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“The Amato lady, huh?” he asks, concern written on his face plain as day.
Mafia men aren’t known to be the most loyal bunch, but me? I was loyal as fuck to Julissa. She and my son were all I needed after a long day of business. It was never the type of love you fucking read about in books. But it was young love that turned serious when we had a child together. We were both committed to our son, to giving him the best life we possibly could.
The other women I’ve been with… It’s all been purely just for a release.
Until Giana.
Until that perfect-as-sin woman walked into my life and spun everything on its axis.
She was meant to be used as payback, and now that I can’t think of her being anything other than mine, I’m at war with myself over it. I fucking hate that I’ve allowed this to happen, but if this has taught me anything, it’s that I want her.
I fucking need her.
“Don’t remind me,” I say, trying to play off my feelings for Giana as I readjust myself in bed, my body aching as I move. “I’ve fucked up in more ways than one.”
I shake my head just as my father walks in.
Romeo DeSantis is a force to be reckoned with. He isn’t one of those mafia bosses who doesn’t give a fuck and likes the view from the top. He’s one of the best guys I know, a top-notch man even in this fucked-up business we’re in.
While the rest of the Amatos are out fucking with the cartel and sorting through millions in drugs, Romeo DeSantis prefers his family to come by money in a more ethical way. As ethical as a mob family can be, anyway. We don’t fuck with drugs, and we don’t hurt our women. We may launder money here and there, may deal with some rather shady characters, but never the cartel or their fucking junkies.
“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite boys,” my dad says with a smile.
His facial hair has grown out since I saw him a few days ago; the gray he has seems to have multiplied. I can probably thank myself for that.
“What about Uncle Lorenzo and Uncle Rocco?” Antonio asks, referring to my brothers.
I haven’t seen Rocco in a while. He’s been on a mission of his own lately.
Dad laughs and shrugs. “I won’t tell ‘em if you don’t, kid.”
My dad is too fucking good to us. I often wonder why he didn’t leave this life when he had a chance. He’s not your typical mafia boss, at least not like the ones I’ve met. He stands back. Observes. Remains quiet and calculated. The others I’ve met talk too damn much; they try proving their points through yelling and threatening.
Not Romeo DeSantis. When I was a kid growing up, I told my friends he owned a diner. My friends always said how that was such a perfect job for him because he seemed so friendly and nice.
And he is.
Until he isn’t.
Until it comes to protecting his own.
Then he’s the fucking opposite of soft and nice and friendly.
“You wanna tell me what you were doing mixed up with Giana Amato, son?” Dad asks, pulling up a chair for both himself and Antonio. “I mean, I know I told you to hold off until I could come up with a plan, but I didn’t mean you needed to spend your time rolling around in bed with her.”
I’m clearly not getting out of this without the two most important men in my life hearing about my dirty laundry.
Antonio rolls his eyes as a look of disgust spreads out across his face.
“Hey, you’re welcome to leave, kid,” I tell him with a shrug.
When he doesn’t make a move to go, I tell them.
I tell them about everything after the meeting I called when I first explained I had her under the roof. I leave out the sexual shit, but I explain how she got under my skin, how I implanted a military-grade, microscopic tracking and audio device in her necklace under the guise of giving her a massage, how I wanted to use it to get intel—or try to. How the plan was foiled when the Amato crew blew into the room like a fucking tornado.
“A woman getting under your skin is pretty rare, isn’t it, boy?”
I consider my father’s question. Maybe not so much consider as wanting to evade the truth—because he’s right.
