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When I started to get a headache again, I touched Alberto’s arm. “I’m going out back,” I told him. “Keep an eye out for me and Martina?” He nodded and stood up, standing near the exit so he could see me and Martina both. I was grateful Papa had forced me to bring him, even though I thought I wouldn’t be. I walked out back, looking around for Ricardo, but there wasn’t anyone outside. I wished I had a cigarette, although I’d given the habit up when I was still just a teenager. It was just that kind of night. I was remembering my rebellious teenage years, when I wanted nothing more than to run away with Rocco Moretti, spend every single night in his arms.
“Your boyfriend guarding you?” someone said beside me, and without even looking, I could feel Rocco’s presence, smell his aftershave mixed with tequila.
“You’re drunk,” I accused without even looking at him.
Rocco stood in front of me, too close, so close that I could lean up and press my mouth against his if I so wanted. I wouldn’t look him in the eyes but he grabbed my chin, forced me to look at him. “Is he your boyfriend,stellina?” he asked softly, and something clenched my heart in a vice when he used that old term of endearment.
“You must beverydrunk,” I said dryly, wrenching away from him and backing up against the brick. “No one said you could touch me.”
“You used to want me to touch you,” he said, his tone low, his sea-green eyes tumultuous although glassy.
“What are you even doing back here?” I asked, and Rocco looked away, not answering. “What, you’re still just babysitting Ricardo?” I asked disdainfully. “Is that what you wanted for your life, Rocco?”
“We don’t always get what we want,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “And maybe I am drunk, because all I want to do is knock out that guy glaring at me over there.” He pointed to Alberto.
I gave him a slow smile. “Go right ahead. He’ll kick your ass,” I taunted, and Rocco set his jaw. He used to be kind of a hothead, especially when it came to me. He was protectiveandpossessive, and it had been one of the things that attracted me to him. I stood there, staring at Rocco, licking my lips, but when he leaned down I panicked and pushed him away. “Stay out of my life, Rocco,” I spat, and he stumbled backward when I pushed him.
I stalked back in and put my arm on Alberto’s shoulder as he stood stiff at attention. “It’s okay,” I muttered. “Just take us home.” My head was spinning from more than just the alcohol. I needed to get away from Rocco Moretti before I did something stupid.
Again.
4
ROCCO
I leaned back against the brick, my head spinning, the world tilting on its axis, and cursed Ricardo for providing the tequila, Allegra for making me want to drink it, and myself for being so fucking stupid. I was in no shape to wrangle Ricardo into a car, so I called Enzo. “Rocco?” he asked, half-asleep and his tone worried.
I looked down at my phone, the numbers swimming. It was after four in the morning. “Shit,” I cursed, hearing the slur in my own words. “Sorry,capo.”
Enzo chuckled. “My son must be on a bender if even you sound like this. I’ll send a car to get you.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled gratefully, unsure I could even walk to the front of the building. I managed to give him the address.
“Thank you for looking out for him,” Enzo said, and then sighed. “I guess he didn’t make it through the meet.”
I felt a pang of guilt. It wasn’t Ricardo who had dragged us out of there but me, but Enzo didn’t have to know that. He knew what kind of man his son was, so I’d let Ricardo take the fall. God knew I’d taken enough of them for him. “He didn’t,” I admitted.
“I guess there will be more meets,” he said finally. “Car is on the way, son.” My heart warmed when he called me that. Since my own father had died when I was young and had always been a mean drunk anyway, Enzo was sort of my surrogate father. I said “thank you” again, but Enzo had finally hung up.
I took in several deep breaths and finally felt sober enough to go back into the club to find Ricardo. He had a redhead hanging off his arm at the ATM, and I grabbed his shoulder. “Time to go,” I growled.
Ricardo must have heard the edge to my voice, because he didn’t complain. “I’ll be back tomorrow night,” he crooned in a slur to the redhead, and she pouted at him. He put his arms around her but I pulled him off, dragging him to the exit. I usually would be sober and irritated with Ricardo, but I’d chugged enough tequila to down a horse and was now in the same boat he was, hanging my head out the window of the car Enzo sent in case I threw up. Allegra Rossi had been standing right in front of me, and I’d said the most jealous and stupid things. God knew what I would have done, what I would have said, if she hadn’t pushed me away. What had I been thinking? Tequila had been fuzzing my thoughts and my inhibitions, but I couldn’t completely blame the booze. I knew the guy who’d been with her could easily have been a bodyguard and not a boyfriend, but my tequila-soaked brain couldn’t stop with the what-ifs. What if that guywasher boyfriend? What if he was holding her every night, looking into those brown doe eyes each morning?
My stomach rolled, but I managed to make it back into Enzo’s mansion and the downstairs bathroom before I threw up tequila and bitterness. I figured I’d pass out the moment my head hit the pillow, but once I stumbled upstairs all I could do was stare at the ceiling, imagining Allegra with someone else’s hands all over her.
Around dawn, I got a few thin hours of sleep before my alarm went off at nine in the morning. I groaned, my head pounding, and threw my phone against the wall. It shattered and I cursed, knowing I’d have to pick up a new one. I’d come back to New York City from upstate with just the clothes on my back and the Camaro Enzo had gifted me when I was a teenager. I guess that was what happened when you went away to prison. I’d spent five years inside for assault and battery, even though the guy had nearly died at Ricardo’s hand, not mine. Enzo hadn’t even had to ask me to take the fall; I’d offered. Fat lot of good it did. Ricardo was back in trouble with the law before I’d been inside six months.
I’d had plenty of time to think. Most of what I’d thought about was Allegra, and so far that hadn’t changed. I suddenly remembered last night, standing too close to her, threatening to beat up the guy who was with her, and I cringed at my own drunken behavior. I guessed I owed her an apology, but I didn’t think that she’d accept it. Hopefully, I wouldn’t run into her anytime soon.
I made my way to the shower, hoping to get rid of the smell of tequila and stripper perfume, and I spent too long under the hot water, staying until it turned freezing cold. I felt like shit. I was too old to be drinking like that with a twenty-five-year-old, and way too old to have given a stripper five grand. I didn’t know what had been wrong with me last night, but I was pretty sure it had a lot to do with Allegra Rossi.
By the time I came down for breakfast, I felt less like I was going to vomit, and breakfast helped a lot. Enzo stared at Ricardo at the end of the table, who was moaning and groaning about a hangover. “I guess you should have stayed at the meet instead of going to the strip club,” Enzo said irritably, and Ricardo looked at me.
Don’t, I mouthed to him, but of course he did. “It was Rocco who wanted to go,” he complained.
“Right,” Enzo muttered, and I sighed in relief that Enzo didn’t believe him. I didn’t think Enzo would kick me out for going to a strip club when I was supposed to go to a meet, but at the same time, I didn’t want to find out if I was right. “Then you’ll make up for it by setting a meeting with Rossi.”
I groaned inwardly. Romeo Rossi was Allegra’s father, and I knew Enzo did a lot of business with him despite them being rivals, but I didn’t want to accompany Ricardo along for a meet. Allegra would be there, right at her father’s side. She’d always been a dutiful daughter.
