Page 1 of One Last Time

ONE

“You’ve passed that same building four times now,” Alex said to Andino’s left in the backseat of the black Rolls-Royce.

Here we go again, Andino thought.

From the front of the car, where the man did his best work driving only, Nate muttered, “I was told to drive in circles, asshole.”

“Does it have to be actual circles, though?”

Good God.

These men were going to have Andino on fucking nerve pills before the end of the year—he was sure of it.

“He’s fine,” Andino said, joining the conversation to end the bickering between the enforcer and the man who now acted as his underboss. “Back to what you were doing—both of you.”

Thankfully, the men did just that.

Mostly.

If he let them get started now, they wouldn’t shut up for the rest of the day. It was one of the things he missed most about having Pink—who had went over to John’s side of things as the man’s underboss a while back—work for him, if he were being honest. The man knew when to shut up and not engage. These two didn’t understand either of those things but especially not with one another.

Andino figured the constant bumping of heads was probably a good sign the two liked each other. On another day, he might have even gotten a chuckle out of it just because. Not today, however. He was tired, annoyed, and wanted to be anywhere, doing anything other than what he currently was.

Business was odd sometimes.

La famiglia worked in funny ways.

Like how right now, he was stuck in the back of a car waiting for a phone call to confirm a meeting that he hadn’t even wanted to have was good to go, and Andino’s driver could pull into the business just two blocks over where it was meant to happen. He would much rather be at home with his wife and three daughters, but after eight years of being the Marcello Don, he had come to learn bosses didn’t get days off in the mafia.

Something had to happen.

A boss was always needed.

It didn’t help that the very last thing Andino liked to do on any given day was wake up earlier than he needed to just to travel into the city, and then drive around aimlessly while someone else decided whether or not to sit down with him. That wasn’t how this was supposed to work, and he especially hated it when someone wasted his motherfucking time.

Yet, he was also slightly more forgiving than the boss that came before him, if only because he understood how life could get in the way of business at times. So, instead of immediately calling off the day and the meeting that should happen, he put his attention on his phone and texted back and forth with his wife while he waited.

It was the best he could do.

For now.

The meeting at the club went fine, read his wife’s last text.

Andino smiled to himself and replied back with a simple, Great, babe.

He knew better than to ask or say anything more about her club. She’d taken possession of the business the year after they married. Haven essentially—with little fanfare—assured her husband that if he tried anything funny with this club like he did her first one, that she would quickly remove his testicles. He happened to like those right where they were. She was also a damn good business owner, and he understood she didn’t need him sticking his nose into her business anyway.

So, he stayed far away.

Happy wife, happy life.

He had this shit on lock.

Her next text came in just as quickly with a question: How’s your meeting going?

He sighed, wondering how to reply to that. She never outright asked about his business, but she liked to be informed just enough to feel safe. Usually, he would indulge her because he didn’t have a reason not to. With this particular day, he didn’t think it was quite the same considering it seemed to be going to shit anyway. What did it matter if she knew that? It was just yet another thing for his wife to stress over.

Completely unnecessary.