Page 6 of Naz & Roz

Luca passed Naz a look. “All right? So what, you’re going to get off my back about this school thing, now, or what?”

“Yeah, man. You do you.”

Naz held out his bottle, and Luca clinked his own against the cold glass.

The two were quiet as they looked over the dark backyard. The noise level inside the house, and from the chatting people on the back deck was still quite loud. Naz didn’t mind it so much like this. He was content—at peace.

Something his brain rarely found.

It was always chaos.

Always erratic.

“Hey, Luca, Dad is looking for you!”

Naz turned at the female voice calling for his best friend, and felt a million things hit him all at once at the sight of a dark-haired, ice-blue-eyed, tall beauty leaning out the backdoor. He knew who she was.

But he hadn’t seen her since she was fourteen. She was a pianist, or something. Apparently, the girl was a prodigy. Kind of like him, but without the genius aspect. They put her in front of a piano at two, and there was no taking her away from it.

Or, that’s how the story went.

She was in private schools, and privileged establishments meant to cater to her unique talent, and to grow her abilities. She usually came home in the summer, as far as Naz knew, and during the holidays, sometimes.

But a lot of the time, Naz was gone. Busy with work, or running guns. He didn’t stay in one place for too long, and he didn’t like crowds.

Maybe he saw her in passing, but his attention had been elsewhere.

Jesus Christ.

His attention was all on her right now.

All on her.

Back then, Rosalynn Puzza—Luca’s now seventeen-year-old sister—had been just a girl. Too young to catch his eye, and too quiet to be fucking noticed. She had been stuck in that awkward stage of teenage life between just coming into her own, and still being stuck as a little girl.

She was not fourteen now.

She was very much a young woman now.

Naz blinked.

His mouth went dry.

Christ.

Gone was the gangly long-armed and -legged girl with a quiet, mouse-like demeanor. She took after her mother in her features—soft, pretty lines with high cheekbones, and wide eyes. Her pink lips were painted with a gloss that accentuated the way her mouth fell into a natural pout. She had to be five foot, ten inches without her heels on—she was wearing flats with the soft pink summer dress that fell loosely over her body.

“Yeah, Rosalynn, I’ll be right in,” Luca said.

Naz kept staring.

She stared right back.

Luca didn’t miss it, either. “Shit—why, Naz?”

He didn’t say anything.

Rosalynn smiled.