Page 3 of Pretty Lies

Something their father, also named Damian, would have his sons’ balls for. He liked to tell the brothers that good men were made at home serving their wives and not in the streets with people who often forgot their morals for the sake of business. For a simple reason, too. Another man might not trust someone based on the things they knew from the streets, but the way a man treated his wife—publicly and privately—would always say a lot about his character.

It was a poignant statement. Considering his father was one of the three highest seated men in the Chicago mob—the Outfit—it really said something coming from him.

Cory kept it in mind. Not that he had a wife to remember it for. He also wasn’t currently looking for one. Besides, one married Rossi brother was enough.

“Except you could use a break,” Liliana spoke up, “and all he really wants is me at night, anyway, Joe. Why not go out and get away from … everything?”

He pointed in his brother’s wife’s direction, saying, “See. What was it you told me last week? The Outfit is running you dead, man.”

Joe said nothing, but he didn’t have to when the two faced one another at the table. Nothing he told his brother was a lie. The Outfit had both men by the throats when it came to work. That happened when one looked to move up in the mob, and they came from a family like theirs.

They never said as much, sure. It wasn’t like they ever spoke about their intentions with the mob. Everything was always unsaid, but just understood. He blamed that on the fact this was all they ever knew.

Their uncles? In the mob. One, a boss. The other, sitting next to their father so that the two could act as the right and left hand of the man running the whole criminal organization.

Where else were they going but in? They didn’t need to say it.

His brother was already in. Joe just wanted … a seat at the table, now. Cory, on the other hand, kept busy with his Uncle Theo and the man’s arms and substance dealing he had going on in the city and elsewhere. All he ever did was work now, too.

Damn, he hadn’t even gotten a new tattoo to add to his collection of full sleeves, a throat and chest piece, and an almost finished back piece, too. That was unheard of for him—every six to eight weeks of healing, and Cory was back in for another round in an artist’s chair. His lack of new ink spoke to how busy he’d constantly been.

Joe was no better. Hadn’t they earned a break?

Cory gave Joe a grin. “So, are we going out tonight like old time’s sake, or …?”

“You know I’d feel better if I just got to have a damn nap, right?” Joe asked back.

That time, Liliana didn’t correct his language. She did laugh, though.

“I mean, yeah,” Cory returned, shrugging under his leather jacket, “but what’s the fun of being twenty-five—”

“You’re twenty-five.”

“Twenty-six,” Cory corrected, cursing himself internally because no doubt, Joe was onto his scheme.

“Really, you just want to go out tonight, but you want me to come with you, right?” Joe asked. “That’s what this whole thing was about, wasn’t it?”

Well …

Cory looked Liliana’s way for help.

She always did.

It’s why he liked her the most. Next to his brother marrying her and all.

“He does need a break, doesn’t he?” Cory asked. “You said it first, Lil.”

“He does.”

He went back to his brother. “The wife spoke. I’m really just trying to follow her wishes.” His brother still said nothing. “Come on, Joe, all I do is work … that’s all you ever do anymore, too. Take a night.”

Joe shook his head. “You’re something, man. I hope you know that.”

He did.

All too well.

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