“Connections are important. Bloodlines are important. Arranged marriages are not uncommon for families like ours. Your uncle might not be so old school, but others are. And many of those families are very interested in being connected to the DeVilles,” she says, her voice filled with pride. Yeah, that’s why they’re still married. She doesn’t want to be an ex-DeVille, even if she hates us all.
When I don’t respond, she narrows her eyes. “You’re going to marry a girl from whichever family I pick and start working toward a respectable career. You don’t have a choice.”
Fuck. This. Shit. With every intention of packing my shit and walking out the door with no real plan, I push away from the counter and take a few steps toward the doorway but stop when Dad’s voice fills the room.
“Marco.”
“Marco, what?” Mom snarls.
“Luca has another choice. He can join Marco’s crew.”
Mom’s face pinches so hard it looks painful. “What would he even do there?”
“Whatever the hell Marco wants him to do. Most likely, things that he’s more suited for. Luca was never going to be a lawyer or doctor, Tina.” Dad sends an apologetic look my way, but he’s not wrong.
Whatever. Of the two options, one’s clearly the lesser evil for me personally. Which is almost humorous. I’m not sure what all Marco’s got his hands in, but I know most of it isn’t legal. But it doesn’t involve college or a wife. “Guess I’m moving to Vegas,” I grumble.
Dad’s on the phone before Mom can say another word. She’s obviously not happy that her grand plan has been blown to shit, but she’s not going to say anything now that Marco’s involved. She storms out of the room, and I go pack.
A few hours and one short flight from Reno to Vegas later, my whole world has changed.
Leaning my head back against the headrest, I blow out my breath in a loud sigh, breaking the silence. I’m pissed about everything and feel like I have no control over my own life.
“You hungry?” Marco asks.
I resist the urge to glare at him. “Do I look like I’m ever not hungry?” I’m not joking. I’m 6’7” and was built like a god damned tank even before I started training every day. Plus, I don’t joke. My life is a joke enough as it is. I don’t need to add to it. It’s been a long time since I felt lighthearted enough to joke around. In the ring, I’m known as The Grim Goliath, but even when I’m not fighting, most people call me Grim.
A little black Maserati flies by us on the freeway, and I let out a low whistle as my eyes follow it. “Damn, that’s a nice fucking car.”
“That’s my fucking car,” Marco grits out as he presses his foot down harder on the gas pedal and we pick up speed.
“Seriously? Why didn’t you pick me up in that thing? I might have cracked half a fucking smile ifthathad been waiting at the airport.” Meh, probably not. I can’t remember the last time I smiled. But apparently, anything’s possible, given my current situation.
“Because that car was stolen over a year ago, and it’s been missing ever since. Except for when it’s fucking not because at least once a month, someone spots it. Whoever took it, they have it hidden well, drive like a professional, and aren’t afraid to die because I’m going 125 right now, and they’re still pulling the fuck away.” Marco sounds almost impressed. Almost. And also pissed. Mostly pissed.
“How the fuck did one ofyourcars get stolen?” I know he’s got a huge wall around his house, trackers on probably everything he owns, and goons stationed everywhere. I might not have everbeen to his place, but I’m not stupid. Marco DeVille runs a mother fucking empire. Maybe it’s the actual mafia, and my uncle’s an honest-to-god mobster. I don’t know the details. But whoever stole a car from him has big balls. Or a death wish. Or both.
“They didn’t take it from the house, they took it from a parking garage that had shittier cameras than we realized. They found and removed all the trackers in the damn thing before we knew it was gone. They get away every fucking time one of my guys chases it.” He bangs his hand on the steering wheel, then drags it through his dark hair as the other car continues to pull away. “I keep getting calls from the officers on our payroll asking me to stop driving it so fucking fast.”
“The cops don’t know it’s been stolen?”
Marco looks over at me, and the way his eyes assess me makes me feel like I’m stupid as fuck. He doesn’t involve the police in something like a stolen car.
Duh, bonehead.
“Never mind,” I grumble. The Maserati is nothing but a distant pair of red lights now.
Marco sighs. “Fuck, I miss that car. Mia won’t let me get another one.”
I scoff. “Yourwifewon’t let you get another one?”What a pussy.“I thought you were the boss around here.”
“I’m the fucking king, but Mia is my queen.” His tone is sharp. Marco’s definitely not as tall or as broad as I am, but there’s no denying the fact that he’s scary. He doesn’t need size or muscle to get that across. Marco DeVille simply oozes power. “Luca, someday, if you’re lucky, you’ll meet a woman who will become the center of your universe. A woman your entire world will revolve around. If she tells you no Maserati, then no Maserati.”
I huff and stare out the window at the desert. Like fuck I’m ever letting some chick have that kind of control over me.
Chapter 3
Just a little bit reckless, okay?
