Chapter 5-2
1458 Words
Junior
Madonna, she cooks.
She cooks, she cleans, she’s a better nurse than Florence f*****g Nightingale. Where did this woman come from? It’s stupid, but the fantasy of keeping her here beyond Gio’s recovery flashes through my mind.
Desiree waiting at the door for me in nothing but high heels and her lacy b*a and panties, a drink in hand. Desiree on her knees, taking my c**k deep while I conduct business on my phone.
It’s wrong and f****d up and so damn appealing.
I get a hunk of parmesan from the cheese drawer in the fridge and bring it to the table with the grater.
She grins. “Right. I forgot the cheese.”
“What’s funny?”
“I just figured there were risks in preparing Italian food for a Sicilian. I knew you’d get me on something.”
I grate cheese on both our plates, then open a bottle of red wine, pour each of us a glass, and sit down. “I’m not getting you on anything.” I take a bite and nearly groan with appreciation. She added fresh garlic and maybe some wine to the sauce and it’s absolute perfection. “At least not on your cooking.”
She meets my gaze, the usual challenge there. “Yeah, well, if you want some scared little bunny who jumps and scurries every time you give an order, she isn’t me.”
I shovel another bite of food in my mouth. It’s so delicious. “We’ll talk about it later,” I promise. My words have the intended effect. Her n*****s poke through the fabric of her b*a, tenting the fresh scrubs she put on after we went to her apartment.
Remembering her admonishment earlier, about me not saying please and thank you, I make an effort. The words are rusty on my lips—she’s right, I’m out of the habit of using them. “Thank you for cooking, doll. This food is delicious.”
She raises her eyebrows. “A compliment from his highness. I can’t believe it.”
I shake my head. “Keep pushing it, bambina. I promise I will make you good and sorry.”
Her pupils dilate and she takes a healthy gulp of wine.
“So what’s the scoop with your brothers? You guys don’t all get along?”
I sigh and reach for my wine, sitting back. “Nah. Not really.”
“How many brothers do you have?”
“Four. I’m the oldest. Then Paolo, then Gio. Nico and Stefano are the youngest. I got forced into the mold my father made for me. Stepped into his shoes when he went to prison. Nico and Stefano, they never wanted to be part of the Family business. Nico’s smart as f**k. Honestly, he probably would’ve made the best don out of all of us, but he had no interest. And things don’t work that way anyway—it’s all about birth order.”
I stop and take a long sip of wine. I can’t believe I’m telling her all this. It’s not like me to make small talk with anyone, and I definitely never spill my guts. And talking about Family? It’s f*******n. But she’s watching me with such interest, warmth pouring out of those chocolate brown eyes. It’s not just easy to talk to her—I want to tell her everything.
“Anyway, Nico concocted this plan to take the gambling side of business to Vegas where it’s legal. He invested Family money and made a goddamn fortune. That place makes hundreds of millions a year. And it’s all legal.”
I don’t know why I’m gratified that Desiree doesn’t seem overly impressed. She doesn’t jump in with questions about the casino like most people do when they find out our brother runs the Bellissimo.
“The money comes to all of you, or just him?”
Astute question.
“All of us. Of course, Nico holds a huge percentage of the corporation, but it was Family money that started the business. We all get fat dividends.”
“So what business do you run here that gets your brother shot? Nevermind, I know you can’t tell me.” She dabs her lips with a paper napkin. “But really—couldn’t you just retire?”
I shake my head, the familiar ache starting between my eyes. The one that’s there every time I think about Family business. “My father left me to run things. He wants all his business ventures in place when he gets out.”
She tilts her head to the side, chewing on a bite of pasta. “I see.” After a moment, she says, “Seems like you and Gio and Paolo carry all the risk and Nico and Stefano carry the reward.”
Something akin to relief runs through me hearing her say it that way. Sometimes I feel like f*****g Cain, jealous of my brother’s successes. I’m shackled here, running an outdated, old school business that’s dangerous as hell. They’re living glamour, money, and s*x in Vegas.
And they’ve made it plain they don’t want my help or interference there.
“When does your dad get out?”
“He’s got twelve more years on his sentence. He could get out early on good behavior, but I doubt he will. It would be bad press to let a known mobster out.”
“Seriously? Twelve years? Your dad has to be what—in his sixties?”
I nod. “Sixty-five.”
“So he’ll be seventy-seven when he gets out. You really think he’s going to still want to run the business? Won’t he want to take all those millions and retire in Cabo or something?”
I shake my head. “You don’t know my dad. Family business was everything to him. His whole identity. Plus, it’s about community service to him. He believes it’s our job to still protect the old neighborhoods. To keep the gangs out, keep the innocent pure. It’s old-fashioned, but…I don’t know.” I down my wine and pour another glass. “There’s honor in it.”
Desiree’s face goes soft. “Yeah, I guess there is. You guys are like throwbacks to another time. Warriors who protect your people and keep the order. Your own law.”
I rub my eyes when they unexpectedly sting. Upstairs, Gio groans.
Desiree jumps up from the table. “I’ll go look in on him.”
“I’ll clean up,” I tell her.
Heaviness descends on me as I pick up the dishes. As I’m cleaning up, a text comes through from Earl.
Call me for the information you requested.
I step outside the front door to call him in case there’s anything I don’t want Desiree to hear.
“What do you have?”
“Okay, Desiree Lopez. RN at Cook County. Lives on 22nd. You probably already know all that. She’s thirty-two. Married at age twenty-six to one Abe Bennett. A low life construction worker and convicted felon. Divorced him last year. The guy is currently wanted for abducting their kid.”
“What?”
Merda. I’m gonna kill the bastard.
“Yeah. Five-year-old Jasper Lopez. Last year she was granted full custody on the grounds that her ex was a convicted cocaine dealer and refused to take a urine test to prove he was clean. Two months later, he picked the kid up from preschool and disappeared. That was six months ago.
“Desiree was working for Cook County then, but she quit to try to find the kid. When her savings ran out, she did some home healthcare work, including for some schmutz named Santo Tacone, Junior—you know him? Heh. Anyway, she did that until Cook County hired her back two months ago.
“She’s hired the lame-a*s private investigator Terry Ryan to find him. Guy’s been charging her monthly, and obviously still no kid. Her other bills include student loans from nursing school, her apartment and utilities, cell phone. She has about five grand in credit card debt. That’s about it. Doesn’t look like she has any hobbies other than work, finding her kid, and Zumba classes that are free through the hospital wellness plan.”
Desiree. Knowing the source of her struggle—and I knew there had to be one because she’s too smart and talented to have such a s**t life—makes me root for her even more.
“I want you to find the boy.”
“Jasper?”
“Yeah. Put every resource you have on it. Hire other P.I.s—I’ll pay for it. Find her stronzo ex. Capiche?”
“You got it. Can I talk to Desiree to get more information?”
“No. Just find the kid.”
“Oh yeah, it’s that easy. I’ll just magically produce him.”
“You telling me you can’t handle this job?” I snap. I might let Desiree give me s**t. I sure as hell don’t let private d***s speak with disrespect.
“No, no, no. Don’t get your feathers ruffled. I’ll find the kid.”
“Watch the attitude, Earl. And I want regular updates.”
“You’ll get them.”
“Good.” I end the call but I don’t go back inside. Not until I’m sure I won’t look at Desiree with sympathy—which I know she’d hate.
Cristo. She shouldn’t have to suffer like this. To have her own child ripped from her.
Well, f**k. I know something about that, don’t I? The ache from Mia’s death rips through my chest.
But her child is still alive, and I’m sure as hell going to make sure she gets him back.
- Writer
