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It’s fucking tough as hell being in love with a woman that I can’t have. She’s repeatedly told me no when I’ve asked her out, but she’s also never really explained why. When I ask her why she doesn’t want to go on a date with me, she just says, ‘I can’t.’ Not that she doesn’t want to, just that something is stopping her.
“When I have those thoughts, it’s hard to keep going. I spend the rest of my days counting down the hours until I can leave for Junction City. Then as I’m sitting there waiting for her to come onstage or find me in the crowd, I play these little games with myself.”If she smiles at me when she comes out, I’ll know she likes seeing me. If she comes to see me on purpose, I’ll know that she wants to be with me.“But it’s time, Riccardo. I’m tired of playing games. I’m tired of driving two hours both ways just to catch a glimpse of her. I’m bringing her back tonight. I have to. I just can’t go on without her anymore.”
Maybe it’s my clingy, needy side. Perhaps it’s normal to feel this way. But Havana Camden has changed everything about me. I used to think I didn’t want a wife or kids because then my attention would be divided between my family and the Family. But now I can’t imagine living the rest of my life without Havana in my bed every night and her belly full of my seed every year. I want her to pop out a dozen Riva children. I want to spend months and years trying to knock her up. It is part lust, part longing—but it’s 100% need. Me needing Havana.
“Tonight, I’m bringing her home. And if Nicholas Calvino tries to stop me, I’ll kill him,” I promise my brother. “I’ll kill him right where he stands and tell the Valentis I want a reward for it. They don’t like him any more than I do.”
Riccardo snorts in derision. “If you say so. But if I wake up tomorrow and find out that I’m in charge of the Rivas, Jax is going to be pissed.”
I love Riccardo’s wife, Jacqueline. She brought my brother back from the edge. I would never make her a mob wife. Riccardo only plays on the fringes of our lifestyle; I would never force everything our grandfather built onto his shoulders.
8
HAVANA
“Where are we going?” I should have asked when I got in the car, but I was too busy planning an escape. Then the car got on the interstate and started rocketing down the highway at ninety miles an hour, and I didn’t want to try escaping by jumping out of a speeding vehicle.
“Home,” Lorenzo says. “The Valentis have Manhattan. The Calvinos have Junction City, to some extent.” He tacks on that last part as though it doesn’t quite matter. “The Rivas have Lawrence.”
Lawrence, Kansas. Home of the Jayhawks. I’m almost tempted to sayfuck KU, but I bite my tongue. Growing up in Junction City made our family K-State fans, but I’m not sure that’s important right now. “What do you mean byhave?” You can’t own a city, right?
Lorenzo tosses a quick look my way and the car never crosses the highway lines. “I mean, if you want to commit crimes in Lawrence, you’ll get away with them for a hot minute, but after a while, someone will come knocking on your door. They’re going to want a cut of the money, or they’re going to make you stop. Because nothing happens in Lawrence that doesn’t go through the Riva family first.”
That doesn’t make any sense to me. Obviously, kids that go around stealing from candy stores and toy stores don’t run their plans by the Rivas. “How do you know who’s doing what?” I feel dumb even asking that question.
He sighs heavily, but not in a frustrated sort of way. It sounds like explaining all the details would be cumbersome, and he’s trying to figure out the most succinct way to answer my questions. “The Riva family is quite large. If you’re regularly selling drugs on a street corner, taking protection money, or boosting cars, chances are we know about you. And you only exist because of our goodwill.”
Despite the temperature-controlled interior, I feel a chill run down my spine. “Oh,” is all I can manage.
We drive in silence for five minutes, passing no one on our side of the highway. One car goes by in the opposite lane, moving toward Manhattan as we continue our trek to Lawrence.
“You’re taking this surprisingly well,” Lorenzo announces. “I expected you to kick and scream. I brought rope,” he shoots a glance my way, “and duct tape.”
I don’t know how to respond to that. Am I supposed to be afraid? Because it feels like there’s a chunk of cement at the bottom of my stomach, and I think that’s a manifestation of my fear. “I’m not the kicking and screaming type.” Though going forward, I’m going to look into it. If I were the kicking and screaming type, maybe I wouldn’t be in this mess.Or perhaps you’d be tied up and duct taped in the backseat,the little voice reminds me.
Or there’s that.
“Do you want to know why I’m doing this?” Lorenzo peeks at me from beneath the corner of his eyelashes. I keep my gaze facing forward and shrug my shoulders. “Talk to me, damn it. We’ve spent months talking, Havana.”
But I wasn’t taken to the parking lot of my job and forced to get into a stranger’s car at gunpoint,I think to myself. That’s the biggest difference between all the conversations we had in the Diamond room and the absolute silence we’re in now that he has me in his car.
“You’re going to have to talk to me eventually.” His fingers tighten around the steering wheel, and even in the darkness, I can see his knuckles devoid of blood. “We’re getting married by the end of the year, and it wouldn’t bode well if my wife is a mute.”
Sickness rises in my throat, and I can’t suppress my reaction this time. I shoot him a look of utter fear—wide eyes, jaw dropped, pale face. “We’rewhat?”
Lorenzo snorts in derision. “Oh, now you’re interested in chatting,” he says with a self-satisfied grin. “Well, if you must know, yes, Jacqueline is planning our wedding. She’s very good at it, believe me. You should have seen her wedding.”
“Jacqueline?” I frown. “Planning our wedding?”
“Sorry,” Lorenzo tosses me a sympathetic look. “I thought I told you about her. That’s Riccardo’s wife.”
If he’s told me about Jacqueline, I can’t recall because my adrenaline is racing and wiping out every thought my little brain manages to hold onto.
“Anyway, she’s a wedding planner,” he explains excitedly. “When I told her I was getting married, I’m not sure she really believed me. Ric’s told her that I’m a lifelong bachelor, which I guess was true until I met you.”
I allow Lorenzo to ramble on about our impending wedding while I go over every detail of the last six months. What did I miss? I know it was something. I did something or said something that told this man I wanted to marry him. Unfortunately, I can’t put my finger on it. “Why?” I interrupt him in the middle of a sentence I wasn’t listening to.
Lorenzo looks confused. The moonlight shines through the window and highlights his bewilderment. “What?” The single word is clipped and unsure.
