“Look at me, Avery. Who is going to love what they see—I’m a hot mess with a fuck-ton of trauma to boot.”
“One man’s hot mess is another man’s treasure.”
“Oh God, I’m rubbing off on you,” I mutter. “I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.”
“Chiara, the man who gets to call you his one day is going to be one lucky son of a bitch,” he says sincerely.
“Yeah. Except he’s made it abundantly clear there’s little chance of that.”
I don’t need to explain the “he” in this scenario.
“Stranger things have happened. Besides, I’d say someone who wants regular check-ins on his roommate must feel some kind of way.”
“Hmmm…” I give in to the drag of heavy eyelids. Just for a moment.
Chapter Thirty-Three
This Thing Feels Funny
Raf
“Raf, have you got a moment?”my dad calls from my office door where he stands, briefcase in one hand, a large envelope in the other. I’m thankful for the interruption; maybe it will be the circuit breaker I need to get my head back on track. My thoughts have been wandering to Chiara all day, and now it’s 6 p.m. and I have nothing to show for the day. “Sure. Of course. Are you about to head home?”
He nods, a sheepish smile tugging on his lips as he walks across the room and takes a seat across from me. “I’ve got some forgiveness to earn from your mother, and being home to eat dinner with her while it’s hot is high on her list of requests. Besides, you knew my intention was to start to wind down and hand more of the reins to you once you made partner.”
I nod, even though I know he won’t be able to help himself and will want to know every little detail about everything. Also known as micro-managing, but that’s a dance for another day because my card is all filled up right now when it comes to fighting losing battles. Being a lawyer is what he knows. It’s intrinsic to who he is. I guess he was just lucky to have founda soulmate in my mom, in that she was content to stand by his side and devote her time to family and the foundation she runs to make life a little easier for others. A soulmate type of love. It’s what I thought I had—and lost—with Victoria. Except twelve hours and claiming Chiara like she demanded is all it took to have me questioning if I’ve ever really known what it meant to have chemistry with someone, let alone love. Fuck!Get it together, Raf, I internally berate myself.
I tune back into the conversation that’s currently one-sided.
“You’ve been spending some late nights here,” Dad is saying. “Where are we with the case against Arty Bartholomew Jones?”
“Police interviews are being conducted, and we’ve agreed to represent the victims filing against him pro-bono.”
My phone chimes with the notification sound I have set for Avery so I can tell his messages apart from all the other millions of notifications that come through daily. Now that Chiara is living with me, I’ve done the same for her. Just in case it’s an emergency. My suspicions about her ex are never far from my mind. I don’t check the message immediately, instead trying to focus on the conversation at hand.
“Have we done our due diligence, made sure their stories check out? This case has to be watertight, son. The Bartholomew Joneses are going to be throwing a lot of money at this to clear his name,” my dad says, like I don’t already know all this. I want to tell him I have more purview into this guy’s shitbag behavior than he does but decide for the sake of trying to keep this whole interaction at a minimum to answer with facts.
“We’re in the process. Sophia is working on it with me remotely while Marco recovers, but once he’s back home in a few weeks, she’ll be back on deck here in a more hands-on way.”
My phone pings three more times, a succession of messages so uncharacteristic from Avery and much more the style of the woman I’m relying on him to watch like a hawk. Unease ripplesthrough me. Avery is a man of few words, intense in that quiet way where you never know what he’s thinking but he looks at you like he’s cracked the code to every secret you have.
My hand is reaching for my phone and I’m unlocking it before I can stop myself.
I scan the messages from Avery and the sushi I had for lunch threatens to reappear.
“That’s good, because I’m going to need you to step into a few of my commitments as the face of Princi & Associates,” my father continues, but the words are a blur as I tap furiously on my phone.
“There’s a conference in London that I need you to attend,” he says, holding out the large envelope in his hand, which I can’t really take right now while I’m in the middle of texting Avery, becausewhat do you fucking mean Julian Rizzo put his hands on Chiara?!
“Raf!” Dad barks, thrusting the envelope my way again. I take it quickly, place it on the table next to me, and continue to text.
He dips low to try to catch my eye and raps his knuckles on the desk to get my attention, but I ignore both, completely overcome with a surge of adrenaline born out of the need to punch the shit out of something—preferably Julian’s face—give AJ a piece of my fucking mind—because what the hell was he thinking springing a meet-and-greet on Chiara after everything that’s happened these past few days—and racing home as quickly as I can to be with her. To see for myself she’s unharmed and not spiraling.
“Son, you seem distracted. Is everything okay? Is that something about the case?” he presses.
I stand abruptly and grab the knot of my tie and loosen it off. It suddenly feels suffocating. I tidy the papers on my desk and start gathering my things because I’m outta here.
It would be so much easier to lie and avoid the unsolicited advice I know is coming, but I’m not a teen trying to hide his fuck buddy. I’m a fucking thirty-four-year-old man. The very same one carrying the expectations of stepping up to the top job and the overwhelming responsibility to be a safe space for a Mafia princess who has every red warning light flashing.
