Walking The Line (Satan's Knights Prospect Trilogy Book 3)

by Janine Infante Bosco

  It may have been an option when Wolf first decided Frankie and Sophie needed to relocate, but it hasn’t been mentioned since and with Maria and Wolf encouraging Nico to fix the baby’s room, I assumed Frankie would come back here when the baby was born. Wolf was already working with the club lawyer to make it so that my father couldn’t touch our child. Once those papers were legal, this whole thing could be done. Frankie could come home, and we can go back to who we were before.

  “What?” I ask, trying to make sense of why I wasn’t informed of this.

  “I told him that was to be decided. I don’t think that’s the plan my dad has in mind, but you guys should probably talk.”

  “I don’t want to move.”

  His eyes flicker with something I can’t quite place.

  “Talk to him.”

  He looks back to my feet.

  “Not bad for my first try,” he praises, lifting both feet to rest on his abs. “What do you think?”

  Still harping on the fact Frankie expects me to move and has yet to divulge that information to me, I mindlessly glance down at my feet, wiggling my toes. My nails look much better than they did before, and he even managed to get the polish off my big toe.

  “They look great,” I say softly, lifting my gaze back to his face. “Thank you.”

  He gives me a small smile, before squeezing both feet and dropping them to the floor.

  “Next time you want your toes polished, just ask.”

  We stare at each other silently, neither willing to break the moment. The doorbell rings in the distance and Nico turns his head, a frown ticking at the corners of his mouth and just like that, the moment is gone. He pulls himself up to his feet and leaves the room without another word.

  Without another look.

  Burning.

  Aching.

  Wishing.

  -Sixteen-

  Nico

  I painted her fucking toenails.

  The person ringing the bell is probably here to revoke my man card. Fuck, I’m not even sure I have one for them to take at this point. Perhaps they’ll just take me instead, throw me in a trunk and drive me across the state line.

  I pull open the door and my hopes plummet as I stare at the crowd of people circling the porch. Dad, Maria, Riggs, Lauren, their cubs—even Anthony, Maria’s eldest son and his wife, Adrianna are here with their two kids, Luca and Victoria.

  “Is it Christmas?” I ask, taking in the aluminum trays they all seem to be carrying. Except for Anthony. He’s got six loaves of bread under one arm and two boxes from the bakery in his other hand.

  No presents, though.

  Definitely not Christmas.

  “Sunday dinner,” Maria exclaims. “When your father was making the meatballs this morning, he realized Carrie hasn’t been to Sunday dinner yet.”

  My grip tightens on the doorknob as my gaze flits to my dad. It’s not my place to thank him for being thoughtful where Carrie is concerned, and yet I still feel the urge. I know they’re doing it for Frankie’s sake and because they genuinely care for Carrie now too, but it still means something to me. I don’t know how to explain it other than I like knowing the girl I care for is cared for by my family too. That her feelings are considered. That she is welcomed even if she isn’t welcomed as mine.

  “Are you going to let us in, I’m fucking starving,” Riggs grunts.

  “How can you be hungry if you keep picking at the lasagna,” Anthony says, calling him out.

  “Man, didn’t you take some fucking code of silence or something? Why you gotta be a rat?”

  Before the former mob enforcer knocks out the Tiger, I move aside, giving them all room to enter the house. The kids push through first, ransacking the joint before the rest of the family files through the front door.

  “Where’s Carrie?” Dad asks, leading the pack towards the kitchen. He pauses and turns to me.

  I also really like the fact that the whole family has adapted to the nickname I gave her. In my twisted fucking head, I let myself imagine they call her Carrie because of me…because she’s mine. “I made her eggplant. Frankie says it’s her favorite.”

  Hearing my brother’s name is like having a bucket of water dumped on my head.

  Well, Dad, thanks for setting me straight.

  And for bursting my fucking bubble too.

  “I’m right here,” Carrie calls.

  Dad and I both turn towards the stairs, watching as she comes down them. My gaze wanders to her bare feet and the pink polish.

  Christ, I hope she doesn’t tell them I polished her nails.

