Chapter 56 The Bro Code
Chapter fifty-six
The Bro Code
Marco
We’re going at it hard in the ring today.
It seems we’re all trying to work something—or someone—out of our system.
Grunts, heavy breathing, and the thwack of rubber hitting bare skin echoes around the space in the absence of words.
Even the group’s usual Chatty Cathy, Luca, is dialed in and quiet—which is saying something ’cause that fucker is always ready with the jibes.
Raf and I finish round two of three sparring matches.
I’m gassed. Raf never quits, so it was a hard-won fight, even if no one is officially keeping score.
I bend at the waist slightly, trying to catch my breath before we go at it again, jab for jab.
Sweat drips from the ends of my hair, the pieces that have fallen around my face now slicked to the side of it.
It’s a bit longer than I usually keep it, but I’ve resisted getting it trimmed because Sophia loves running her hands through it.
I love the way her nails feel scraping over my scalp, and the sting of her tugging on the lengths when my head is between her legs.
Yeah, that’s the best kind of hurt. Now I can’t stop thinking about devouring her pretty pussy.
Rather inconvenient considering my company and the fact that I’m in soft training shorts that will do absolutely nothing to hide my boner.
In a bid to stop the blood rushing south, I start compiling a set list in my head and focus on the solitary bead of sweat running down my nose, watching as it drops off the end and splatters on the mat.
Then I move onto planning and mapping out our movements for the night so I can ensure I’ve got eyes on the girls and can keep tabs on Arty if he shows.
It might be a social event, but I am still officially on the clock, so I need to remain vigilant.
Especially with the amount of media attention around tonight’s exhibition and after party at Bella Donna.
The incessant pinging of a message tone pulls me back to the present. I lift my head, eyes searching the faces of the others for some answers.
“Raf, bro! Who the fuck is blowing up your phone?” Luca snaps.
“How the fuck should I know. I’m currently getting my ass handed to me,” he snips back as he pulls off a glove and reaches for his cell phone.
Luca is taking great delight in dangling it just out of reach as message notifications light up the screen.
Switching back into his usual shit-stirrer mode, he begins reading the messages that litter the screen.
“So tell me, how big? How many inches we talking?
What the fuck, bro! Who are you sexting with?
“ Luca hoots and hollers as he takes off, twisting and turning away as Raf lunges for him.
“I’ve always been of the belief that bigger is better. Winky face emoji,” Luca continues in a singsong voice just to stick it to his brother.
“Give me my fucking phone, dickhead!” hollers Raf, losing more of his cool by the second.
“I’m so glad you decided to take my advice, big bro. This one sounds wild,” Luca goads with a shit-eating grin as he finally relents and hands Raf his phone. Once he’s got it, he makes quick work of clearing all the notifications from the screen.
“What the fuck,” he growls as he scrolls through what appears to be a dozen messages. Pinning me with his dark eyes burning black with fury, he says through gritted teeth, “Tell me the fucking truth, did you give that crazy woman my number?”
Seriously confused, I give him a what the actual fuck look as I walk to look over his shoulder.
Sure enough, there are about fifteen or more messages from an unsaved number I don’t recognize by sight, but I do recognize her signature red lipstick and nails, both of which fill the screen in a close-up image she’s sent of her blowing him a kiss.
Raf is notoriously private and not much for playing games.
Then there’s Chiara. Everything is one big game to her—and she’s set her sights on Raf as her prize.
“I swear I didn’t give her your number. If I had to hazard a guess, it would be her new bestie…who happens to be your blood relation.”
“I’m going to fucking—”
“Watch yourself,” I warn. “That’s my future wife you’re talking about, and we still have one more round in the ring.”
“I just don’t understand why she would do that,” Raf snaps.
“Because you need to loosen up a little,” Sebastian chimes in. “When’s the last time you actually fucked a woman?”
“None of your fucking business.”
“I rest my case.” Sebastian snorts.
“Cool your jets, you two,” I say, jabbing a finger at Luca and Sebastian. “I’d like to live to see thirty, so before you go around playing fucking cupid, let’s not forget who she’s related to, yeah? In all seriousness, I do need you guys to have my back tonight. That includes you, Raf.”
“Fuck my life,” mutters Raf. “What happened now?”
I give them a summary of what Sophia told me about Chiara and the fact she doesn’t know AJ is coming tonight, as well as the news about Arty’s unfortunate mishap.
I allude to him pissing off the wrong people but withhold the part about calling in a favor from AJ.
It dawns on me that I’ve added another half-truth to my body count.
Fuck! I just don’t want any of them to be implicated in any way.
I’m toeing a gray line, but I would fully cross over to the dark side for the people I love.
By the same token, the longer I keep the truth from them, the closer I feel to dying by my own sword.
The only quote I’ve ever memorized from the many my dad has in his wheelhouse comes to mind.
“Power is always dangerous. It attracts the best and corrupts the worst.” Ain’t that the truth.
Once we’re all agreed on the plans for tonight, Raf included, he and I jump back in the ring for our last round.
I don’t even come close to winning. Between the slew of texts from Chiara and being roped into my plan for a fun group outing tonight moonlighting as my eyes and ears, he’s got more pent-up rage than when we started.
My body becomes his punching bag. I’ll give it to him, because he needs the release.
But I also agree with his brothers—the guy desperately needs to get laid.