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"You can’t juggle two relationships at the same time."
"Look, man," I snap. "I didn’t tell you this—it wasn’t your fucking business. The day I got your text that someone had taken Mattie, I was actually coming back from visiting Trevion. Remember—I told you I’d give himone more chance.That was it. He didn’t show interest when I swung by. I ended things."
"Did youtell himyou ended things?"
I glare at Tommaso. "That’s not how it works in prison. You never burn bridges—you don’t know who’s batshit insane or who’ll shank you in your sleep."
"You’re out now,cugino." Tommaso cuffs my shoulder. "Tell him—it’s not fair to keep him thinking that he might stand a chance."
Oh, honey. Iguaranteeyou Trevion doesn’t give two shits about me.
"Trevion is trying to manipulate me," I growl. "He checked out of our relationship when he started sleeping with Darnel behind my back."
Amadeo turns to Vincenzo. "Prison ho drama is exciting."
"It’s just likeOrange is the New Black," Vincenzo drawls.
Tommaso glances around. "We have to get back to New York so we can hit up that dive bar we love. I miss shooting the shit with that crazy bartender."
Amadeo, Tommaso, and Vincenzo have an interesting relationship with this one particular bartender to say the least. He charges them extra to drink in his establishment because they’re so damn annoying. He has photos of the boy bandWonder Rectionplastered on his walls—he’s gay which was a shock to my cousins.
Amadeo makes a face. "I want to head somewhere else."
"Our bartender is the only person in Manhattan who won’t rat us out to the authorities," Tommaso growls.
Vincenzo smirks. "Not a bad point."
I pick up my gun and fire again.
Bam.
This time, I’m not thinking about my killer shot.
I can only think about Mattie and Trevion.
Trevion was a fucking asshole to me and I want nothing to do with him.
I have to end things before I make any more moves on Mattie—it’s the right thing to do.
ChapterTen
Mattie
I dip my finger in the yellow paint and then bring it to the canvas.
The sunflower I’m creating develops another leaf.
Medici nudges my ribs. "You’re Van Gogh."
I shoot him a look. "The patronizing compliments can stop."
He snickers. "I’m serious. Your finger-painting reminds me of Van Gogh’sSunflowers."
"Which ones?" I crack my neck.
"That’s a good question. I think his Paris ones."
I shake my head. "You’re thinking ofHaystacks.He never painted sunflowers in Paris."
