Chapter 8
8
“Are you fucking nuts?” Antonio spits from behind the desk in his home office. He slams his fist on the desk, causing shit to rattle. “My daughter is here, Damien! My goddamn daughter.”
His voice is harsh but low. He never yells when Amara is home.
“I fucked up,” I reply, massaging my temples with my beat-up knuckles.
Knuckles that my precious Pippa treated so gently last night.
Did it help heal them or reduce the pain?
Hell no.
But it felt nice to know someone gave a shit.
Not that I deserve her gentleness.
Her sweetness.
Us men in this world, we handle darkness and brutality. And even though we deny it, that shit haunts us.
Even kills us sometimes … or the people we love.
I close my eyes, the memory of my family an endless loop in my head.
“Why did you bring her here?” Antonio asks, snapping me from my thoughts. “That’s out of character for you.” He reclines in his chair, as if waiting to give me a therapy session.
I’m Antonio’s right-hand man, and we grew up together. Our fathers were close friends. And although I’m three years older than him and closer in age to Vinny, I fucking hate his brother. Antonio and I are responsible and levelheaded. That’s why we get along well. We keep to ourselves and don’t create problems for the hell of it.
And while this life doesn’t grant much privacy, we try our best to have ours.
Because of that, I don’t bring anyone not affiliated with the family around. No friends. No women. No fucking one. There’d be too much guilt if they got caught in the crosshairs. It’s too risky.
For reasons beyond me, I’m letting Pippa in. And it’s not just the sex.
Hell, if she’d told me no, she wasn’t ready, I’d still show up at her doorstep.
“The only reason I’m not threatening her life right now is because I know you’re smart.” Antonio harshly taps the side of his head. “I’m trusting you on this. Don’t make me regret it, and don’t you dare tell anyone else. She’s a liability.”
“You know I won’t.”
Vincent Lombardi would flip his shit if he knew I was getting close to the daughter of a gambling addict who’s owed us money on many occasions. He runs the enterprise with an iron fist.
A knock on the door interrupts us.
“Yeah?” Antonio calls out, and the door opens.
Julian walks in, his face grim and his eyes bloodshot. His suit needs a goddamn iron—a condition he’d never have left the house in before. Knowing him, he hasn’t slept either. Just like me, he’s punishing himself.
We should’ve been there to protect them.
Should’ve waited to make a move on the Popovs.
And now, we’re the only limbs hanging on what's left of our family tree.
“Antonio.” He pays Antonio a respectful nod before tipping his chin toward me.
I return the gesture.
That’s our version of a brotherly hug.
We’ve done well at holding in our composure. Since we’re not ones to cry, we take our pain out in the form of violence.
“We killed two Popovs yesterday,” he informs Antonio. “The CEO who’d paid for the hit and his son who’d arranged it.”
Antonio nods in approval.
“We’re tracking the locations of the CFO and his brother who knew about the plan,” I add. So far, we’re narrowing down their locations. They’re out of the country, but they can’t hide forever.
Antonio stands from his chair. “Make it happen and report back.”
Julian scrubs his hand over his five-o’clock shadow while glancing at me. “Let me know if you hear anything else.”
I nod. “You know I will.”
As soon as he leaves, Antonio turns to me in agitation. “It’s not only in your best interest to ditch her but also Pippa’s.”
He’s right, and I need to consider that. She’s in danger just being involved with me.
Rivals love to kill family members to prove points.
And right now, that hits closer to home than anything.
I dip my hands into the pockets of my slacks. “If she becomes a problem, I’ll handle it.”
“If she becomes a problem, my father will handle it.”
His warning is clear. Vincent will easily kill anyone he can’t trust. He doesn’t like liabilities.
I need to make sure I can trust Pippa while also hiding who she is. Right after I kill some Popovs, of course .
We leave his office, and I head in the direction of the guest room—which is considered mine since I crash here so much and no one else is allowed in there. I hear laughter as I get closer to the kitchen.
That’s not unusual since Amara and her grandmother from her mother’s side, Clara, live here.
But it’s not only their voices drifting down the hall. There’s another. One I’ve become very familiar with the past few days.
Antonio spins on his heel and storms toward the kitchen while I follow.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he says as soon as he rounds the corner.