Chapter 2 #2
“Seriously, if you weren’t such a degenerate, Uncle Gio would have made you,” Gabriel says matter-of-factly as we merge onto the highway. “He did say last week settling down would be good for you.”
I snort, leaning my chin into my fist.
Luca is my half brother—a bastard born from one of my father’s many affairs—but the only one whose mother abandoned him at our doorstep.
My mother took him in without hesitation and raised him as if he were her own.
In every way that matters, Luca De Rosa is as much a prince of the Italian mafia as I am, bloodlines and surnames aside.
He could marry Erin. He’s more charismatic, more suave, more openly romantic. He would know how to make her laugh, how to soften the edges of a life she didn’t choose. He would make her happy. That’s the problem.
Luca doesn’t belong to anyone. He never has. He likes to share—especially with Gabriel and me. The three of us have passed the same woman between us on and off since high school, an arrangement built on trust, appetite, and some more wicked fantasies.
Luca can’t do that to the perfect, virginal Irish princess. And if Seamus O’Connor ever found out any of us fucked his daughter besides the one married to her, he would never forgive it. He’d kill us dead.
“I would be a great husband, Gabriel,” Luca huffs, sitting back in his chair. “Don’t act like I wouldn’t be better than this grumpy fuck.”
I shift in my seat. “You should be grateful it’s this grumpy fuck, and not you.”
“I am,” Luca says, leaning closer, voice dropping a notch, “you’re the right choice. I mean would I make her cum more? Yes. Would I romance her better? Yes. Am I the hotter brother? Absolutely.”
I glance back at him.
“But you are the kindest out of the three of us,” Luca continues, matter-of-fact now.
“You’ll treat her with kid gloves. Respect her every wish.
That’s what Mafia dons want for their daughters.
” He shrugs, leaning back in the car. “If she was with me I’d ruin that sparkling good girl image so bad, her father would send SWAT after me. ”
My reputation in the streets of New York tell a different story, but Luca and Gabriel know better.
Who I am with enemies is not who I am with a lover.
Women deserve more than what most men bother to give, and if I ever loved someone, I would spend every waking moment trying to live up to the man she believes me to be.
It’s what my mother deserved from my father.
It’s what she raised me to understand, even when he failed her.
Now, if my wife wanted chaos—wanted to be paraded through this city, wanted to be fucked in every corner of it by me and the boys—I wouldn’t pretend I’d hate the idea. I’d be a lucky man. But luck has never favored me, and women like Erin O’Connor are never raised for that kind of life anyway.
“Irish Princess may not be as good as we think,” Gabriel hums, leaning back against his seat and switching to driving with one hand.
“What makes you say that?” I deadpan, my head lolling over to look at him lazily.
“Because she sent a spy,” he says easily. “A cute little one. To check if you were attractive.”
I let out a quiet breath through my nose and look back to the windshield as the lights of New York bleed back into view, the familiar press of the city settling into my bones. “Rosalina Carter,” I say. “The girl joining her?”
“Yup,” Gabriel replies, smiling to himself. “And she’s feisty. Curly brunette. Curvy. Didn’t hesitate to put her hands on me.”
I don’t respond immediately.
Just my type. Fuck.
In the back seat, Luca perks up instantly, leaning forward until his chin nearly clears the headrest. “I like her already,” he says, eyes lighting up. “She’s mine.”
“No,” I say flatly.
He ignores me. “You marry the daughter and Gabriel and I fuck the spy. ”
I turn slowly, fixing him with a look. “We are not adding her to the marriage contract to be your fuck buddy. If she wants to fuck you, she can, freely.”
Luca lifts his hands in mock surrender, still smiling. “I’m just saying—”
“I know exactly what you’re saying,” I cut in. “And the answer is no. I’m not marrying one woman while the other becomes some kind of accessory. This isn’t a fucking auction.”
Gabriel snorts. “Relax. He means well.”
“No he doesn’t,” I reply. “He means whatever his dick says.”
Luca reclines back into his seat, unfazed. “You’re no fun anymore.”
“I was never fun,” I dead pan, just as the car phone rings.
The sharp, mechanical trill cuts through the car, loud enough to make Luca lean back in his seat and Gabriel flick his eyes to the console. I look down at the car phone mounted into the dash.
I reach forward and lift the heavy handset from its cradle, the coiled cord stretching as I bring it to my ear. “Hello?”
I don’t need the voice on the other end to tell me who it is. I know the cadence before the words finish forming.
“Arrangements have been adjusted,” my father says.
I sit straighter in the seat. Gabriel glances at me once, then looks back to the road.
“The Irish agreed,” my father continues. “You’ll be married this Saturday.”
This Saturday.
“We moved it up?” I ask, carefully.
“Is that a problem?” My father asks, his tone sharp, which makes me think he is in front of an audience, which means I can’t disagree with him right now.
I close my eyes for half a second. Just long enough to swallow the instinct to argue.
“No, sir,” I say evenly. “Understood.”
“Bene,” he replies. “Congratulazioni.”
The line goes dead.
I lower the handset back into its cradle. The click echoes louder than it should in the car.
“When did they move the wedding to?” Luca asks lowly, as we finally make it to Brooklyn.
“Saturday.”
Luca exhales slowly behind me, then lets out a low whistle. “That’s fast.”
“Shut up,” Gabriel mutters, though there’s no heat in it.
“Well, I guess let's move the bachelor party up to tonight.” Luca laughs, shaking my shoulder lightly and winking Gabriel. “Make some calls!”
I don’t respond. I lean back into the seat, pressing my tongue to the back of my teeth and breathe through the irritation, the anticipation, the faint, unwanted pull of curiosity that refuses to die.
Saturday will come whether I’m ready or not. And when it does, everything changes, for better, or for worse.