She grins and pulls a piece of bread from her roll and lowers her hand. From under the table, Kingston’s harness jingles.
“You’re feeding him people food?”
“He’s had a rough day. But I’m a trained professional. Don’t you start getting wild ideas about feeding him something crazy.”
“Like twenty-six dog treats?”
“In one sitting? That must’ve been a mess to clean up.”
“It was.” I frown. It’s fine when I do it, but she frowns, and it makes my stomach boil. “But tonight, I get a new roommate. I can’t keep staying at my Nonna’s house. It’s degrading for a man of my stature.” It’s a valid excuse, but a stupid one. Because my ego isn’t the reason.
I just don’t want to be in Nonna’s empty house anymore. It’s lonely.
She laughs. “Oh what, you’re a mob boss or something?”
I don’t answer.
Her smile vanishes, and she leans forward. “Wait… Izzy mentioned it, but I thought it was a joke.”
“And the gun didn’t give it away?”
Kingston moves and hops off the chair, walks under the table, and puts his head on my knee. I can’t help but scratch his head, his fur has magnets and my fingers are made of metal.
“This is America… so not even a little bit.” She pushes her food around the plate. “It’s hard to imagine, though. You don’t seem like the mafia type.”
“And what would that be? Are you getting all your information from movies?”
“Joe Pesci from the documentary Home Alone.” She grins her little self-satisfied smile that she does whenever she’s making a joke for her own benefit.
“Yes, well that one is one hundred percent accurate, a very credible source.”
I shake my head. We’re out on the street, in the wide open. I should be concerned about security, but the likelihood of some rando overhearing something they shouldn't—something that will be a problem later—is pretty unlikely.
Leaning in closer to her, I keep my voice low. “It’s a family business. I'm fourth generation. My great grandfather was hot shit in the forties, my grandfather ruled from the seventies to the nineties, until he died. My father was supposed to, but he never got past the legal business phase before he died. Uncle Gio has been running our operation for the last thirty years or so. But he wants to retire.”
She doesn’t react the way I expect. No horror or awe and fear. Her attention is one hundred percent locked in on me, a focus in her eyes I haven’t seen all day. So, I confess. “Then I take over.”
“You don’t sound too excited.”
“There’s no one else.”
I shove a cold gyoza in my mouth. It was better ten minutes ago, but it’s the best stalling option I have before I lay out the truth about me and the family who adopted her overnight.
“Gio knows it. The other uncles know it. It has to be me. I’m a mafia legacy baby, bridging two families—the Irish and the Italian. Both Mom and Dad had ties to the family business. Without me, the Irish mob is already dead in the water since Duncan would never dream of putting his daughter in that sort of risk. Uncle Andrey has been trying to bring Uri in, but no one thinks that’s going to work. Andrey’s already shown he isn’t loyal to his son. The Cartel has Thiago, but he’s making way more money legally than he would running the family business.”
I dip my head. I don’t want her to think we’re total monsters. “We always have legal, legit businesses. We have to. But when I turn thirty, Gio is planning on bringing me into the other side, training me for a few years, and then I step into power.”
“When do you turn thirty?”
“Six months ago. I’ve been strategically dodging him, and with Nonna’s passing, I’ll be able to buy myself a few more weeks. But the conversation is coming.”
“Sounds like you don’t want to be a mob boss.”
I shrug. “There’s no one else. Izzy is a mom and works for Alana. And Donny, his heart isn’t in it. And if I don’t step up, it puts everyone else at risk. No power makes us targets. And I can’t put Drew or any of the kids in danger. At least I can fill the ranks with my men, start shifting the business. I don’t know. It’s hard to know what the right thing is.”
She puts her hand over mine, and her gaze draws me in. “I can’t begin to understand the pressure you're under.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
