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The way she said it, like she knew something that I didn’t, caused me to narrow my eyes.
“Why?”
“Have you seen the Romano family?” She paused. “Bastiano Romano has a reputation. Maybe it’s all rumors, but even if one percent of it is true—good luck, girl. You’re going to need it.”
I hated that, for the first time since I’d met him, I’d finally pushed Bastian out of my mind for a minute, and she’d pushed him right back inside.
But she was right.
Bastiano Romano was first and foremost a Romano. And the Romano family was tight-knit.
Secretive. Intense. Impenetrable.
They had their lives locked in a vault—booby-trapped, rigged to blow, heavily guarded, and padlocked from the general public despite the recognition their name garnered worldwide.
If you put anyone up against them, I would have bet on the Romano family to win every damn time.
Including against the bureau.
But I was a De Luca, and depending on which side of the law you sat on, that was the closest a girl could get to invincibility.
Chapter
Eight
It is the duty that separates men from boys.
APORVA KALA
BASTIANO ROMANO
Motherfucker.
Dildo breath.
Cum stain.
I sorted through my inventory of curses as Gio and I sat in a corner booth at the bar, waiting for Uncle Vince to show up.
I loved my Uncle Vince. The man got me like no one else did, but he was always goddamned late, and no amount of love made tolerating his tardiness any easier.
Especially when I marinated in the company of Gio while he was in rare form.
“How about her?”
My dad pointed to a girl sitting alone at a center table.
With her dark hair and heavy Italian features, I recognized her immediately.
“Gio.” I raised my eyebrows and shot him a glassy stare. “That’s my cousin.”
“So? The British do it.”
“Not for a few hundred years.”
I caught a flash of skin as a girl approached the table, adjusting the neckline of her dress along the way.
She’d gotten a few feet from our booth when Dana moved to intercept, narrowing in on her like a frat boy at a two-for-one lap dance sale.