  I’ll never hear the end of it.

  “You made me eggplant?” she asks in that sweet fucking tone of hers.

  That tone and those eyes are my undoing.

  My goddamn kryptonite.

  “Yeah, I hope you’re hungry, sweetheart.”

  Her lower lip trembles slightly—a sign she’s about to cry.

  I lied.

  That, right there, that vulnerable look she gives to only the people she trusts most, that’s my fucking undoing.

  “Ah, fuck, now look what you did,” I growl, clenching my jaw. “You made her cry.”

  “Over eggplant?” Dad balks. “There’s no crying when there’s eggplant.”

  Hissing, I shake my head.

  He doesn’t get it.

  No one does.

  “She cries if we run out of toilet paper.”

  “It’s the hormones,” she sniffles.

  “Well, now I didn’t mean anything by it,” Dad mutters, pushing the aluminum tray towards her as she lifts her head and meets his worried gaze. “Take a whiff, that’ll make it better. You’ll get hungry and forget all your troubles. Happens to me all the time.”

  Carrie studies him for a second, probably wondering if he’s lost his fucking mind because he thinks eggplant is the cure to all, then leans forward and sniffs the foil covered tray. A small grin lights up her face, punching me in the gut, and she peers back at my father.

  For fuck’s sake.

  I think he’s made her a believer too.

  Eggplant works miracles.

  “Smells delicious.”

  “Wait until you try it,” he winks. “Fresh from the garden too.”

  “I can’t wait,” Carrie replies.

  She straightens up and I watch as she pulls her lower lip between her teeth. A look washes over her face. It’s the same one she gets whenever she isn’t sure of herself or when she wants to do something but fears rejection. It’s the look she gave me when she came into my bedroom that night. Only her nipples aren’t fucking hard, so I doubt she’s thinking about making a pass at Papa Dukes.

  Christ, can you imagine?

  Suddenly, she rises on her freshly painted tiptoes and gives my dad’s cheek a peck. She retreats so quickly, dad blinks and looks to me, his eyes questioning mine as if to ask if that really happened.

  “Thanks Wolf,” she says softly. “For the eggplant and well, for everything really.”

  He turns to her and the big beast becomes putty in her hand.

  If God had given dad a daughter, us boys would’ve totally gotten the shaft.

  The doorbell rings again and my eyes instinctively divert towards the packed dining room, watching as everyone works to set the table. I take a quick inventory of all the faces before turning to answer the door. As expected, it’s Enzo…never on time. However, I wasn’t anticipating a plus one and I sure as fuck didn’t think it’d be my mother.

  “Look who I found at Leoni’s picking up fresh mozzarella,” Enzo says, draping an arm around my mom’s shoulders. “My favorite bonus mom.”

  Beaming, she swats his chest gently.

  “You shouldn’t have favorites, Enzo.”

  His face falls.

  “Oh shit, you don’t think Maria heard me, do you?”

  Still shocked my mother is standing at the door, I don’t bother to look over my shoulder to see if Maria heard him.

  I hope she d
id.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, sounding just as dumbfounded as I’m sure I look.

  “Well, when my son doesn’t come by in three months, and barely calls anymore, I decided it was time to do a mom check.”

  A mom check.

  What the fuck is a mom check?

  “I’m a grown man,” I argue.

  “I’m your mother. That means nothing.”

  “Patty,” Dad says. “Come in, we just got here. We’re having dinner together.”

  Now that doesn’t surprise me.

  Neither does my mother’s gracious smile or the fact that she hands me her jean jacket as she walks through the door like I’m the butler of the house. My parents get along good, that’s what happens when love loses but respect remains. You’re able to sit at the table together and share a meal as a family. Sadly, it ain’t the norm for most people, Carrie being one of them. I close the door and my eyes find hers. The poor girl looks shellshocked.

  “You must be Carrie,” Mom says, offering her a smile.

  Oh no.

  I forgot to mention, my mom…she’s a brazen one with no fucking filter whatsoever. On top of that, she’s observant. When I told her about Carrie and Frankie and that she was living with me, her eyes shot to her eyebrows—sort of like when she watches daytime television.

