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“We took someone’s family away. We might not have pulled the trigger, but we were pulling the strings. If he never met us, he never would have gotten Ricki off and Leonardo never would have gone to jail. It’s a circle. She’s alone. We left a young girl alone. How can you sleep at night?”
“Because I have someone to help me carry my responsibilities. That’s why you need to get married more than I did. You’re tougher than I am, but you’re softer when you let your guard down. You are built for this life, but there will be days when you aren’t. Just like that day with Mr. Porter. You won’t thank me now, but you will later.”
My father is a good man, but he and I have always had the kind of relationship that’s tense. I think it’s because I was molded to take over the head of the Benedetti mafia since I was a child. I was raised to be cold, uncaring, and brutal.
And if there’s one thing I won’t do, it’s admit when my father is right. Admitting that means I’m weak. That’s what I was taught.
I’m already tired of the loneliness this job brings. I’m ready to come home at night and lay my head down, pulling my woman close, so she can take all the stress away from me.
Only one woman would ever do.
I stop outside my studio door, and I fight to slide the key in the lock to take one last look at her beautiful face, but I brush my hand down the wood instead, taking a left down the hallway where I have the entire wing to myself.
A light rain begins to fall, and the large, stained-glass windows reflect different shades of shadows from the rain.
“Dri.”
In a blink, I lift my gun from my waistband and point it toward the voice.
“Jesus, you’re wound tight. It’s me, Otello.” My brother steps from the shadows and turns on the light overlooking the bar.
Thunder rolls outside, and I sigh in relief, shoulders sagging as I tuck the gun back inside. “Otello, what the fuck? It’s midnight. Where have you been?”
“Sooo, promise you won’t be mad?” he says, placing a scotch glass against the handmade wooden slate and then pouring himself a bourbon.
An entire glass. Filled to the brim.
I begin to unbutton my shirt, my head throbbing. “When you say that, it means I’m going to be mad. What did you do now? Rob a bank? Steal from a rival? Who?”
“No and no.” He places his elbows on the counter, sipping his drink. “But promise.”
“What are we, twelve? No, I’m not promising. I just had to pick a wife. It’s Daphne, by the way. So, I’m not really in the mood.”
He spews his drink, and it sprays all over my face. “You can’t marry her! She’s awesome, but you can’t marry her.”
“Try telling father that.” I grab a napkin and wipe my face.
“No, you literally can’t marry her, Dri. I have a surprise for you, but remember, you can’t be mad,” he winces when something from my bedroom thumps against the floor.
I straighten, tossing the napkin on the bar top. “What did you do, Otello?” I chastise him as if he were a child or a dog that peed on the floor.
“So hear me out—” he cringes when something shatters next, which sounds expensive.
“I swear, if it’s a fucking cat, you know I don’t like cats, but you would bring one home thinking I’d love it anyway.”
“It’s not a cat.” He stands in front of me and holds his hands up to stop me from entering my bedroom. “I just want you to keep an open mind, okay? I know more about you than you think. You think you’re so closed off, but you’re not. I’ve known the one thing you’ve always wanted, the one thing you’ve always craved and dreamed about. I wanted you to be happy.”
I shove my brother out of my way and prepare myself to see an animal of some sort. It wouldn’t be the first time he brought home a stray animal. He once left a rabid raccoon in my room because he thought it needed a home.
When I open the door, everything around me fades. My brother doesn’t exist. The fifty-thousand-dollar vase lying in pieces on the floor doesn’t matter.
It’s the woman who is bound and gagged, bleeding on the broken glass shards, and she’s crying.
Mable.
Chapter Five
Mable
