When a cute blond chick sashayed across the street, Logan zeroed in on her tight butt, admiring its curvy perkiness. Then she turned and he immediately recognized her profile: Ashley Fredrickson. There she was, the woman who had wooed him years ago, the mother of his child. He chuckled. Her butt still captured his attention seventeen years later. Too bad she was so goddamn opinionated or they might have made their fledgling relationship work. She disappeared inside the house as well.
But the guest he was waiting for still had not arrived. Logan had no idea if his brother even knew about Ben’s birthday party, though he was sure Grant knew the date of Ben’s entry into the world. Grant had been only fourteen years old when his nephew was born, but somehow Ben always received a birthday present from his uncle. Gifts had come from Qatar, Queensland, and Quito, depending on where Grant was stationed, but they always arrived safely and on time—except for the last two years when Grant had been in prison.
Logan waited another thirty minutes as dusk began settling into the summer sky. He was about to give up his Grant vigil when suddenly a tall, dark-haired man rounded the corner and headed toward Angelo’s home. Logan drew a sharp breath. When the lean figure stole a nervous glance to each side, showing his face, Logan smiled.
He was about to stand up and intercept Grant when he heard a strange noise. Logan froze, honing in on the area to his right, and he finally located the source of the sound: the snapping shutter of a camera, held by a dark figure in the shadows. Who the hell was that? Whoever it was, Logan wasn’t about to expose himself by stepping out of his hiding spot.
Oblivious to the camera, Grant strolled by, and Logan nearly burst with frustration after waiting for his arrival all night. He watched Grant hesitate before knocking on the ornate maple door. After a few moments Ben answered, and Logan saw his son smile for the first time tonight before Grant enveloped him in a bear hug. He felt a twinge of melancholy watching the scene unfold, once again reminded how remiss he was as a father. At least Grant was there for his son.
The bastard hiding to the right captured it all on film, snapping away as Grant entered the house. Logan watched the shadowy man continue taking photos, apparently aiming at license plates on the vehicles parked near the mansion on the tree-lined street. Logan felt violated. Fucking feds. Angelo wasn’t kidding. The Barberi family was under surveillance like never before, and they would all have to watch their backs.
Wanting to get the hell away from the long arm of the law, Logan slunk out of the bushes and headed in the opposite direction. Evidently he would not be able to warn Grant about Carlo tonight. His brother had just walked into the lion’s den, and there was nothing Logan could do about it.
*
“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Ben grinned as they stepped out of their hug in the foyer.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Grant said, pretending he hadn’t agonized over the decision for days. “I ran into your mom a few weeks ago, and she told me about your party.”
“Wow, my mom, like, never gets out. Where did you guys run into each other?”
Grant affectionately studied his nephew, whose boyish features were beginning to shift toward manhood, although he remained rather short. Apparently, he’d inherited his mother’s genes when it came to height. However, his eyes were a dead giveaway that he was a Barberi boy. Actually, Ben’s light-blue eyes mirrored his uncle’s much more closely than his father’s. That similarity seemed to bond them, though it had been years since they last saw each other.
“Ashley took an architectural cruise, which is where I work now.”
“Sounds like a sweet job,” Ben said.
Grant chuckled. “Um, yeah, the job is maybe not so sweet. But it…” He looked at the floor. “It keeps my parole officer off my back.”
Ben knew his uncle was embarrassed, and he felt embarrassed too. Grant had always shown him kindness and patience, unlike the stoicism and occasional gruffness his father displayed. And for the momentous occasion of his sixteenth birthday, Ben was not at all surprised that his uncle was here and his father was not. It seemed quite fitting.
Tentatively he asked, “Was it, like, scary or something in prison?”
Grant leveled his remorseful gaze with his nephew’s. “It was awful.” He swallowed hard and then sternly advised, “Don’t ever put yourself in a position where you’ll end up there too, Ben.”
Though he hated being lectured to by adults, Ben sensed the gravity in his uncle’s voice, and he nodded obediently.
Trying to lighten the dark mood, Grant handed over his gift. “I can’t believe you’re sixteen. Happy birthday, Ben.”
The boy grinned and took the gift from his uncle, immediately ripping into the neatly wrapped paper to reveal a DVD case. “Ohmigod, is this a Wii game?” He exuberantly turned over the case and read the name aloud: “Ocean’s Commander.”
“I was hoping you already have a Wii,” Grant said.
“Of course Ben has a Wii,” an adult male voice responded snidely. Grant tensed as Carlo swooped into the room. “I bought the system for him after all.”
Ben stopped grinning and tried to stand a little taller as Carlo draped his arm across his shoulders, snatching the game from his hand. “How sweet of your uncle to buy you another game, though.” His voice was slick and sarcastic. “How many games does that make for you now, Ben? About two hundred?”
Shrugging, Ben replied, “Yeah. But I didn’t have this one yet.”
“Naturally. I certainly am not going to buy you this military shit.” He returned the game to Ben and let go of his shoulder, sidling up to Grant instead. “What are you trying to do, cugino? Turn him into a Navy boy?” Carlo’s lips curled into a derisive sneer. “He’s got a much brighter future thanthat.”
Grant felt his hands furling into fists, and he imagined the delectable fantasy of punching the weasel squarely in the nose, perhaps drawing blood in the process. However, he remained quiet, remembering how that same stunt in prison had led him to solitary confinement and antipsychotic medication.
“So, you’re finally out of the state pen, huh, Grant?” Carlo grinned wickedly. “Doesn’t look like prison toughened you up any, as far as I can tell.”
“Sure it did,” Ben butted in, eyeing his uncle proudly. “Prison makes you a badass.”
Grant was horrified by his nephew’s words. Ben had changed in the presence of Carlo. His eyes and face seemed darker, as if the Mafia evil seeped into his veins any time Carlo was present. Ashley had been correct in her assessment that his nephew thought his cousin and great-uncle were “cool.”
“Benjamino, you’re already a badass. I’m sure you’d do better at surviving prison than this one.” Carlo gestured toward Grant, winking at him. “He became mentally unstable in there, from what I hear. Went a little insano.”
Ben stared curiously at Grant.
Desperately trying to control himself as he glared at the man responsible for sending him to prison, Grant glanced from Carlo to Ben and told the younger Barberi in a measured tone, “How about you go back to your party, Ben? Your guests are probably waiting.”