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A problem I swore to correct after I felt brain matter splatter against my skin.
A problem that I’ve kept a tight fucking hold on since that day.
I scold my overactive brain and shake my head to clear it of the fog from my memories.
I risk a glance up again and watch her saunter back to the front of the store, and I drink her in like the crazed man I am. I trace the outline of her fucking sweet birthing hips and linger on her peach-shaped ass. While I may not be a religious man, I’d gladly get down on my knees and worship those curves of hers.
The moment she gazes out the floor-to-ceiling windows that span the length of the small used bookshop, she waves. Her palm sways haphazardly as those dainty fingers of hers twist and wiggle and then beckon someone inside.
I set the King novel down and stealthily move to my next spot. A spot where the carpet’s become worn from my shoes over the past few weeks. I do my best to not let her see me. I’ve never spoken a word to her, and luckily for me, her shop is usually fairly busy.
There’s always someone talking her ear off about something, someone ordering a coffee and expecting her to sit andchatwhile they drink the whole damn thing. As if she has nothing better to do than coddle customers for the price of a used fucking book and a cup of coffee.
My favorite entrance/exit is located in the back of the store and leads to a cobblestone alleyway with other shops. It’s really unsafe. She should probably rethink that method of entrance…
I take my eyes off of her only to grab a new book and check which section I’m now in.
Non-Fiction.
I smirk when the first book my gaze lands on is one about the most notorious crime families in Chicago. Willing to bet I know a few men in these pages.
The bell above the front entryway door chimes, and I carefully conceal my stare as I lower my body behind the stack of books and glare over the top of a row of paperbacks. I make sure my face is concealed in case one of the fuckers happens to look over in my direction.
Three men amble in, and she flings her arms around the neck of the shortest of them. EnzofuckingGreco.
The man, the myth…the fucking traitor.
But it’s okay because apparently he’s going to start siphoning information to my family. I wonder if she knows about that or if she’s as in the dark about that as she is about his other…extracurricularactivities.
One would think I’d be appreciative of the lucky bastard.
I’m anything but.
Because the fucker is married toher.
And I will never appreciate a man who puts his hands on what is mine.
Sure, he may have a legal document stating their union, but what do I have?
I have an unhealthy obsession that gnaws at my brain like it’s fucking fish food.
I have an untamable voice telling meshe is mine, she is mine, she is mine,and I think that overrules his little scrap of paper.
She pulls away from him, and he barely acknowledges her. Her expression falters, the brightness in those pretty green doe eyes of hers fizzling out as she runs her fingers through her hair, pushing down her feelings.
She’s an expert at it, after all. Even an insufferable idiot could figure that out. I saw the way her smile wavered right before she gestured for the men to come inside. I’m a betting man, and I am willing to place money on the fact that she’s upset about something when it comes to that bastard.
Good.
I can deal with her being upset if it’s because of him.
Enzo hands her a to-go container, and the three men head toward the door. I know the other two. Dante DeSantis and Leo Gallo. All three of the men are from the DeSantis family—our sworn fucking enemies. The men I’m supposed to hate, but two of them?
Dante and Leo are two men I think are decent human beings. I’ve interacted with each on separate occasions, particularly before our family’s alliance went to shit about a decade ago. They are nothing like Enzo.
Nothing like myfatherand a majority of the men he’s brought up.
Including me, to a point.
