Eros
I lean back in my leather chair and watch Lycus pace back and forth in front of my desk. "You lost your mind," he says, shaking his head. "Seriously, bro, you lost your f*****g mind."
I finish my whiskey and swirl the ice. "Maybe."
"Not only is she an Italian, but she's f*****g Chris Conti's mob wife." He stops and stares at me with astonishment. "How the hell did you get yourself involved with this? I always thought you were the responsible one. Maybe a little emotional—"
"I am not emotional," I growl at him.
"Case in point," he says and groans. "Seriously, how did this happen?"
"Bad luck," I admit but inwardly think maybe it was good luck instead.
"You have to cut it off. Give the girl some money, put her on a plane, and fly her out to f*****g Barbados. Wash your hands of all
