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Fierce eyes met fierce words. I stared into them, taking in all she’d let me see before relenting.
She needed this. Clearly.
Knee deep in liquor and lashing out was a state I saw too often in this bar.
I nodded. “Fine.”
I’d let her have this.
She looked like she needed it, and contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t a complete asshole.
I unbuttoned the top two buttons of my button-down shirt, removed my cufflinks and placed them in my pocket, sat on the stool beside her, and gave her my full attention—knowing this wasn’t my typical protocol with employees.
Normally, I’d fire their asses for drinking the inventory; write a severance check on the spot, so I wouldn’t have to see them again; and call them a cab to avoid a lawsuit.
Her lips connected with the rim of the vodka bottle. She tilted her head back and swallowed.
“My mom died today. Twenty-nine years ago.”
I racked my brain, thinking back to her employee file. Fuck. Ariana turned twenty-nine today…which meant her mom probably died giving birth to her.
I opened my mouth to say something, but there was nothing to say.
I understood hating birthdays. Mine was in a week, and I already knew how it would go.
A quirky call from Tessie. A text from Gio, Uncle Eli, and Uncle Frankie. A text from mom if I was lucky. A visit from Uncle Vince, and a gag gift from Asher.
I’d spend the night alone, and aside from a few texts, it’d be any other day.
Ariana set the bottle down and turned to face me, her eyes clear for how much she had drunk.
“I don’t have a single memory of her. Not one.” Her laughter surprised me, punching me in the throat, where everything had been bottled up since I’d met her. “Granted, I don’t have a single real adult memory anywhere. Not since college. You know, I have a job—a job some would consider good and honorable—but I don’t feel either of those things. I don’t know who the hell I am or what I want to do with my life, and now I’m twenty-nine, feeling like my life has spiraled into something I can’t stop or recognize.”
I didn’t know what she meant by that for her, but her words resonated with my life.
I was thirty—thirty-one in a week—and I didn’t feel like life went beyond the motions. I had a family I refused to let down but no desire to do the things they wanted from me. A job I liked but didn’t love. A sister and son I adored but rarely saw.
My life stood at odds with the type of man I was—an unapologetic taker. But how could I take what I wanted if I didn’t know what I wanted or how to get it?
Besides her.
I wanted her.
I slid the vodka bottle away from Ariana, considered taking a swig, but decided one of us needed to be sober.
“There’s always a way to stop things. To live life on your terms and only yours.”
It never ceased to surprise me how I could dish advice, but I couldn’t take it. Asher or Niccolaio would come to me with questions, and I’d always have answers for them but never for myself.
Ari swung her head back and forth, the movement a little sloppy. “Maybe because you’re Bastiano Romano, but for us normal people, there’s not always a way to take what we want. Not even close.”
“What does being Bastiano Romano mean to you?”
“It means you’re ruthless.” She leaned forward and poked my chest, the tiny digit not even moving me a centimeter. “It means you can do whatever you want, create the future you desire, and make the choices you want to make. It means full autonomy of your own life, and I fucking hate you for it.”
She was so far off, it almost pissed me off.
“Careful,” I warned. I grabbed her finger when she went to poke me again. “You know nothing.”
