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“We’re half-siblings.”
“Very distant half-siblings,” I say in a bored tone.
“You look like shit,” she says musingly.
“I’ve been working,” I reply, ignoring her.
“Likewise,” she says, while putting her feet up on the Italian white leather couch that I just spent five grand upholstering.
“Putting that shit up your nose and partying every night is not working and take your fucking Manolo’s off my couch.”
“Who lit a fire up your ass?” She frowns, surveying me with narrowed eyes.
“I tolerate you because it wouldn’t look good if I clipped my sister, but you keep shooting your mouth off and I might change my mind,” I say, looking up at her with my chilling glare.
“How was the engagement party?”
“I thought you were there.”
“I was, then I wasn’t,” she says, clearing her throat awkwardly.
“Ah, that’s right, you were found passed out in the ladies.” I say acidly.
“Is my future sister-in-law looking forward to joining the family?”
“Well, it’s happening either way.”
“Have you even spoken to her?” she says, rolling her eyes.
“We have conversated,” I say indifferent.
“What’s her favorite color?”
“No idea.”
“Food? Band? Shoe size? Bra size? Jesus, Rocco, you don’t know a thing about her.”
“I don’t need to. She’ll live in her place, and I’ll live at mine.”
“So, you’renotgoing to sleep with her?”
“Obviously, don’t be so fucking obtuse. It doesn’t mean I have to stay with her 24/7, I’m a busy man. She grew up with Vincenzo as her father, I’m sure she’s gotten the correct training from her mother.”
“No woman is going to put up with that shit. She will expect you to at least spend some time with her apart from sleeping with her.”
“What we want and what we get are two different things, Lucia,” I say in a patient tone.
“I wouldn’t put up with that,” she snorts.
“Yet you were blowing a guy in the men’s toilets in Manhattan last night, so I don’t think you’re exactly an expert in relationships.”
“How do you know about that?” she says, flushing.
“I know everything, and if you keep embarrassing yourself like this, then I won’t be held liable for my actions,” I say breezily.
“You won’t hit me, Rocco. You don’t touch women,” she says smugly.
“I can hit you where it really hurts… Your pockets.”
