ALESSIO
The slot machine’sjackpot alarm cuts through the casino noise like a fire siren, all flashing lights and electronic celebration.
Some kid who looks barely legal jumps up and down, clutching her winning ticket while her friends shriek loud enough to wake the dead.
“Oh my God! I won! I actually won!”
The crowd swarms toward the commotion like moths to a flame. Typical. One jackpot and suddenly everyone thinks they’re the next big winner. These idiots will throw their rent money at the machines for the rest of the night, chasing that high.
Good for business, I suppose.
I stride past the chaos toward the Italian restaurant, ignoring the hostess who straightens hopefully as I approach. The main dining room buzzes with conversation and the clink of silverware. Place is packed as usual. Not surprising, since they serve authentic Italian food that lives up to the hype.
The private room calls to me from the back. It’s where we conduct family business now.
As soon as I step inside, the smell of garlic and basil fills the air. Real Italian cooking that reminds me of my mother’s kitchen. My stomach growls in protest.
When’s the last time I had a decent meal that didn’t come wrapped in paper?
My Uncle Lorenzo sits with his back to the wall, naturally. Always watching the door, always ready. The man taught me that you never sit where you can’t see who’s coming for you.
We share the same build, the same dark hair, though his is starting to silver at the temples. People say I look more like him than my own father ever did. Good. I’ve always been grateful for that resemblance.
When my father walked out on us, Lorenzo stepped up. My mother and I lived with him for a few years, and I learned what it meant to be a real man. My father was weak and selfish, probably still is for all I know. Haven’t seen or spoken to him in twenty-eight years, and I don’t plan to start now.
Lorenzo is everything my old man wasn’t. Strong, cunning, loyal to his core. He values family in a way that coward never understood. Lorenzo can be fierce when he needs to be, even ruthless, but never without reason. He’s fair. A true leader.
Definitely a better role model than the man who gave me half my DNA.
His new wife feeds him arancini like they’re still on their honeymoon. Mia looks relaxed and glowing, clearly fresh off their trip. She’s young, younger than me even, but anyone withhalf a brain can see this isn’t some arranged marriage bullshit. Lorenzo married her to form an alliance with her father, but somewhere along the way it became real.
They’re actually in love. Lucky bastard.
“Could you guys be gross somewhere else?” Luca calls out from the next table over, making a face like he just tasted sour milk.
I bite back a comment about respect. Kid’s always pushing boundaries, thinking his bloodline gives him a free pass. Lorenzo’s glare shuts him up fast enough, though. Some lessons you learn the hard way.
I take my seat and nod toward Matteo. We’re just waiting on one more.
“How are things at the club?” Lorenzo asks. He trusts me to run things without micromanaging, but he likes to stay informed.
“Smooth. Tossed a couple of drunks last week, nothing worth mentioning. My manager hired fresh talent—she starts this weekend.”
“Sounds boring as hell,” Luca jumps in, because the kid can never let a conversation flow without adding his two cents. “Should’ve kept the casino gig.”
Matteo snorts. “Boring? It’s a strip club. How’s that boring?”
“I can get pussy any night of the week.” Luca grins like he just invented sex. “Women can’t resist the Andretti charm.”
Mia laughs and elbows Lorenzo. “You didn’t mention your son was such a ladies’ man.”
“Half the shit that comes out of Luca’s mouth should be ignored,” Lorenzo says dryly.
“And the other half?”
Lorenzo considers this. “Never mind. It’s all bullshit.”
“How dare you turn my new stepmom against me!” Luca gasps, hand to his chest like he’s been shot.
