Page 8 of Stroke of Luck

“Um… okay, not really sure what to do with all that,” I venture, going over all the information and trying to get something to stick. “Why was I drunk at the time?”

“It was St. Patrick’s Day and you were at an Irish bar with friends,” Giorgi informs me. “We happened to bump into each other there. I wasn’t stalking you or anything.”

This conversation just gets weirder and weirder.

“That sounds like something I would do… now that I legally can drink. Okay, so I was with friends. They have to be looking for me. I lost my cell phone in the water, but what about the rest of my stuff?”

Paolo shrugs. “I didn’t see you with anything, and I didn’t find anything on you when I got you out of your wet clothes. So you could have left it in the bar with your friends.”

I perk up at that. “That’s great news! We can go back and see if they have my stuff!”

“No,” Othello snaps, slamming the door on that idea.

“Why the fuck not?” I demand, furious that he won’t even consider it.

Othello looks down his perfectly sculpted nose at me. “Because I said so. That’s how it works here in La Famiglia. I am the Don, which means that what I say goes, and those who question it could be considered an enemy…”

“Great, we’re back to threatening now, all because I don’t agree with everything you say? Are you an only child?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Aren’t you?” he counters, cocking a brow at me.

“Takes one to know one, asshole,” I bite out, my frustration growing.

Othello pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a sigh. “Yes, but I’m not… Was there a point you were trying to make?”

“Look, I get that I’m new to this whole mafia way of life, but just because my parents have connections to things doesn’t mean that I’m automatically lumped in with them,” I argue.

“That’s exactly what it means,” Remo interjects, his deep, gravelly voice pulling my attention. “How involved you are in the business is up to you, but you are still a member of this famiglia, and that means they own you.”

It took everything in me not race over to Skyler, scoop her up and get her the fuck out of this house. I never wanted her to be touched by this life. It had been seven years since I saw her last, but the bright, warm energy that had drawn me to her was still present, and I can’t see her lose it. With everything I’ve done to prove myself to Othello, there is no way I can be with someone like her.

Paolo grew up in this world, and he understands what’s involved. Hell, his father had been the underboss for Othello’s old man before he died.

Paolo has the same light in him as Skyler, one that he hides from everyone—even from me—but on rare occasions it peeks out. Since Skyler walked in the door, I’ve seen him give more genuine smiles than I have in months.

The stress of always watching your back and testing those around you for loyalty is exhausting. Paolo is our money man, keeping track of every bit of cash that passes through our enterprises, down to the smallest drug dealer who skims for himself. Then it’s his job to inform Remo, who sends his men to deal with it—unless the offense requires Remo’s personal attention.

Much like the situation that happened last night and the real reason we can’t go back to the bar.

Ten generations of Irish and Italians have and continue to hate each other, making it a constant battle for turf between the two powers that ruled Chicago. Othello and Aidan had managed to find a way to make peace work, but not without a massive effort of keeping all our men in line. If anyone in La Famiglia acted against the Irish or their businesses, then they were dealt with harshly. Only this time, Remo farmed out the job to our assassins since he thought the traitor was going to hit our meeting. It would be too fresh for us to show back up now without answers for them—better to leave it a mystery for the time being.

“You have to be joking?! No one owns me,” Skyler yells, outraged at Remo’s declaration.

Othello, Remo, and myself might be the only people who know about the deal with Skyler’s parents, but the rest aren’t stupid. There’s something different about this situation and they know it… everyone but Skyler, that is. I can only imagine the fury that’ll come when she finds out about the arranged marriage—she’ll definitely blow her top and do something rash.

Earlier, as she was recounting the times she saved my ass from trouble, she neglected to share about how many times I kept her out of jail. Skyler was fierce and loyal, but she didn’t think things through before she acted, and that type of personality would get her killed twice as fast here. Although I’m surprised at how Othello is letting her mouth run wild, almost as if it amuses him to have her scold him. No one else would still be alive, not even Giorgi.

“I think this has all been a little too overwhelming for you, baby girl. Why don’t you sleep on all this and we can start fresh tomorrow?” Othello looks to Paolo, giving a nod in her direction. “Paolo, you don’t mind our guest using your room again, do you?”

“My, my, Othello has jokes tonight, how surprising.” Paolo grins as he reclines on the couch. “Firefly is more than welcome to share my bed with me anytime she wishes, I would never turn her away.” Paolo winks as he sits up.

“No, she will be sleeping alone. I have no doubt that you can find someone else to let you bunk with them,” Othello orders as he heads up the stairs.

Paolo pouts but doesn’t argue, knowing it won’t get him anywhere.

What I find more interesting is that Skyler is the first woman in years that he’s actually been interested in. Sure, we’ve invited a few to our bed to play, but it was made very clear that this was not going further than that one night. I was far more willing to share him with the occasional woman since he typically prefers men. This is also why I’ve never let him stray from my bed or let another man in ours. Paolo loves me and is committed, but Paolo also loves to be loved, and if others show him that, it would be hard for him to resist. Yet the way he’s been acting around my Skyler gives me pause.

Also, the fact that I keep calling her mine tells me something about myself that I will need to address at some point.