Page 18 of His Sinful Need

I was surprised to see women among them when I walked in, though I hope I didn’t show it. Honeybee is a nice kid, and although Jazz is much more reserved, I don’t mind that at all. Her fingers are dirty and calloused, her black hair buzzed short and unstyled. Her attitude seems to be a firmNo bullshit, and I like that in a team member.

Given that the Esposito Boss—Maestra, whatever—is a woman, I suppose I should have expected women in the front lines, too. The Espositos originated in a different area of Italy. They’re not Sicilians and they’ve always kept themselves separate over here in the States. Women running the show is not uncommon among their clans, and I’m interested to see if that makes any difference in the culture—or the work.

“Hey.” A nervous Rook has shuffled over to me. “Thanks for that today.”

“No problem.”

“And…please don’t tell Julian Castellani what I said before,” he adds in a whisper.

I grin. “You got it.” Rook and Giddy tried hard to redeem themselves today after a rocky start. They need more experience, sure, but everyone starts somewhere.

“Hey, Bricker!” Pony calls out, his voice cutting through the clatter of tools as we all clean up. “You promised, man—first round tonight on you if we sidestepped the Bernardis on that shipment, and we sure did. Making good on your word?”

“Not tonight,” Bricker says with regret. “Need to make sure our guest is comfortable.”

Tank re-enters the room from the hallway, wiping down his bald head with a rag. “Come on, it’s been a while since we all went out. Jazz? You in?”

“Only if you losers are buying.”

Van grins and looks over at Bricker hopefully. “Come on, Cap. Don’t leave us hanging.”

Bricker leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. His gaze flicks between Van and Tank before finally settling on me. “Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “I want to keep an eye on Pedretti tonight. Make sure he’s settling in alright.”

I keep my grim smile to myself. My first day with the Espositos has gone reasonably well, considering, but I have a long way to go before they trust me. And apparently, Bricker has no plans to let me integrate with his crew on a personal level.

Yet.

“Suit yourself,” Van says with a shrug, but the disappointment is evident in his eyes as he heads for the door, Tank trailing behind him.

“See you tomorrow,” Bricker calls after them, his voice casual, but I see the tension in the set of his shoulders.

The room empties out, leaving just Bricker and me. I wipe down the already-clean workbench again, trying to ignore his gaze on me. He watches my every move. Assessing. Calculating.

I wonder what he sees when he looks at me.

“Max,” Bricker says, his voice low and steady, “you rub down that bench much more, it’ll wear through. You done?”

I glance up at him, nodding slowly. “I’m done.”

“Then let’s hit the road.”

I follow him out to his car, watching the way his long legs swing out. He’s a cowboy, this Bricker Soldano. His crew worships him. And I can see why.

But I’m curious about him in other ways. Does he ever see his father? How’d he get into the Family? Fabi flirted with the Mob from time to time, but stayed out of it so far as I know. Unless he made some contacts in Chino, looking for protection for his son.

And what lies underneath all of Bricker’s playful banter and calculated bravado?

The drive back to Bricker’s house is quiet, but an amiable quiet this time, the silence after a hard day’s work. “Make yourself at home,” Bricker says when we get into the living room, gesturing to the old leather couch facing the huge flat-screen TV. He clicks it on for me, turning to a sports game that he sighs at when he sees the score. “Hope you don’t mind a simple dinner,” he throws over his shoulder as he heads to the open kitchen. “I got bread and I got bacon. So…bacon sandwiches?”

“Sure.”

The room soon fills up with the aroma of grease and hot, melted butter. There’s a hint of garlic and onions sizzling in the pan, along with the smoky scent of charred bacon. My belly growls, and when Bricker hands me a plate with two bacon-packed sandwiches, I stuff my mouth right away. Grease and salt explode over my tongue, the perfect combination of crispy bacon and melted provolone on toasted bread. A small sound of pleasure slips out around the sandwich.

“Good, right?” Bricker says, sitting on the other side of the sofa with his own plate. I can only nod, my mouth full of pig. “Yeah, no one can resist my bacon sandwiches. Van swears I put some kind of drug in them.”

Amusement wars with apprehension as I swallow my mouthful. “And do you?”

“Nah.” Bricker flashes a grin. “Wouldn’t wanna mess with the flavor.”

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