“He beat my mother. He drove her to suicide. The only thing I learned from him was what kind of man I don’t want to be.”
Labria moved to stand beside me, following my gaze to the photograph of him. “Then why keep his picture on display?”
I’d asked myself the same question many times. “To remember, the good and the bad, I suppose.”
She reached for my hand, threading her fingers through mine. The gesture was simple but intimate in a way that made my throat tight. “You’re nothing like him. You know that, right?”
I wished I could be as certain as she sounded. “I’m still a Bregoli. Still part of the family business.”
“That’s different. You’re different.”
Was it? I wasn’t so sure. I’d done things in service to the family that haunted my dreams. Nothing as sadistic as what my father had enjoyed, but my hands weren’t clean. No one’s were in this life.
“Hey, I made coffee. Come. We both need a cup after last night.”
I followed Labria downstairs and into the kitchen. I tried and failed in all attempts not to stare at her ass. I had a lot to get out, and I fucked Labria hard and fast last night. I fucked her like it was the last time. Sadly, I never knew when it would be the last time. I was insecure about where I stood with her. I wasn’t an idiot. I was a rebound guy who wanted to be more. I wanted her in my future. She was my dream girl, and I planned on doing everything I could to keep her.
Labria made her way to the expensive Italian espresso machine that had cost more than some people’s monthly mortgage. She went to pour me a cup.
“No, I got it.” I said.
She moved aside and went to gather up some of her legal docs she had spread on the kitchen island.
This strange domesticity had developed quickly between us, as if we’d been doing this dance for years rather than days. It felt dangerous and right all at once, like many things in my life.
“Double espresso for you?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. She’d been specific about her coffee preferences from the first morning she’d spent here.
“Yes, please.” Labria didn’t look up from her papers spread across the marble surface. Her focus and dedication to her job were impressive even with her world turned upside down. There was the breakup, leaving Lord, staying with me, and all the risks that entailed.
I watched her as I worked the espresso machine. I admired the slight furrow between her brows as she concentrated. When she’d shown up at my door nights ago, I felt like I'd hit the jackpot. It was my lucky day that turned into a lucky week. Everything about it was wrong. Family loyalty demanded I turn her away. Instead, I’d stepped aside and let her in. Sure, Lord was my cousin, but I didn’t grow up with him. I couldn’t call him a friend.
“I wish I could be there for you today,” she said suddenly, looking up from her work. “But it’s too soon for me to be seen with you.”
I placed a small cup of espresso in front of her. The rich aroma filled the space between us. “I understand. It wouldn’t do either of us any good to cause trouble with the family.”
“I still feel bad. You shouldn’t have to face this alone.”
I leaned against the counter, cradling my own cup. “I’ve faced worse alone.”
She knew some of my history, more than any other woman who had been in my life. I’d told her about growing up withGianni, about my mother’s suicide, about the years afterward when I’d felt completely untethered. Something about Labria made me want to reveal parts of myself I usually kept hidden.
“Lord would see it as betrayal, any man would.” I said, giving voice to what we both were thinking. “And Nicco...” I trailed off, not needing to finish the thought. My cousin wasn’t known for his forgiving nature, especially when it came to family matters.
Labria set down her cup with deliberate care. “It’s only been a week since I left him. Things will blow over eventually.”
“I know.” I said, but I really didn’t know what would happen when the black cat was let out of the bag. I’d been counting the days, questioning my own judgment, wondering if this thing between us was worth the risk. “It’s not just the timing. You’re his ex, that he invited into the family. I’m his cousin. In the Bregoli family, those lines aren’t meant to be crossed without permission.”
“Do you regret it? This?” She gestured between us.
I considered the question seriously. Did I regret opening my door to her that night? Did I regret offering comfort that had evolved into something neither of us had expected?
“No,” I said finally. “I don’t regret it. You know I wanted you. I offered you friendship because I believed that was all you were willing to give me.”
Relief flashed across her face before she changed her features back to neutrality. She was always the lawyer, careful not to reveal too much.
“Zio, we still need to be discreet. For now.”
“For now,” I agreed, though we both understood “now” might be a very long time. The Bregoli family had long memories and little tolerance for perceived disloyalty. “How long will you be at the office today?”
