It’s because I fucked up.
For the past few years, I’ve been grousing about the fact that my father gives my dipshit brother Jase freedom to do whatever the hell he pleases, whether or not he’s making more enemies for the family. He doesn’t take things seriously. He doesn’t ever think without acting, case in point, the night I saved his ass because he made a very fucking bad call against a very fucking bad dude.
For all of this time, I’ve been waiting for the day my father tells me that he’s proud of what I’ve done to support the family and that he wants to give me more responsibility.
I thought I was close.
At least, I’d hoped I was.
But over the past few weeks since Charlotte’s been back in town, all the work I’d done to deserve my own gig has been decimated by my own hand.
Or cock, if I’m being honest.
I finally felt like I had been given an out. If I couldn’t run my own shit here, Phoenix would take me on in Chicago and I’d work for him.
It seemed like a perfect solution for getting me the hell out from under Jase’s toxic cloud.
But then the bad decisions followed.
I lost sight of my responsibilities, let my focus get clouded by lust, and completely fucked Phoenix over…he is the only ally I ever really had in my family.
All because I let Charlotte crawl under my skin.
It was easier to hate her and let the rage seep into my work. It kept me angry and dangerous, and helped me make a lot of money for the family. And as a bonus, my rumored brutish torture techniques scared the shit out of plenty of our enemies, keeping them away from our territories.
“Well, if you don’t eat now, I guess I can leave some food on the stove for you,” Mom says in a clipped voice, and I know I offended her with my lack of appetite.
Old-school Italian moms. What can I say? Their main goals are to keep your mouth full and to make your jeans almost bust open.
Fatter people are happier, I guess.
I don’t know.
I’m pretty fucking miserable right now.
I shove back the dining room chair and rake a hand through my hair. Mom lifts an eyebrow, her mouth now stretched into a thin line. I flash a quick grin and drop a kiss onto her forehead.
“Don’t be mad. You know there’s no other woman on Earth who can satisfy my stomach like you can.”
She gives my arm a playful smack. “I can’t promise there will be any left after dinner.”
“Well, then, I guess I’ll be plenty sorry later.”
“You sure will,” she mutters, turning her back on me and busying herself with the post-cooking cleanup process. And that alone can take hours, judging by all of the pots, pans, and splatters of sauce streaking the counters and floors.
My mother is a true artist and the kitchen is her canvas.
The whole kitchen.
I slip on my shoes and stare at my Apple watch. I can’t wait around here any longer. If I do, Dad will get home from work and Jase will storm in looking to gloat about some bullshit job Dad gave him that he doesn’t even deserve.
Christ, birth order is a real bitch.
That’s the only reason why he’s over me.
Dad doesn’t want to shake things up by promoting me over my older brother. He’s afraid of what it will look like to our crew and to our enemies. I get it. Jase wouldn’t accept a demotion quietly. He’d bitch and moan, and hell, he might even dissent. Dad doesn’t want to take any chances with that, so he keeps an eye on my loose cannon of a brother.
Dad thinks playing it safe will keep things status quo, but any idiot knows that if you get complacent with the way things are, your competition will fly the hell by you, leaving you holding your dick in your hand.
We’re not in a position to stand still.
We need to move, but in the right direction.
For a little while, I lost sight of this, but now I know what needs to be done.
Of course, it goes against what my father would want, but fuck him.
And fuck Jase and Phoenix, too.
If I want to be taken seriously, if I want to take back some of the control I’ve lost, I need to grab the reins.
I missed the boat when I let Phoenix go looking for Lorenzo on his own, choosing Charlotte over my duties.
I know that’s why Dad wants to get rid of me. It’s not so I can spread my wings. It’s to get me away from Charlotte.
The thing is, I don’t know if I want that life anymore.
I’d been convinced when she was in London that there was nothing holding me here in Ridgeview, so I made other plans.
And so it seems, plans are made to be broken.
Not that anyone knows that yet.
Jesus Christ! Why can’t I be a normal fucking high school teenager with a normal fucking life where I just have to worry about getting laid and making it into a good college?
“I’ll see ya later, Ma.”
“Where are you going, sweetie? Don’t you have homework to do?”
I snort.
As if.
I mean, yeah, I do, but let’s get real. Beating the shit out of Lorenzo takes a whole lotta precedence.
And colleges want an application that really stands out?
Try adding in all the skills I have with cutlery. Maybe include some video clips as a bonus.
I bet that application would stand out like a dick on a cake.
“I’ll get to it later. I’ve got to run. Love you!” I slam the front door closed behind me before any of her protests follow me outside.
I jog over to my car and slide into the front seat, taking a second to rest my head on the steering wheel. I shouldn’t be doing this alone. Lorenzo is a fucking snake who can’t be trusted, and there’s no telling who else might be hanging out with him at that club.
This is exactly why Phoenix wanted me with him the other night.
No matter how good you are, someone always has a bigger gun.
Or knife.
Or more bullets.
It’s safer to play these games in numbers.
One isn’t ideal.
But right now, it’s my only option if I want to save face with my family.
I may not want Chicago anymore, but I need to end the threat against us.
And Charlotte.
My chest tightens.
There we go again with the loss of focus.
I start the car, gunning the engine. I back out of my driveway and zoom through the tree-lined streets of my neighborhood in the direction of the club just outside Ridgeview. The streets are darker from lack of light, the houses are more run-down, the buildings completely dilapidated.
The shitty side of the tracks.
But the club still thrives and brings in people from all sides of the tracks.
I park around the corner on the street, a miracle find for a Thursday night. I hope this means luck is on my side. I’m gonna need it.
My gun is tucked into the back of my pants under my jacket and I have a switchblade stuffed into my pocket. Thankfully, they don’t make you go through a metal detector to get into this place. I make eye contact with the bouncer and nod. He recognizes me and lets me through with a fist bump.
That could be good or bad.
Guess I’ll decide that soon enough.
I move into the crowd of sweaty bodies grinding in every direction. Lots of limbs are flying around and I have to duck out of the way to keep from getting assaulted. I push my way toward the bar to grab a club soda. It wouldn’t hurt if Lorenzo thought I was drinking. Maybe he might be a little loose-lipped himself. I pull out a few dollars and lay them on the bar, grabbing the glass and swiveling around to take a look at the lounge area. I eye the corner booth where Lorenzo normally holds court, but it’s empty.