The thought should fill me with nothing but joy, but there’s a whisper of worry threading through my happiness. In Alessio’s world, having something precious means having something to lose. But watching Austin high-five him after winning another round, I push that fear aside. Some things are worth the risk.
32
ALESSIO
I’ve officially becomethe kind of guy who checks his phone every five minutes for pictures of his kid building Lego spaceships.
What the hell happened to me?
“Boss, you’re smiling at your phone again,” Katrina says, sliding a scotch across the bar. “It’s disturbing.”
“Mind your own business,” I mutter, but I pocket the phone anyway. She’s right, though – I’ve been checking Nina’s texts like some lovesick teenager. The latest batch shows Austin demolishing her at Jenga, then both of them covered in flour from what looks like a cookie explosion in my kitchen.
Ourkitchen. Where my family is making a mess while I’m stuck here watching some college kid gyrate on a pole.
“Never thought I’d see the day,” Katrina continues, clearly enjoying this. “Alessio DeLuca, domesticated.”
“Say that again, and you’re fired.”
She laughs and moves down the bar. At least she knows when to quit.
The truth is, I barely recognize myself these days. Just a few months ago, I lived at this place. Now I’m counting the minutes until I can get home for dinner and bedtime stories. I used to think guys who chose family over freedom were weak. Turns out they just knew something I didn’t.
They knew what they were missing.
I scan the club, noting the usual Friday night chaos. The new girl Starla hired is working a table of polo-wearing douchebags who look like they just stepped off a golf course. Cherry’s making her rounds, and everything looks smooth.
Too smooth.
The door opens, and Joey stumbles in like he’s walking through quicksand.
What the hell is he doing here? We agreed he’d stay deep undercover until he had solid intel. Seeing him here means something went very, very wrong.
One look at his blown pupils and flushed cheeks, and my blood turns to ice. He can barely focus on me as I push through the crowd toward him.
Fuck.
He hits the ground before I can get there. I drop to my knees beside him, pulling his head into my lap. His skin burns like he’s running a fever of a hundred and ten.
“Call an ambulance,” I bark at the nearest bouncer. Under normal circumstances, we’d handle this ourselves and avoid anyofficial involvement, but Joey doesn’t have minutes to spare for protocol. I cradle his head as his eyes roll back. “Joey. Hey, look at me.”
“Drink...” His voice is barely a whisper. “They spiked my drink...”
Son of a bitch.
“Stay with me, kid.” I shake his shoulders, but his eyes are already fluttering shut. Heat radiates off him in waves. Our chemist warned me what Lightning does. Sudden heat. Glassy eyes. The body shorting out. Joey is ticking every box. “Who did this? Give me a name.”
“A...” He struggles with the word, his breathing shallow. “Aron?—”
Then the seizure hits.
I roll him on his side, wedge my jacket under his head. His heels drum the floor. A crowd forms, keeping their distance thanks to the bouncers. The bass from the stage keeps thumping like the room does not care that a kid is dying. The ice bucket Katrina brings is useless. We both know it.
I’ve seen death before, caused it more times than I care to count, but watching it take someone this young, someone under my command, makes my hands shake as I try to help him.
In that moment, staring down at Joey’s face, I see Austin. I don’t know why—they look nothing alike—but suddenly all I can think about is my son’s amber eyes and the way he asks me to read just one more chapter before bed.
This kid has a father somewhere.Hada father.