  Patti Scotto loves the drama.

  It’s probably why she never changed her name after she and dad got divorced.

  “I’ve heard so much about you,” Mom says sweetly.

  Me and my big fucking mouth.

  Let me clarify, it’s not that I said anything bad or incriminating, but in passing, I may have spoken of Carrie a little more than I’ve spoken about any other girl. I chalk it up to her and I living together. What else am I going to talk about? My club? I don’t even fucking ride that much since she’s been here. I barely know what the fuck is going on anymore. All I know is what I’m surrounded by and that’s Carrie.

  So, yeah, I probably should’ve toned down the Carrie talk.

  God, the list of should haves is getting long.

  At least I had the sense to start declining her calls.

  One point for Nico.

  “That’s of course when my son answers my calls, ” she taunts, pausing to give me the side-eye. “I left you three voicemails yesterday, none of which you bothered to return.”

  “I was busy.”

  “Oh, yeah?” she asks, lifting an eyebrow. “What were you doing? Crocheting a baby blanket for your niece or nephew?”

  “Actually, he’s been painting the nursery,” Carrie supplies with a smile. “He won’t let me see it yet though.”

  “How nice,” my mom says, narrowing her eyes at me. “I raised a regular Bob Villa.”

  “Is that one of your soap opera guys?” I ask, sarcastically.

  She scoffs, waving a hand at me. I hang her jacket on the hook behind the door as she turns back to Carrie.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, honey,” she says.

  Wonderful.

  Everyone’s getting along

  “So, who’s hungry?” I ask.

  The quicker everyone eats, the sooner they all leave.

  I clasp my hands together, ready to usher them all towards the grub and out the door, but I flinch as a dull ache spreads across my palm. Carrie notices and steps towards me, her eyes flickering with concern.

  “Are you okay?”

  I grit my teeth.

  “Fine.”

  “Well, I’m fucking starving,” Dad declares, seemingly clueless to the fucking circus. “Let’s eat!”

  The last of us stragglers head into the dining room and everyone starts to take their seats. Dad sits at the head of one end and Anthony sits at the other. Everyone else finds a seat, leaving two chairs in the middle for me and Carrie to sit. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was a setup but there is no one at this table promoting that kind of carnage.

  I pull out the chair for Carrie and avoid her eyes as she looks at me.

  “Just sit,” I clip, so low only she can hear.

  Once her ass is in the chair, I take my seat. Everyone starts passing around the food, filling their plates. I steal a glance at Carrie, watching as she scoops some ziti onto her plate. Instead of passing it to me when she’s done, she drops a hefty spoonful onto my plate. It’s such a mindless thing, a simple act, but to me it’s everything.

  With that little gesture, she takes care of me and that’s something I’ve never had a girl do for me. The realization causes my fist to close around the fork, so tightly that I nearly bend it in half.

  “So, you must be excited for your first grandchild, Al,” Mom says.

  Dad lifts his head and tosses her a smile.

  “What makes you think that?” he retorts, slicing his gaze towards Carrie. “It was definitely an unexpected surprise and I may not have…uh…acted appropriately when I first found out—for that I’m sorry, but I’m thrilled.”

  Carrie’s fork pauses at her lips as she turns to look at my dad, smiling widely at him

  “It’s okay. You made me eggplant, you’re forgiven.”

  He winks at her.

  “He’s so thrilled he gave me his credit card yesterday to buy two layettes,” Maria chimes in. “One for a boy and one for a girl.”

  The humor slips away from his face.

  “You can return one, right?” he questions.

  “Yo, man, if you ain’t eating that, fork it over,” Enzo says, nudging me with his elbow. I look at him, then at the untouched dish in front of me. As I stab the pasta with my fork, I feel Carrie’s eyes on me.

  “Are you okay?” she whispers.

  Instead of replying, I shove the pasta into my mouth and chew.

  That’s twice she’s asked.

  “I wish this one over here would settle down and give us a grandbaby,” Mom says and I fucking start to choke. Carrie pushes a glass of water into my hand as my mother rolls her eyes.

