Page 3 of Diego

That gets another brief laugh out of him while I pick up my coffee. It has gone lukewarm during the discussion of my unexpected housing crisis, but I drink it anyway. “It won’t be for long. A couple of weeks, maybe.”

Lorenzo arches a brow.

I lower the cup. “I hope.”

“That sounds very optimistic.”

“I’ll find somewhere.”

“You could always stay in a hotel.”

“I could.” There is no shortage of suites available to me. I could make one phone call and have a room for as long as I wanted, complete with housekeeping, room service, and far less noise than I’m likely to get at the boys’ house.

The problem is that living in a hotel is appealing for approximately three nights. After that, it is exactly what it is: living in a hotel. Not my bed, not my sheets, not my towels. Not mine.

I shake my head. “It won’t be that bad.”

Lorenzo leans back in his chair and studies me. “Have you managed to convince yourself?”

I give him a look. “Yes, I have.”

He stifles another laugh.

I ignore that because he doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of my response.

Besides, I barely have time to be home most days. Between Conti Enterprises and the other responsibilities that never appear on a corporate organizational chart, I spend more hours away from my apartment than in it. I’ll sleep at the boys’ place, shower there, and perhaps eat there occasionally if their refrigerator contains anything besides beer, protein shakes, and questionable takeout containers. If I look at it that way, the arrangement is survivable.

Lorenzo glances toward my phone. “How long do you have to get your things?”

“Access is limited starting this afternoon. They’re arranging supervised entry for tenants after that.”

“So you’re moving today.”

“I’m having people handle it.”

“Ah.”

I look at him over the rim of my cup. “Did you expect me to spend my morning carrying boxes?”

“I expected nothing. I’m simply enjoying this.”

“You have a pregnant wife at home. You should be a kinder man.”

His expression softens immediately at the mention of Donna, a change so familiar now that I barely need to see it to know it happened. Six months pregnant and newly married, she has managed to make Lorenzo happier than I have seen him in a long time while also giving the rest of us endless opportunities to tease him.

It is disgusting, and I am happy for him.

“How is she?” I ask.

“Good.”

“And the baby?”

“Also good.”

There is satisfaction and happiness in his voice, and I nod as I set my cup down. “Good.”

Lorenzo watches me for a moment before saying, “You can stay with us, you know.”