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Max’s shoulders square and he turns his head toward me. I smirk at the fire in his narrowed eyes, something only a best friend could do, especially since the baseball bat he was just referencing is sitting on the floor at his feet. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But I do. I know Max was pissed off about his lost business, but I also knew he’d had a thing for Sloane, who also happens to be Shaye’s best friend. He didn’t want the competition making a play for Sloane, and I knew that she was also one of the reasons he ratted out Rocco. Sometimes I think Max just wanted an excuse to get him out of the picture, not that he needed one since it was pretty damn obvious she was interested in Max and not his nemesis.
“Yeah, well if you didn’t want her to screw him way back when, you should have told her how you felt. You’ve been carrying this torch for years.” Look at me, the irony of doling out relationship advice. As if I’ve got a fucking leg to stand on.
He shrugs. “I don’t care that he nailed her. It happened a long time ago. Besides, we…I mean, she’s busy with school and I have my own shit to deal with. You know how things go.”
“Bullshit. Something happened between you guys at Thanksgiving when she was home. Don’t think I didn’t notice.” He can deny it all he wants, but Max can’t handle being taken down a few pegs. It all goes back to that whole perception of weakness. Just act like you don’t care even when you do, and nobody will be the wiser. But I can see the truth even if he can’t admit it.
When the regret eats away at your insides and chews up your heart until it’s shredded like the dreams you’ve long given up…it’s hard to act like you don’t care. I know. I tried four months ago, and I tried again last night.
It still hurts, no matter what I do, how hard I work, how many women I screw as an escape from my reality. It never helped. It never erased the memory of Shaye’s lips on mine. It never replaced the insane fantasy that we could have a normal future together. I drank, I fucked, I snorted. It didn’t help. Nothing eased the pain. Nothing filled the void. Nothing soothed my soul. She was my balm and I had to walk away from her.
And I know Max suffers from the same affliction even though he refuses to admit it. Sometimes it’s just better to suffer in silence. Shit, we’ve all got our own crosses to bear and we play with the hands we’ve been dealt. I’ve got a Mercedes SK550 parked outside, a Rolex on my wrist, a boat off the coast of Miami, and two houses filled with enough toys to start my own film production company. I know I’ve got a good life.
But it’s always missing something…the one thing I can never have because the price is just too high to pay.
Max drums his fingertips on the black lacquered desk and snickers. “It doesn’t matter. I’m over it. Don’t worry, I promise not to have the cops breathing all over you when Lucchesi ends up at the bottom of the East River.”
I cock an eyebrow. “You already have the drop point set, huh?”
Max winks at me. “You know I’m a planner.”
“Stop acting like a deranged lunatic and tell me about the delivery.” I rub the back of my neck and let out a deep sigh. I got next to no sleep last night, and I really want to head home for a few hours before tonight’s star-studded event kicks off. I can’t leave Max on his own for too long or shit will go sideways fast. Sometimes, it would be nice to have a business associate on staff who wouldn’t beat the ever-loving fuck out of a patron or two in a wild fit of rage over something as ridiculous as failing to acknowledge the great Maximo Oriani.
But then again, my best friend isn’t known for his even temper. He’s known for landing guys in the hospital for even looking at the female company he keeps. Once, he pummeled some moron with a tire iron because he asked Max’s date for a lighter. And I know for a fact that smoking wasn’t anything the guy thought about for months after they reconstructed his bashed-in face.
“They sent everything they were supposed to…” Max’s voice trails off and his expression hardens.
“But?” I can see there’s a but coming. There always is.
“But they wouldn’t give me any of the paperwork. Said they’d only deal with you.” He slams a fist on the desk and drains the rest of his beer. “It’s pissing me off, Nico.”
I let out a long breath and settle into my ergonomic yet luxe, leather swivel chair. “Max, you know it takes time.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have time. I’m tired of being on the outside of everything going on right now. My old man is up my ass to get into some legitimate shit, but nobody’s interested.”
I say nothing, but a million thoughts race through my mind. Bloody images, brutal confrontations, drunken, gun-wielding threats, too many shots fired, too many bruised egos. Is it any shock that nobody wants him on their turf? Even though the families in our organization band together, everyone has their own separate interests. The Orianis’ interests were the Saleseis’ interests until Max’s hotheaded father tried to double cross my dad. That dumb fuck had it made. All he needed to do was just keep his damn mouth shut and follow simple instructions. But no. He needed to make the rules. He needed to make his own mark with the drugs. He thought he’d become Cappodamo’s golden boy. His plans backfired. And now, Max and Tony are both scrounging. They were safe until Grandpa died. Now they’re trying to figure out how to maintain their cushy fucking existence. I did what I could for Max since I need to keep him close anyway. But Tony dug his own grave, and there’s no way I’m sticking my neck out for him.
“You need to give it some time. This is a good place for you to be, to meet people, to establish credibility, to learn the ropes. Trust me, when everything blows over, you’ll be in high demand.”
“Yeah, but I want my shot now. I don’t want to wait. You know how things go. You either get taken out or you stay in one place for too long and then everyone forgets about you.”
“Not if you’re involved with Culaccino. Nobody will ever forget about you. Besides, I don’t think anyone’s going to take you out. You’d already be dead if that were the case.” I say it, knowing full well that Max has pissed off more than enough dangerous people to be six feet under right now. His only saving grace was Grandpa, and now that Grandpa is gone, he’s trapped like a rat in a maze. He doesn’t know who’s rounding the corner, and even with me on his side, I know he’s silently panicking. Fuck, I would be, too.
He lets out a loud groan and collapses against the back of his chair. “I’m sorry, man. I know you have enough of your own shit going on. You don’t need to deal with mine, too. I’m not the one paying you.”
“Hey, you’ve just got to trust me. Hang tight for a little while. Tell your dad to get off your ass, that you’ve got a plan. You don’t want to end up on a plane to Sicily, do you?” I smirk and fire the football back to him after he nails me with it.
“Sometimes…” His head falls into his hand. “Sometimes, I think I’d actually like that. No pressure, the best bread and wine on the fucking planet, hot Italian pussy for days. The life, man.”
The life. Interesting choice of words. It’s the hand we were dealt, and now we need to figure out how to play the cards to win it all.
I watch him for a moment. It’s rare for Max to display humanistic tendencies. He’s usually swinging around a baseball bat, and not in a Babe Ruth kind of way. It’s more like a Goodfellas kind of way.
I stand, the bottom of the chair scraping against the wood floor. “I’m getting out of here for a few hours. I need to crash for a while. I’ll be back before the party starts.”
Max nods and follows me out of the office. I grab my coat from a chair by the door and turn toward him. “Don’t drink all the booze before the guests arrive.”
He salutes me. “I’ll be sure to save them some, don’t worry.”
I click the key remote to start my car, walk into the frigid afternoon air, and pull the collar of my wool coat up. The tiny hairs on the inside of my nose are frozen by the time I pull open the door to my car. I slide into the plush leather seat and pull out my iPhone.
Stupid ass choices. I’ve got a mile-long list myself, so who am I to throw stones?
You have responsibilities, Nico, a lot of responsibilities. Don’t fuck it all up.
I rake a hand through my hair and stab the keyboard, ready to fuck it all up with a few screen clicks.
Hell, why not just add to my ever-growing list?