  “So dramatic,” she scoffs as she lifts a piece of bread. Buttering it, she pauses and points her knife at Lauren.

  “Honey, you’re a nice girl. Don’t you have any friends for my Nico, here?”

  Enzo laughs beside me.

  “Oh, man, I’m loving this,” Enzo quips. “Patti you gotta come to dinner more often. You can be my date.”

  “Eat your pasta, Enzo,” Mom orders, her eyes on Lauren, hoping she’ll toss her a bone…or a daughter-in-law.

  “Tara from the gym asked for you the other day,” Anthony chimes in.

  The man barely fucking talks, now he wants to be Mr. Sociable.

  “Who’s Tara?” Carrie asks, her voice barely a whisper.

  “Nobody,” I clip, desperate to end this conversation.

  “Bullshit,” Enzo says, leaning forward to look at Carrie. “Nico rocked her world in Anthony’s office.”

  “You fucked one of my clients in my office?” Anthony growls.

  “Language!” Maria chastises. “There are kids at the table for fuck's sake.”

  “It’s okay, Grandma,” Eric, Lauren and Riggs’ oldest son, says. “Mommy drops the f-bomb all the time.”

  “Yeah, especially when she and daddy are in the shower,” Robert, the middle one, adds.

  It’s always the middle child that has the biggest mouth.

  “If he fucked her in your office, it had to be a long time ago,” Riggs adds, completely ignoring the fact that his son just shared his sexcapades with the entire family as he shoves an entire meatball into his mouth. I’m not even sure he chews it before he swallows and continues, “The guys dick has been broken for oh, I don’t know, when did Blackie get arrested?”

  A gasp sounds from across the table and I look at my mom.

  Oh, here comes the soap opera.

  “You’re still not over Lacey?” she questions. “For heaven’s sake, it was cute when it was a childhood crush. It’s old now.”

  “Riggs, Patti,” Dad hisses. “Drop it.”

&n
bsp; “If Nico is looking for a girl, I may have someone,” Adrianna says. “The girl who does my hair, Priscilla—she’s single. Nice girl too…beautiful. You know, now that I’m thinking about, she’s perfect for you. Why don’t I set it up?”

  “Is she Italian?” Dad asks.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Mom says. “We’ll teach her how to make sauce.”

  Carrie’s fork drops with a clang against her plate and the table goes silent.

  “Sorry…” she stammers, picking it back up. “Butter fingers,” she adds.

  My gaze snaps to her immediately, gauging her reaction. She pushes her food around and I see that lower lip quiver. Swallowing hard, I drop my hand to my thigh and look at my mother.

  “Enough,” I order, feeling the control slip from my body. “I’m not ready to settle down.”

  “Preach, my brother,” Enzo says. “Why tie yourself down when there are so many pretty little felines to discover and enjoy.”

  “Oh, dear lord,” Maria says, dropping her head into her hands. “He starting to sound like Riggs.”

  “You love me, Mama Leone,” Riggs replies. “Quit fronting.”

  I tune them all out and focus on Carrie. She looks fucking miserable and before I can think better of it, I slide my hand under the table. I touch her leg and her head jerks, but she doesn’t look at me, so I keep at it. My fingers kneading her thigh, inching higher and higher.

  Her tongue sneaks out of her mouth and takes a lap at her lower lip. A groan threatens to erupt from the back of my throat, but I clamp my lips together tightly, suppressing it. She slides her hand under the table and gently lays it over mine, locking it in place.

  I want her eyes, but I know she’s too chicken to give them to me.

  At least one of us is still cautious.

  I’m about ready to slide my fingers over her pussy and find out if she’s as wet as my dick is hard.

  Reaching for my fork with my free hand, I lean over her and pluck a piece of eggplant off her plate. That does the trick, and she turns her head as I shove the fork into my mouth. Our eyes lock and I wink at her.

  Don’t worry, Green Eyes, we’re still fucked.

  I only want you.

  The moment doesn’t last long as my father calls my name. Quickly, I peel my eyes from Carrie, keeping my hand where it is, and look towards my dad.