“Call Dad and tell him we have some trash that needs disposed of,” I tell Lil without taking my eyes or gun off the crybaby still calling me names. I kick him a few more times, though.
Chapter 4
Can I get a cheat sheet?
Luca
Marco drives in the same direction as the Maserati until we lose sight of it. When the red tail lights are gone, he lets out a deep sigh and exits the freeway somewhere called Finch Hills. A few minutes later, we pull up behind other cars waiting to order at a drive-thru I don’t recognize.
“What do you want?” he asks when we finally reach the speaker.
I look over the simple menu board for Gordie’s Burger Barn and hope the food is decent because the whole place doesn’t look like much.
“Double bacon cheeseburger, bucket of fries, and a root beer unless they’ve got something stronger.”
His top lip raises slightly at the corner before he orders our food and sodas. “A shit load of the spicy ranch. And two strawberry shakes with extra whipped cream and birthday cake sprinkles, but don’t make them until I’m at the pick-up window,” he adds.
“Of course, Mr. DeVille,” a voice says through the cracklingspeaker, even though he didn’t drop his name. Maybe the strawberry shake thing is a code. Are we picking up money? Drugs? Body parts? What the fuck does extra whipped cream and birthday cake sprinkles mean?
This place is far enough away from the Strip to make me think the number of cars in line this long after the dinner rush is because the food is actually good. Except I can’t get excited about it because I’m too fucking worried about what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. I can’t remember codes for shit.
Marco rolls up his window and inches forward. I raise my eyebrows, and he stares back at me, his eyes dark and intense. No wonder he’s a mob boss or crime lord or whatever his title is. I bet most men are scared shitless when he looks at them like that. The longer he stares at me, the more I start to wonder if being his nephew doesn’t count for shit. Clearing my throat, I shift uncomfortably in my seat but don’t break eye contact.
Marco’s face betrays nothing. Not. A. Fucking. Thing. The car in front of him moves up, and he shifts his eyes to the windshield, but I don’t feel like I won our staring contest or whatever the fuck that was. For the next few minutes, I silently panic about the strawberry shake code as we move through the line. Music drifts in from somewhere, and Marco fucking taps his fingers along to something I’m pretty sure is Taylor Swift.
We pull up to the window, and an employee takes Marco’s black credit card. “I’ll get those shakes ready for you, sir,” she says cheerfully as she returns it to him. Another employee hands Marco a couple of sodas, which he puts in the cup holders between us, and then a couple of bags, which he passes over to me. There’s two burgers, two buckets of fries, and more containers of dip than I want to count. Nothing out of the ordinary.
“Here are the strawberry shakes.” The bubbly employee gives Marco the shakes. Actual pink shakes, topped with whipped cream and colorful sprinkles.
What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On?
Marco thanks the girl, taking the handful of straws she offers after putting the shakes next to our sodas in the center console and giving her a twenty dollar bill as a tip. Feeling like an idiot, I shove a few fries in my mouth while Marco pulls into a parking spot. They’re lightly battered and seasoned, and I think I’ve died and gone to fry heaven.
We divvy up the food and spicy ranch and after we start eating, I finally break.
“What’s the deal with the shakes?”
Marco smirks the tiniest smirk. “For Lil and Ariana.”
“Who?” My forehead crinkles in confusion. I only recognize one of those names.
“Your cousin Lilith,” he says slowly before taking a bite of his burger. Jesus, I can’t tell if he’s being a smart ass or thinks I really am fucking stupid.
“No shit.” I roll my eyes and grumble, “I meant the other one.”
“Ariana. Our other daughter.”
“When the hell did you have another kid?” I know he and Dad aren’t close anymore, but fuck. Don’t people send announcements or something?
Marco shakes his head. “We didn’t have another kid, Luca. We brought Lil’s best friend home to live with us.”
“You let Lil’s best friend move into your house?” I’ve never really had a best friend, let alone one I would want to live with. “When did that happen?”
“Mia and I have raised Ariana since the girls were five.”
“Why?” I hate that I’m so confused, that I had no idea they basically adopted a kid.
“She punched some little asshole in kindergarten for being mean to Lil, and then we found out her home situation was… less than ideal.” His free hand tightens into a fist briefly before he stretches his fingers out.
