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I clench my fists. "He’s suntanning with Dino."Or so he says."You’ll meet him when you’re ready to include us in your activities."
Lazaro crosses his arms over his chest. "We already told you why we didn’t invite you."
"Yeah," Santino says. "We’ll invite you to brother drinky drinky night at the bar down the street tomorrow—because we know you’ll be up. Sue us for wanting to make sure we didn’t interrupt your slumber."
Faro cozies up to me. "Is Mattie cute like Ryder, Cyan, and Enzo?"
I glare at Faro. "I’m not telling you."
Faro spins to Giosuè. "Have you met him yet?"
Giosuè shakes his head. "I’m waiting for my grand introduction."
I push out a growl. "Mattie will meet you lunatics when he’s goddamn ready. Lay off."
Picking up my beer, I take a much-needed sip.
I’m hanging out on the back patio with my brothers to relax from my busy work tracking down Mattie’s abductors.
All morning, I’ve buried myself in spreadsheets and cellphone tower maps, trying to find the last location where Mattie’s cell—which he said his abductors stole—pinged.
I even put out a line to see if my connections in Tuscany heard any new intel regarding the Riccardis—such as whether they’re still alive—to see if they might be behind this.
I discovered nothing.
I tick my eyes up to my brothers. First, I spot Marcello. At six-foot-five with dark cropped hair and deadly tattoos, he’s a stunning specimen of a man. He has brown eyes and bulging muscles that drive boys wild. The mysterious scar on his jaw that none of us know how he received doesn’t hurt.
My gaze shifts to Lazaro next. He’s taller than Marcello at six-foot-seven, and his height speaks to the maturity within him. His right arm boasts a snake tattoo with Arabic writing—he’s never shared why he got it.
Santino draws my attention next. At six-foot-ten, he towers even over me, the second-tallest member of the clan. His eyes are black and specked with gold. Something dark and deadly sits within them.The scars criss-crossing his body make me think he's done some fucked-up shit.
Then—against my will—I stare at Faro and Giosuè. Both boys are petite, teacup-sized with slender limbs and wide green eyes. Neither look legal, although Giosuè is a bit beefier than Faro.
My brothers and I paint an enviable picture of male virility. When we were growing up, Lazaro, Marcello, Santino, and I could barely walk down the motherfucking street without causing men and women to stumble over their feet.
It’s not easy being this incredibly good-looking, but we’ve lived long enough to navigate these choppy waters—such as crazy ex-boyfriends becoming obsessed.
Faro waggles his eyebrows. "Quit staring at me,fratello."
"In your dreams." This comes out as a snarl.
Giosuè pivots toward Lazaro. "I have a question I’ve been meaning to ask you. Have you beaten off with Tommaso lately?"
Lazaro’s cheeks flush pink. "If you don't forget that, so help me God, I’ll slit your throat and toss you in Mount Etna."
Giosuè shrugs. "Inquiring minds want to know."
Here’s the deal withthisshitshow of a story. When Lazaro and Tommaso were growing up, they wanked with each other in Nonna’s swimming hole.
When I learned about this, I couldn’t believe it—even though I wasn’t surprised.
Cousins will be cousins. It’s not like they impregnated each other. All it was was a little jerk.
What’s the big deal?
Lazaro smacks his forehead. "I’ll go Rambo on your ass if you don’t knock it off."
Marcello nudges his ribs. "Don’t be shy."
