Page 75 of The Bratva King

He doesn’t look at me when I walk in.

I move to the couch and sit down on the other side. Not too close.

The cartoon is midway through an episode. SpongeBob is trying to get a boat license. I have no idea what the appeal is. Luke watches it like it holds the secrets of the universe.

Maybe it does.

“Good day?” I ask.

He takes a moment to think about it.

“Kylie made lunch,” he says. “It had the sauce.”

“Ketchup and mayo.”

He nods.

“Did you eat it?”

“Yes.” He pauses. “She made it wrong.”

“How so?”

“Too much ketchup.”

I look at the screen. He’s right. The ratio matters.

“I’ll show her,” I say.

He seems satisfied. We watch the cartoon, though I’m mostly just sitting in the same room with it. The annoying laugh is good background noise. I can work through the problem in my head until it makes sense.

I’m missing something. I don’t like incomplete pictures. I need to see the whole thing before I decide what to do with it. Fucking with my casino is typical for the Italians. The fake delivery is testing my security.

Following Luke is something else. I’m sure of it.

“Your mom will be home soon,” I tell him. “She’s working a little longer.”

He nods without looking at me. He knew that. He wasn’t worried.

The cartoon plays on.

She’s working extra hours because she wants enough money to leave. I made her feel that way because of the way I handled our kiss.

I wanted it, but not like that.

I wanted to bend her over the desk. Take her in my bed. Anywhere she’d let me have her, to be honest. I wanted to bury my cock deep inside her. Taste her. Fuck her until we were both satiated.

I’ve paid for women. The transaction is easy. I prefer it. But I don’t want that from Gabby. I want the real thing. I need to know she’s choosing me, not repaying me for putting a roof over her head.

So, I stopped her. And I did that wrong. I offended her, which was never my intention. And now, she’s working extra hours so she can get away from me.

I’ll have to fix that.

I’m not sure how.

“Are you hungry?” I ask him.

“Is it dinner time?”