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A thousand feelings crawl over me like angry bees.

Mostly, just the lingering heat of Luca’s kiss, searing through my head until it stains my soul.

10

THE DEEP END (LUCA)

This shit must’ve gone to my head.

There was a time when all I wanted to do was prove myself to my father, back when Papa still had his marbles.

To show him I could be capo di tutti i capi, the Boss of all Bosses, the big bad wolf of Chicago.

What changed?

My killer instinct must’ve slipped away before I noticed.

Because before I was so rudely ripped away from my honeymoon, all I wanted was to spend the evening getting to know my new blushing bride.

I’ve been overworked for so long, ever since the old man stepped aside and we reshuffled everything.

Of course, I failed to notice it creeping in.

I forgot what marinating in a young woman’s company even felt like.

Her sweet sunshine smell, the way she crossed her legs and bit her lip, and her taste in that kiss—

Fucking intoxicating.

It’s a damn good thing the priest was there, too, or else I might’ve broken my promise and hauled her upstairs to consummate this marriage, pronto.

Now, I’m walking into a dank hole-in-the wall warehouse downtown, and the atmosphere couldn’t feel more different.

A back storage room in an old factory that we occasionally use for meetings or shakedowns, since the police don’t dare venture to this shitty place.

It’s also ideal for housing the supplies my company transports for Everhart in our more legit business partnerships.

The windows above are faded, a few boarded over. The corrugated metal walls never shine and the brick looks ancient. The whole place smells like mildew, motor oil, and busy, overworked men moving on tight deadlines.

My footsteps echo as I stroll to the corner, lit only by a single bulb overhead.

Bufalo and a few of my other men are waiting.

When Buf sees me, he grins and pulls me into a hug.

“Hey, Luca. Congrats, you fucking wolf. Married? That’s mind-blowing, you getting hitched. Just heard the news from Bone.”

“Thanks. We’ll all celebrate later,” I mutter. My mind goes back to my bride, sitting at home in an unfamiliar house.

Even if she hates my guts, that’s no way to leave her.

I wish I’d known how to make her feel more at home.

Yet something tells me she’ll be just fine with her nose stuffed in that special book I got her.

I smile as I remember the way she looked at it, like I’d just handed her a gold bar.

It was a good, thoughtful gift.