behind his closed office door. And now they’re heading back to New York, due to come back in a month and stay for a while.
Lucia had muttered they could stay in New York, much to the displeasure of Ettore. He tries to engage his sister in more conversation than Primo, who simply doesn’t bother with small talk. I don’t completely understand their situation, but I know it isn’t my business.
I glance at my watch again as Primo slowly drizzles syrup onto his waffles.
“Can you eat in the car?” I ask him. “We’ve got to head to the airport.”
He blinks up at me, rubbing his eyes. “Fuck, I forgot about that.”
“Me too, I don’t even have my bags packed,” Ettore says with a casual shrug.
Someone blow my brains out now.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I look back and forth between them. “We were supposed to be gone already. You’re going to miss your flight if you don’t hurry up.”
