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I eye the half-empty bottle of scotch and imagine myself smashing it over Rocco’s skull. It’s a nice mental image. Not nearly as satisfying as doing it in real life, but hey, we can’t always get what we want. Maybe this is a new tactic I can try when I want to beat the piss out of someone. Visualize instead of pulverize.
“How’s everything going at the construction site? Nico said some of the teamsters are giving you headaches. You want me to bust some asses for you?”
“I can handle them by myself,” I say through gritted teeth.
“If you need help…”
“I don’t!”
Rocco puts his hands up. “Dude, relax. I’m just trying to help. We’re a pretty good team even though you may not want to admit it. After what we did to Cappodamo and his dumbass goons—”
“Don’t kid yourself,” I grumble. “I only dragged you along that day because Shaye made me.”
He reaches over and ruffles my hair. “Come on, stop being such a little prick.”
“Leave my fucking hair alone.” I smack at his hand, but he won’t stop. “I’ll shoot you if you don’t get the fuck off of me.”
Rocco collapses against the back of the couch in a fit of laughter. “Why the fuck are you always about the guns and the bats? Can’t you have a conversation? I’m trying to fix this shit between us, douchebag.”
I rake a hand through my hair, trying to fix what he’d just fucked up. “I know what you’re trying to do.” I let out a sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s better.”
“I may need another shot if we do any more of this bonding shit, though.”
Rocco grins and pours two more shots. I suck mine down, grateful it’s too loud in here for me to talk to the other guys. I’d rather just sit by myself, stare at the pussy walking around, and soak my regrets in alcohol.
Too bad Rocco foiled that plan.
I hold the empty shot glass between two fingers, staring at the floor as Rocco goes on about his new car. I nod every once in a while, missing half of what he’s saying, but he’s too blasted to realize that he’s talking to himself right now.
Click, click, click.
I can’t hear the sound, but that’s what I imagine I’d hear from two, high-heeled feet slowly approaching our table. I raise my eyes, squinting in the darkness, trying to make out who it is since my vision is now slightly blurry from all the booze.
Katarina Ivanov.
A smile tugs at my lips. Rocco is still yammering about his sound system, so I kick him to get his attention. He looks at me and then up at Kat when she stops in front of us.
She almost took him out in a pizzeria not too long ago because he got his panties in a bunch over Shaye disappearing from Nico’s radar while our common enemy-slash-psychopathic family rival Luca Cappodamo was still on the loose. I’d have paid boatloads to be a fly on the wall watching that scene play out. Kat putting Rocco in a chokehold… that’s entertainment money can’t fucking buy.
And these days, I need all the laughs I can get.
“Hello, boys.” Kat sticks a hand on her hip, and it’s hard not to stare. I don’t want to fuck her…I think she’d be pretty brutal in the sack considering the fact that she’s a Russian mafia princess who is as lethal as an ice pick to the brain. But, damn.
No wonder why Rocco has had a hard-on for her ever since she showed up here in Jersey. That boner is oozing off of him whenever she’s within sight. He denies it, but we all know better.
So does Kat. I think she likes the challenge. I bet she’s into some really fucking kinky shit, too. One day, she’s gonna ball-gag and anal plug him, and I might ask for some blackmail pictures.
Immediately, all talk of his new car screeches to a stop, and not a second too soon.
I really don’t give a shit about his speakers.
Kat’s lips curl upward when her blue eyes land on Rocco. “No date tonight, huh? You don’t want to mess up the leather in your new ride?”
Rocco reclines on the couch and throws an arm behind him. He’s trying not to look like he’s trying too hard.
And failing miserably. If I can see how badly he wants to launch himself at Kat, and I’m a guy, she must have sensed it from across the bar. But still, she came over.
