Page 16 of Beni

“We need to work on your defense of your head,” Tank told him. “Tuck those fucking elbows in, get your fists high and close to your face, you know.”

Beni arched a brow at his twin. “Got a point.”

Because the head was always Bene’s weakness. Beni’s was the fact he didn’t like fast-footed people in a ring. They both had their spots that could be better. And sure, while they used boxing as a form of working out, they were still pretty serious about the technique of it all.

You know, when Bene wasn’t hungover and in a mood.

“Or I just don’t care as long as I can get the job done.”

“Won’t be able to get the job done,” Tank returned, “if you get knocked the fuck out, amigo.”

“Right,” Bene muttered around the rim of his water bottle. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Finish that water, and we’ll go another—”

Tank’s directions came to a halt with the muffled ringing of Beni’s cell. He gave the man an apologetic shrug, bending down to dig the phone from his bag.

“Take your call, no worries,” Tank said behind him. “I’ll get your brother ready for another pounding.”

“Gee, thanks, asshole,” Bene grumbled in reply.

“It’s what I do.”

Beni found his phone with a triumphant grunt, and didn’t bother to check the caller ID before picking up the call with a fast, “Yeah, Beni here.”

He kept his back to the ring.

“Busy?” came a familiar voice.

His uncle, Tommas.

Or rather, his new boss.

Beni found it easier to differentiate between the boss and family aspect with his uncle than he ever had with his father. He wasn’t sure why, but Tommas drew that line clearly in the sand, and expected it not to be crossed. It didn’t matter who it was, any made man in the family, or Tommas’s own son, Beni’s cousin, Tommaso … the line was always clear.

No exceptions.

“Boss,” Beni replied, “never busy for you. What’s up?”

“I have a job for you to do. When can you come to the mansion and have a chat?”

See, this was where Beni’s privilege came into play where the mafia was concerned. He didn’t have his button—he wasn’t in technically. He wasn’t a made man, by any standard. He was nothing more than an associate of the business with a mafia boss father, and an uncle who ran another organization. If he was any regular fucker, he wouldn’t have a direct line to the boss. His orders would come through other lower fucks on the totem pole.

Instead, he was afforded this respect.

He was starting to understand what his father had meant.

Beni was learning to respect his place.

This status.

“Give us five minutes to shower—we’re at the gym—and we can drive over,” Beni said.

Tommas clicked his tongue, murmuring, “Just you today. Bene will have another job with someone else, I suspect.”

That was … unusual.

Beni knew better than to question it, though.