I brush off his commanding tone. My stomach is magically open for business, thanks to the mouth-watering scent of deep savory umami and earthy spices. I’m such a slut for food. I think I even mutter an ’mkayas I take a seat—this sofa, at least, is comfortable.
As soon as he places the carton boxes on the coffee table, I grab one. The fragrant smell of grilled dumplings fills my lungs. I pick one up with my fingers, but it’s searing hot, and I let it drop back in the container with a wince.
Luca swears before pulling the lollipop out of my mouth and passing me a pair of chopsticks. I take them and glance at him for a moment, but he isn’t looking at me, just opening the other boxes on the tabletop. I’m too hungry to analyze his unusual actions right now. I focus on the food, and for the next few minutes, we eat in silence.
“Obsessed with food that is void of any and all nutrients,” I think I hear him mumbling a while later. Thespoiled bratat the end is loud and clear, though.
“Spoiled brat?” Spoiled? I drop the half-empty box of fried rice back on the coffee table. “I barely know my father, never lived with him in his huge mansion. Never spent any holidays or celebrations with him. Never got anything from him. I know nothing about being spoiled, nothing about the family and all that Mafia crap!”
“How do you get by then?” he asks, cleaning his mouth with an indifferent air.
Fuck! “A…sugar daddy?”
“Try again, Lucio Rossi.”
Shit! I’m fucked. How does he know mybusinessname? Wait a minute. “Did you break into my safe? You bastard!” I jump off the sofa and turn his way with balled-up fists.
“I’m surely not the bastard here.” He tosses the used paper napkin on the table and then aims a smug look my way.
Is he hinting at my mother? She was a prostitute who got pregnant with Jack Enzino’s son—me. She left me with him and disappeared. Never knew her name, never cared.
“I wonder where you got the capital to buy those clubs.” His unfazed voice hides a sinister threat. “Did Daddy help? Was this his idea from the start? Pretending you were the black sheep to launder money through those clubs and maybe prostitution, drugs? All under our noses, a couple of those establishments are on Leone’s turf. Did you have a laugh with him and your brother?”
I take a step back, not liking how horribly he is twisting my life. “You got it all wrong.”
I bought those clubs with my money. The only thing my father did was force me to live in that fucking apartment to keep an eye on me. After I turned eighteen, he stopped sending me money—the amount was ridiculous anyway. I don’t know how he thinks I survived after that; he actually doesn’t think about me unless he needs to use me.
“Explain then.” Luca’s condescending tone rubs me the wrong way.
I can’t tell him about how I made money by selling information. He’d think I’m a snitch—which technically is true—even though I never talked to the police. I started it because it was a lucrative business, but when I discovered I could also hurt my father’s empire here and there, I jumped at it.
“I think you’re a scheming, deceitful liar who’s been neck-deep in the Enzino family’s business for years,” he spits between gritted teeth.
I might be scheming and pretending to be something I’m not, but I don’t work for anybody! “Go to hell!”
“Have been there since I met your brother,” is his sharp reply.
“That makes two of us!” I let it slip, blinded by anger.
“What is that supposed to mean, ah?” He stands, facing me, and grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“Nothing.” I cross my arms and pull my head back, making his strong fingers let go. I sit on the sofa once again, avoiding his stare. I wait for one of his threats while insisting on more answers, but it never comes.
“Eat,” I hear him say after a long minute of silence. He walks away as I take the box of food with a trembling hand. My stomach is in knots, but I shove the rice in my mouth, chewing it very slowly. Tastes like sand. Luca remains in the kitchen, and when I finally dare a look, he’s drinking a glass of whiskey, staring at nothing.
“Can I have one?” I ask with a soft voice. I’ve never needed a drink more than tonight.
I expect him to ignore me, but instead, he pours some into another glass and brings it to me. I don’t understand him tonight. Why has he been kind? Is it because of the shooting? I do feel a little differently about him now. The way he shielded me and held me close. Something…I can feel changed between us.
I grab the glass, and when he turns his back to me, the urge to explain overwhelms me. “The clubs are mine. Mine. That’s why I used a fake name, no connection with the Enzinos whatsoever, and I want it to continue that way. You can easily check that. Ibought them on Leone’s and Coretti’s turfs because I didn’t want my father or brother to find out.”
“Why?” He turns my way again and takes a sip from his glass.
I do the same before answering. “Why?” I raise my hands in the air before lowering them down. “Because they’d take the clubs away from me. Because I don’t want them to taint all my hard work with illegal shit. Because I fucking hate them. Is that enough of an explanation?”
He keeps drinking, standing a few feet from me with those cold, angry green eyes.
“Can you give me an answer now? Who shot at us?”
