“Your father knew he needed someone he could trust to work with the Mexicans, someone who could take care of distribution without raising red flags.” Marco snickers. “You have a fucking red flag tattooed across your damn forehead!”
Gio’s spine stiffens, his fists cut up and are still clenched. His hair sticks up in a thousand different directions, wild and unruly, just like him. Beads of sweat form on his forehead, his lips stretched into a tight line.
But he doesn’t say a word.
He’s got no response.
He knows Marco is his father’s guy.
He knows Marco will always be his father’s guy.
Unless…
His hand creeps around the back of his tuxedo jacket and he pulls out a gun from the waistband of his pants.
His friends step back, hands in the air as Gio circles Marco.
“You think you’re so much better than me, huh? How the fuck will you get out of this one, Marco? How will you work with the Mexicans if you’re fucking dead?”
“Gio,” I mutter, nodding my head at the other guys and directing them back to the party so they don’t have to witness what’s about to happen next.
Or rather, what I have to stop from happening. Now’s my time to take control of this situation, that’s what I’m paid for.
“Let’s not do this tonight, okay?”
Gio’s hand stays steady on the trigger, the gun pointed right between Marco’s terror-filled eyes. I’ve got to hand it to the guy. Fear is etched into his expression, but he never backs down. His body stays strong and stiff, his jaw set. He knows he’s looking death in the eye, but he’s not begging for his life like a pussy.
“What the hell do you know, Tommy? Have you ever had to deal with this kind of shit? Did your father ever pull this kind of crap with you? Hiring douchebags like Marco to do what you should’ve been doing because you’re his son and he should’ve wanted you to take over one day?”
Good Christ, sometimes I think working with the fucking drug lords would be safer than trying to reel in Gio who is just desperate to make a name for himself and be taken seriously by his father.
Talk about daddy issues. He’s got ’em bad.
It’s ironic that he asked about my father, who never respected any of his sons and kept us in the dark more often than not.
He never played favorites with us.
We were all equally useless to him, which is why we’re still struggling to survive.
“This guy,” he hisses, pressing the gun into Marco’s chest. “He walks around like he’s the fucking king, like he’s gonna take over what belongs to me.” Gio shoves his face right into Marco’s. “And nobody is gonna beat me at this game, you got that, dick?”
He’s going to cause hell for his family because the older he gets, the more unhinged he becomes, and that hell fire will rain down on Gemma.
His father knows it and so do I.
I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen, to keep Gio in check, and to help keep the Cassarella family sitting on top of the mountain until it’s time for them to be thrown over the side.
I let out a shaky breath as Gio’s rage builds.
He’s always only half a step away from unleashing the pent-up fury that’s been building for years.
I’m the only one who can keep it from exploding.
Because it’s not Marco that he should be suspicious of.
It’s me.
“You’ve got to cut this shit out now, Gio,” I hiss, grabbing his arm and looking around. “Your father will be pissed as hell if he knows you’re pulling this crap tonight, of all nights.” I need Marco alive. So does Gio, even though he doesn’t know it yet. But drunk, amped-up Gio isn’t much for talking. He’s much more about action. And right now, action is exactly what I want to avoid.
For two big reasons.
Freddie and Gemma.
“Stay the hell out of my way, Tommy!” he shouts, shaking off my arm. “And how come you’re always buried up my father’s ass? Don’t you have enough of your own family shit to focus on? He’s not your goddamn father!”
Damn, that stung.
I grit my teeth, feeling my fingers twitch. I wanna take such a fucking punch at Gio. He deserves it, the entitled jerkoff that he is!
He has no clue that my family shit is tangled up in his family shit.
And that I’m literally drowning in it all.
“Keep an eye on things tonight,” Freddie says to me before I leave his office to change for the party. He puffs on his Cuban cigar, reclined in his cordovan leather recliner. “Something big is going to happen. Make sure you keep Gio occupied so he doesn’t interfere. And you’d better keep Gemma and Marchella safe. This doesn’t touch them, understand?”
I rub the back of my neck, struggling against the urge to leap at Gio and pummel him into the core of the Earth for that comment. A few sharp breaths escape my mouth, but I refuse to play into his hands. He’s looking for a fight, and hell, at this point, he’ll pull that trigger no matter who’s staring down the barrel. I’ll kick his ass later, but right now, I need that gun out of his hand. A quick look at my watch reminds me that I’ve been out here for way too long.
“Jesus Christ, Gio,” Marco mutters. “Bad enough you’re an asshole to your enemies. But since you have as many friends as I have cocks, you really should watch what you say.”
Gio’s shoulders quake, his glare murderous. But instead of just focusing it on Marco, he makes sure I get equal airtime. “Should I gamble? Should I press my luck, alienate everyone, and then shoot off your dick?” He lets out a dry chuckle.
My eyes fall to Marco and even though he’s beaten to a pulp, he doesn’t back down. And he won’t stop running his mouth, which is just gonna piss Gio off even more.
“Let this piece of shit go,” I mumble. “He’s a fucking errand boy. He’ll never be more than that to your father.” The lies slip out, and even if Gio suspects I’m blowing smoke up his ass, each word calms him.
“Yeah,” he repeats, staring at Marco. “Find your own fucking family. Leave mine alone,” he seethes, lowering the gun.
And then Marco…that fucking idiot…has the nerve to laugh. He’s holding the side that Gio kicked the crap out of, and if he’s in pain, it doesn’t show a bit. “Screw that, bitch. Your pops is just waiting for me and Gemma to get together. And once I knock her up and marry her, I’m taking over! I’m gonna be your boss!”
“Oh, fuck,” I mutter, sweeping my hands through my hair. Did he seriously just say all of that shit to this ticking time bomb standing over him with a Beretta pointed at his forehead?
A rumbling sound gets caught in Gio’s throat as he swings the gun across Marco’s face with a loud crack. He leans down close to where Marco moans, crumpled on the ground, a drizzle of blood appearing out of the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think I heard you right, Marco,” Gio hisses, punching him square in the jaw, the bones in Marco’s face shattering upon impact. He wails, clutching his jaw as Gio snickers. He looks up at me, his smile fading.
“Don’t ever tell me what to do, Tommy. Don’t you ever fucking challenge me again!”
“I’m looking out for you, Gio,” I say, grabbing his arm. “This isn’t the time or place. Do you really want to ruin your sister’s party because you got a bug up your ass about this guy?” I snarl, nodding my head at Marco writhing on the ground. “Deal with it tomorrow. He’s not worth it.”