“Oh boy, how do I start,” she says sheepishly. “Seems Jimmy here has stuck a Lego block up his nose. I can’t—”
I raise a hand. “Happens more often than you think, ma’am.” I wink at the kid. “And Dr. Carter here is exactly the person to help.” I reach for a clipboard beside me and hand it over to her. “If you’ll just fill out these forms, Doctor will see you in a moment.”
Andy has slipped into “professional mode” and is wearing a practiced smile designed to set children at ease. She might be a hound dog, but she’s the best pediatrics specialist I’ve ever worked with.
“Well, young man,” she says firmly, “I sure hope you’re not planning to build an entire house up there!” The kid giggles, and his mother smiles then goes back to filling out the necessary forms. I step away, relieved to be out of Andy’s crosshairs for a moment.
As I move about the workstation, a low buzz draws my attention to my phone tucked discreetly beneath the counter. A message from my dad lights up the screen.
I’m sorry, babydoll. I wish things could be different. I’ll pay it off as fast as I can, I promise. The man who holds the debt is Dario Caraldi. He’ll be in touch.
I feel my heart plummet. It’s real. This is really happening. My own father has fucking lost me to some gambler. And now I have a name for this animal. Caraldi. Dario Caraldi. I rub my forehead. I’m a whirl of emotion, and aside from my horror, there’s rage. Sheer rage.
I grip my phone with shaking hands as I send a reply:Fuck you. I never want to hear from you again. You’re dead to me.I don’t wait for a response. I block his number. He can rot in hell for all I care. Though I know how these things work. Even if I never see my father again, in a town like this, with the people he mingles with, I’m still responsible for his debts. If there’s one thing I’ve learned after twenty-eight years of cleaning up after him, it’s that there’s no way out of this. I look at his message again.
Caraldi…
Why does that name sound familiar?
Chapter 4
Dario Caraldi
“Papà! Papà, why do you sleep the whole day?” a small voice breaks into my dreams, and I groan. I don’t want to wake up. It’s midafternoon. It’s unlike me to be out of action at this time of day. But last night…
Last night was like nothing I’ve done in years. And it’s the reason I want to return to my dreams. She haunts them. Those eyes. Those lips. That sweet pussy…
“Papà!”
Fuck!
Daniele is tugging at my sleeve, and my thoughts are inappropriate in the presence of my son.
“Alright, alright, I’m up,cicchio,” I grumble groggily, rising slowly. My hips are stiff. So are my thigh muscles. It makes me want to grin.
“Don’t call mecicchio,” the dark-haired child objects. “I’m not a baby!” He pouts.
“Well, excuse me, Senor Caraldi,” I reply. I stand and stretch, feeling luxuriously stiff. Working out daily provides a different kind of exercise. It’s been too long since I had a woman in my bed. I’m out of practice.
“Papà!”Dammit.The kid’s insistent. “Raoul is waiting, and…”
“Hey! Who’s your ‘Raoul’?” I raise an eyebrow. He looks sheepish.
“ZioRaoul,” he corrects. “He’s been waiting for ages. He said to wake you up. I was also worried.” His brown eyes are sincere. Daniele and I may share the same hair color, but that’s where the resemblance stops. Mainly because he’s not mine. Not by blood, anyhow. The unplanned child of a Russian whore might have had a very different life if his mother hadn’t been smart enough to leave him on my doorstep six years ago. Well, not quite on my doorstep. But close enough. She figured since I’d fucked her a few times, she could arrive unannounced with the newborn, claiming he was mine. And then offer him to me for drug money.
Fucking cunt.She’ll rot in hell one day.
But her son won’t. I’ll make sure of that. DNA tests may have disputed it, but he’s my son now, in all ways that matter. I’ve never tried to identify his biological father – perhaps Native American from the warm tone of his skin. I don’t care either way. He’s the most precious thing in. my world. His small hand is in mine as he leads me to the door and down the hall. Voices from the informal living room tell me it’s not only Raoul who is waiting for me.
“Well, look who’s up,” the voice of Mateo Ricci greets me. I want to groan all over again. It’s going on 4.30 p.m. The pair of them are wearing their training gear for a bout of grappling. After we set up an MMA club a few years back, we’ve made a point of keeping on top of our game. Which means a not-negotiable rolling session every day.
Fortunately, I’m in shorts and a tank top. I changed after I got home from the meeting with my father and uncles this morning. And then I crashed. Raoul is looking at me with narrowed eyes.
“What the fu- heck is up with you, bro?” he asks, checking his language as Daniele flops into a chair beside him.
I shake my head. “Late night,” I answer. He doesn’t look convinced. Takes a hell of a lot more to put me out of commission. “Maybe too much Cutty,” I add. It’s a bullshit excuse. Both know I’m not a whisky man. Nor do I ever drink too much. It’s a weak man’s habit and fogs my head.
“You sure about that, man?” Raoul won’t let up. Mateo remains silent. As my second-in-command, he knows full well I’d booked into the penthouse last night. The man knows more about me than my own family. Not that my family know much about me at all, anyhow. My kid brother is opening his mouth to start speaking again. From his expression, I know it’s going to be full of shit.
