“I’m a pushover.” I reached for the glass and slipped a straw inside, greedily sucking down the soda. “There’s a difference.”
“Val.” Dante reached for my hand then brushed a kiss over the top of my knuckles. It was his thing. He was a true Italian gentleman, and my friends went crazy for it. Let it be known that at six-foot-five, Dante Grecco was a lady killer through and through. With icy blue eyes and strong, solid features, he could easily model. Muscles bulged beneath his shirt as he moved around the bar and started prepping for the evening service — once happy hour hit he had to go back to waiter duties since he wasn’t twenty-one yet. “I love you.” His back was still turned to me. “We’ve got each other, yes?”
“Yes,” I said automatically, my eyes honing in on the injuries to his hands. For how long? That’s what I wanted to ask. Because I wasn’t that na?ve. I knew what people whispered about behind his back — that he fought for money, that he was good at it — that at nineteen he was dangerous, uncontrollable, an animal.
“Good.” He turned back around, placing both of his hands on the bar top. “We’ll get through anything, as long as we have each other.”
“Even Nico?”
He burst out laughing. “Yes, even Nico. Poor little jackass is gonna have a rough night.”
“Me! I’ve had a rough day! Think of my night! Besides, I was late for work so I’m sort of behind on arranging—”
“You?” Dante interrupted, his expression concerned. “Late?”
I couldn’t exactly say yes, because I received a top secret letter from an unnamed source and went to the safety deposit box only to discover another letter addressed to me, one I hadn’t yet read, since Gio texted that he was going to call the police if I didn’t show up in a few minutes.
Ugh, never late. Always nice. Total yes girl.
Maybe I should just marry Nico.
“So?” Dante snapped his fingers in front of my face. “You were saying? Late? Everything okay?”
“I’m supposed to marry a cologne commercial. No I’m not okay.” I grit my teeth. “Keep ’em coming.” I slid the soda toward him, he filled it up, and I spent the rest of my break laying my head against the countertop wishing for an alternate reality, or at least a love story better than I had.
But those love stories?
The truly epic ones?
They usually belonged between the pages of a book — not with the girl who works at the flower shop every day but Tuesday. The girl who spends her days off in the park reading. The girl who cries during Broadway shows and once asked her uncle if she could be a princess when she grew up.
No, those epic stories.
They weren’t for girls like her. Like me.
My soul is in the sky –A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Frank
I MUTTERED A curse under my breath as I re-entered the brisk New York air. She looked… so much like him.
And her.
Getting shot hurt less than seeing my flesh and blood and knowing without a doubt they did not even know who I was.
Did not know the circumstances of their birth.
Or how much they were loved, despite what they might think.
Grecco? I had not given Sal permission to use that name. Granted, all of my dealings with New York had been less than hostile.
The minute Luca took over the Nicolasi family.
All hell broke loose in mine.
Leaving me to pick up the pieces.
A divide had occurred between the ranks. Several of my cousins decided that their loyalty would be better served with the Nicolasis, while others were appalled at what I had done to my own brother — basically selling him to another crime family. Never mind that he was successful, or that it was because my father wished it.
I did what I had thought best.
I had been young.
Stupid.
Completely hell-bent on following through with my father’s wishes, unaware that by following through with his instructions, I’d break one of the strongest crime families that ever existed, allowing the Abandonatos to take their rightful place.
Not that I was bitter.
The Abandonatos were better being the leaders of the Cosa Nostra in the United States.
Just like the Campisis were best at running things overseas, and making sure every family was kept in check.
I patted the inside of my jacket, my old fingers fumbling with the letter from Luca, his dying wishes.
For me to find his children.
And establish them within the Family.
But I had to wonder.
By doing what he asked — would I push my family further away? Because a dead man’s wish… was a fickle thing. A slippery slope.
And if things went correctly….
I sighed again as I eyed the black Mercedes waiting.
Sergio.
The first chess pieces had already been moved.
Now.
I would wait.
“Oh, Luca,” I whispered. “I wish you were here. I do need your guidance, more than ever.”
The breeze picked up, whipping a newspaper around my legs. I kicked it off and made my way over to the waiting car.
Sergio looked up.