“Oh my, what big hands you have,” I said as he peeled my hand from his shirt. “You know, we’ve really got to stop getting this close. And I’m not a Fed. I’m in town taking care of my ma. Look at her.” I gestured with a nod.
“Looks sweet,” he said, flicking my hand away, but that feral something in me was desperate for it to touch my skin again. It made me feel skinny to have him hold me like I was fragile—I was far from it, but it was nice to feel like it again. “I know all about you, Kalen O’Ryan, and I know that you’re overqualified for any position at the Palazzo. You’re sniffing around the wrong beasts.”
I shook my head. “I’m not sniffing around anything.”
“Don’t think about coming into the Palazzo tonight,” he said, slowly nodding his head. “I’m being very clear and very serious about that.”
I could only smirk at the comment, partially out of nervousness, but there was a level of teasing that begged me to go in and see what would happen—he wasn’t exactly going to hurt me, especially not if he thought I was a Fed.
“Kalen,” my mom called out. “Is your friend coming for dinner?” The sound of the wheels on the cart began getting louder as she increased the force she pushed it with. “You might as well invite him, you’re making a feast.”
Rocco stared down at me, tilting his head. I couldn’t ask him. I wasn’t inviting him inside—like a fucking vampire, youdidn’t invite the mafia into your home. They’d wipe you off the face of the earth.
“He’s busy,” I said just as she arrived. “And he’s got to go. But I’ll see you around.” I looked back at him and winked. “Okay?”
His gaze was intense, white hot almost. “Okay,” he let out with one single heavy breath.
I hoped I was in his head now, and I was ready to stumble into whatever shady underground operation the Bianchi family were running—there were only so many whispers I could get an investigation started around. I needed proof they were shady.
3. ROCCO
That little fucker. I didn’t know what he was tripping on, but he wasn’t going to be getting me. There were the markings of a confidence con in his eyes, like he was gonna get me on my back in a bed before putting some chloroform onto a rag and snuffing me out for the evening while he pillaged my bedside drawer and anything else he could get his seedy Fed fingers on.
The big underground poker game was happening this weekend, and I was going to make sure he wasn’t around for when the high rollers came to play with their dirty cash. It was going to be a lot of fun, but it wasn’t going to be held if he was still hanging around, at least not at the Palazzo, and members of the games hated a last-minute change of venue. There was nothing like a change to get them riled up and antsy.
I met my brother at the construction offices. We needed to talk, and he was busy making the building look busy. The offices were used by some of the associates and soldiers during the day, cosplaying people who worked in an office when they were mostly just in online gaming lobbies, playing first-person shooter games, something Santo had read online about improving shooting accuracy.
Sitting opposite him, I had a snarl fixed to my face—it was a hard habit to slip out of. Our father had sat in that seat, and would usually say something misogynistic or homophobic that we’d all have to grin and bear.
“I’m worried about Tomaso,” Santo said, grabbing a hard crystal paperweight and squeezing it like a stress ball. “He’s not been in contact with anyone, and Mom’s checked the entire property to make sure he’s not lying in the garden somewhere. She’s even turned the sprinklers on a handful of times.”
I didn’t reply fast enough, and my brother cocked his head as he stared at me. “I’m sure he’ll turn up when he needs something,” I said. “Like money.”
“I doubt it,” he laughed. “He’s got access to money.”
“Has he used any of his cards?”
“No, which means he doesn’t want to be found.”
“He’s probably fucking his way through the state,” I said. “I’m not worried about him, and you shouldn’t be either.” It wasn’t unlike our brother to go missing, but stranger now since he wasn’t hiding from our father. “You should pick up smoking again.” I snickered, which he didn’t appreciate.
“Fuck you.” He slammed the paperweight down on the table again.
The office door opened and in walked his boyfriend with that sweet smile of his. He pranced almost, and I missed the idea that there was someone out there for me. If Santo had someone, I guess I could have someone now as well. Isaiah had started out as Santo’s assistant, and he still dressed the part in the shirt and slacks. “I’m sorry,” he said as he walked inside. “You told me to tell you if there was any sighting of Tomaso, and I think I found something on Insta.” He walked up to us, presenting his phone.
Santo patted his lap, and Isaiah sat on it, giggling.
“I should leave you alone,” I said.
“Oh, shut it,” Santo snapped. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Turned out Tomaso was somewhere in New York. It made sense he was out of state. Nobody had seen him. The location was of an underground garage party, which seemingly went on for extended periods of time and where people took party drugs to get through the marathon of dancing that seemed to take place there.
“At least he’s alive,” Santo said.
“No more worrying,” I laughed.
Santo scoffed. “I wasn’t worried. I just gotta keep Mom in the loop. She’s always asking.”
