CHAPTER1
?JUST A DOG?
?MARTA
“Listen,Marta, I’m really gonna need you to tighten it up. Your father is gonna kill me, and I one hundred percent cannot bring you back to the brownstone this drunk. Do you understand? Tighten it the fuck up!" my cousin Nick complains loudly. His hands gesture quickly in my general direction.
Nick stands there in his linen suit and badly hidden side piece. He’s as stereotypical asoldato1as ever. There’s one too many buttons undone on his white dress shirt, and a gold cross hangs heavy and nestled in his chest hair. He’s looking at me with a cross between anxiety and annoyance.
I think he’s sick of me manically switching between euphoric, drunk, and so distraught I don’t know how to breathe. But he can suck it the fuck up. This is his job, isn’t it? He’s supposed to take care of me because, apparently, my father thinks I can’t take care of myself.
“Can you cut me some slack? I’ve had a fucking terrible week.” I put a finger up for the bartender to bring me another Aperol spritz. I know this annoys my cousin as I can see his eyes roll, but I don’t give a shit.
“I really didn’t want to say this, because I know he meant a lot to you, but for Christ’s sake, Marta, he was just a dog.”
Just a dog?
“How dare you,” I say almost too softly to hear over the upbeat pop music blasting out of the wine bar’s PA system.
Nick immediately knows he’s fucked up big time.
“Bruno wasn’t just a fucking dog, he was my dog.” I thump my hand over my heart. “He was part of my soul.” I want to cry, but I don’t think any tears are left. I’ve been sobbing nonstop since I had to put my sweet pit bull down.
Bruno wasn’t just a dog, he was my confidant. Even though our brownstone was technically home, it was more of a gilded prison. Home was where my dog was, and now that he’s gone…
Nick just wouldn’t get it. After he clocks out, he gets to go live his life. Being my bodyguard is just a nice way to make a paycheck. Hell, I even convinced my dad to let him do it because he didn’t creep me out compared to all of my other options. I’d much rather have him than one of my father’s stoic mercenaries. He might be a pain in my ass, but he’s still my cousin, and I know I can trust him.
I’m not allowed to do anything by myself. Someone in my father’s position can’t take the risk of leaving me alone. If I get into the hands of one pissed-off rival family, it’s over for me. Being a kidnapping risk lends itself to a less-than-stellar social life. I can’t even convince my Pops to let me get a day job.
Although Pops has a reputation for being ruthless. He’d give me anything, besides the only thing I truly want—freedom. He didn’t know what to do when Bruno died. Even though neither of us is the hugging type, he squeezed me hard when I wouldn’t stop crying. I think that’s why he’s even allowing me this small freedom. To have just Nick here tonight, even though the bar is in our family’s territory, is a big deal.
“I know! Ugh, God, I’m sorry. I’m just a little on edge that your dad is going to break my fucking legs if I take you home right now. Can you at least switch to water?” His face softens, and I realize he’s right. If I come home drunk off my ass, it’s not gonna be me who feels my father’s anger.
Honestly, that’s fucked up, right? How is it his fault that I’m shitfaced? It’s the consequences of my own actions after all. I mean, what would Nick even do? It’s not like he could stop me. Just imagining him trying to wrangle the wine glass from my hands makes me crack a small smirk. Sure, he’s a big badsoldatonow, but I’ve got that miraculous older cousin strength. It’s like some law of the universe that even though he’s technically bigger than I am now, birthright gives me the advantage in family butt-kicking.
He’s here to protect me, so that I can’t be attacked, kidnapped, or killed because of some vendetta against my family. I wonder if it would have been easier for my father if he'd had a son. Someone he didn’t have to protect as fiercely as he does me. I crave the kind of freedom it would have allowed me.
I’ll cut Nick a break, just this once. It is getting late…
“Yeah, I can switch to water. I’m sorry I’m being such an ass”—I turn my head—“and water!” I shout at the barback.
When the bartender returns with my orange and bitter tasting cocktail, I hand it to Nick and gulp down my cup of water in record time.
“I am sorry your dog died.” Nick awkwardly checks his piece at his hip. It’s something I notice he does a lot. Maybe the gun makes him nervous? He’s not exactly a made man yet, which is one of the reasons I had to beg Pops to let him protect me. “I never had a pet, so I guess I just don’t really get it.”
“You know what it’s like for me.” I look around the bar to make sure no one is in earshot. “That because Pops does what he does, I get to live half a life.”
“He only wants what’s best for you—”
“Does he? How could this be the best thing for me? Jesus, this life is a fucking lonely one.” I set my drink down hard on the bar in frustration.
Nick bites the inside of his cheek, as if he’s unsure of what to say. Normally, I would quip something teasing to my cousin to break the tension, but I can’t help my mind from drifting back to my dear departed pup.
After Pops discovered that a rival family had started a dogfighting ring, he decided they needed to be taken down a notch. By the time the dust settled, there were fifteen pit bulls left. It may seem silly to have a crime boss give a shit about fighting dogs, but my father did.
One by one, the dogs were rehomed—until only Bruno was left.
He was unlucky enough to be the bait dog. His gentleness, the thing I loved most about him, was his downfall. Scars marred the whole left side of his face. The pink lines cut through his elegant gray fur.
