Page 98 of Unlock My Heart

“Fucking squeeze my cousin till he pops like an overripe grape from a Tuscany vineyard.” Having learned my lesson, I don’t fantasize about how the wine would taste. “Paper and pen.”

Saint produces those for me, and I scrawl out an angry letter.

Nic,

I haven’t forgotten your role in my girl being fished out of a dumpster. I also haven’t forgotten that I’m the rightful boss of this family. You’re either with me or against me.

Choose your side.

Fabien

“Deliver this to my cousin at gunpoint, and don’t leave until you get his reply.”

“Yes, boss. And your wife sent you this.” He produces a letter from his briefcase.

With a grin, I unfold it, but my excitement’s short-lived.

“Pen and paper.” Saint produces those, and I get to work on my defense.

Fabien

Eighteen-years-old

I knock briskly on my old man’s door, and I’m beckoned inside.

“You wanted to see me?” I ask Papà, who’s seated behind his desk.

He tents his fingers, eyeing me down, and I force myself not to squirm under his harsh gaze. “What’s this I hear about ice?”

My chest puffs out. “Opened my own company. Thought ice would be a good complementary business with our seafood company⁠—”

“You thought. That was your first mistake,” he taunts, and I choke down the budding anger. “My seafood company has used the same ice vendor for nearly fifty years. You think I’m going to risk that working relationship because you thought?”

“No, Papà.” What I really thought was that for once, he’d be proud of my initiative.

“Muscle is your strong suit. Don’t forget it.” With the flick of his hand, I’m dismissed.

My annoying little brother is lingering in the hallway, and I have half a mind to bust his nose for eavesdropping.

“Don’t think about it.” Angelo tsks. “Not your strong suit.”

His nose remains unbroken, only because I don’t wanna hear about it from Mama, but I do give him a parting shoulder check as I storm out of the house.

Behind the wheel of my car, I let out my frustration with a shout, giving the steering wheel a few punches. My foot slams the pedal as I drive aimlessly, and eventually make my way to Hotel D’Amico.

Entering the bar, I reach behind it and grab myself a whiskey bottle and glass, helping myself. Fucking dare Michele to say anything to me right now.

“Rough day?” A working girl by the name of Chantelle bellies up next to me.

“You could say that.” I tip back the booze in one gulp.

She wraps her arms around mine. “I could help make it better. On the house.”

Haven’t told anyone I’m still a virgin; that’d be one more thing for my old man to haze me over.

“Let’s go,” I tell her, ushering her out and to the front desk.

After what I can only imagine was a mediocre fuck for her, I clean myself up, shove down my shame, and leave the hotel.