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I glanced at my wife.
“We’re on the way to Mikey’s.”
“Okay. Don’t come back yet. But the family is on lockdown.”
“Trouble down south?” I asked mildly, not really giving a shit if the old man was freaking out. The truth was, I wanted him to suffer.
My brother cleared his throat.
“Understatement.”
“I’ll see you later. Text if we need to come home sooner. I have some . . . business to attend to tonight.”
Punishing my runaway bride was on the agenda. Making it clear to Evie that she had to be good. Teaching her to behave better in the future.
“Take care of your business, Brother. This can wait.”
I said goodnight and hung up, pleased that my wife didn’t ask what the call was about. She knew I would inform her if she needed to know. And the fact that we were going after the old man was definitely not a need to know. Not yet, anyway.
I’d promised her I would keep her safe from my father. She did not need to know how I intended to do that. Part of me wondered if she would approve.
Michael’s family home was unassuming. Normal. They lived in a section of town that was solidly middle class, and the houses were all mid-century. Not sexy, flashy mid-century. Brick ranches. Split levels. More Brady Bunch than Architectural Digest.
But fuck me if I didn’t love it. More than the mansion or the compound in Vegas where we’d split our time growing up, this was home.
I was proud to bring Evie here. Proud to show her off to Michael’s mom and siblings, too. I only wished his father were still alive. He’d been mob, but not a total dickwad. Sadly, the life had gotten him killed.
Seconds after ringing the doorbell, we were enveloped in my Aunt Ruth’s sweet smell as she hugged both Evie and me at the same time. She wasn’t blood, like Auntie, but she’d mothered my brother and me just as hard. Her home had been an escape from the cold austerity of the mansion and the old man’s criticism and beatings. I’d even overheard her trying to talk her husband into stealing us away.
Thank God our Uncle Pete had talked her out of it.
Stealing children from a notorious mob boss . . . not a good idea.
Besides, I liked to think that an unhappy childhood built character. It certainly had for my brother. I wasn’t so sure about myself.
When she finally released us, I picked her up off her feet and gave her a kiss. She laughed and swatted at me, demanding that I put her down. Evie looked charmed by the exchange when I glanced at her. The sweet expression on her gorgeous face almost made me want to forget what she’d done. To forget that I needed to punish her tonight, or even longer. But I couldn’t.
Later, I told myself. You will deal with her later.
I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders as I stepped through the door. Not even my impending confrontation with my runaway wife could keep me from enjoying this.
Michael’s house had always felt like home. Not just a home, even though it pretty much personified that. But my home. Or what I wanted my home to be, anyway.
Warm. A little messy. Chaotic. Noisy. And full of love.
Michael’s dad had never hit him. Not once. The man had never even removed his belt. Never raised his voice. If any of the kids needed to be punished, it was discussed calmly and then dealt with.
It was just . . . simple.
I’d read somewhere that every happy family looks like same. But every unhappy family was completely different.
Ain’t that the truth, I heard my brother’s voice echo in my head.
“Would you like the grand tour?” Michael asked, bending forward to give Evie a kiss on the back of her hand. I rolled my eyes as his brother Daniel and sister Louisa tried to outdo each other and impress Evie as they showed us the house. They did that with everyone, but it was obvious that my pretty wife was bringing out even more competition than usual.
At least between the brothers, anyway.
“We’re eating outside. Come sit,” Michael said jovially, leading us outside to a table under old-fashioned cafe string lights.
“You would never even know they were mafia, would you?” I whispered in Evie’s ear. She shot me a horrified look. I chuckled. I realized I had never said it out loud to her before. It was a little on the nose, to tell the truth. We never used the words mafia or mob. We sure as fuck never said International Crime Syndicate.
Though really, that’s what we were.
We just called it ‘The Family’.
Louisa and Daniel weren’t even in the family. Not really. She was an art dealer who did some trading for us. Daniel was an officer in the Air Force. We teased him about coming on board. He teased us about getting the family a private jet.
