by Kim Linwood
“Franco got shot in the arm once. My cousin, I mean.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this.
“The airport guy? Did you take good care of him?”
“Jealous?” I smile, and let my fingers slide down his jaw. “And no, I was fourteen. He was eighteen and used to tease me all the time, so I’d sneak up and slap his bandage.”
“And he still talks to you?” Montana’s voice is light, but his eyes are focused on me with a scary intensity.
“I introduced him to his girlfriend. Love makes people do all sorts of strange stuff.” I shiver. The adrenaline is wearing off, and the sweat cooling on my skin makes the cool evening even colder.
He boxes me in with his arms. “It does.”
“What… what was that about in the bar? Are you really brothers? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Would it have changed anything? I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not exactly the golden boy of the family.”
“Honestly? I don’t know.” I fiddle with his collar, straightening it out.
“We’re half-brothers. It’s not something they talk about a lot, but Mom was married before Giuseppe.”
“Really?”
“You wanted to know where my name came from? She was nineteen and ran off with one of Gioele’s lieutenants.”
“Gioele?” I squint at him.
“Giuseppe’s dad. My step-grandfather, I guess.” He shrugs. “Mom and the lieutenant—Dad—were in love, but she was supposed to marry the old man’s son, Giuseppe. My father’s best friend.”
This is already heading for disaster.
“When Mom and Dad made a run for it, they hid out in Montana for almost a year until she got pregnant. Wanting to give her more than some shithole rented apartment to raise a family in, Dad swallowed his pride and came back to the Caporossis.” His expression is shuttered, but there’s anger in his voice. “Instead, his dumb ass landed in jail, and she had me on her own with nobody there to help. I was baptized with the name of the place she was happiest. Even if it didn’t last, she said so long as she had me, a part of it was still alive.”
“Your poor mom…”
“Gioele was shot not long after that, and Giuseppe took over. Word got out that my father was shanked in jail, and after that, it wasn’t hard for Giuseppe to bring her back to the fold. She’s been happy, I suppose. He had to care or he would’ve written her off.”
“Oh my God.”
“I don’t remember any of it. The Caporossis are all I’ve ever known. Marc and I share a mother, but that’s about it. He was raised to follow in Giuseppe’s footsteps, and for most of my life I’ve been nothing but an uncomfortable reminder of a time everyone would rather forget. At least until I was old enough for them to use. So there you go. Aside from my blood type and my star sign, I think that’s all there is to me. No more secrets. He’s an obnoxious shithead most of the time, but Marc’s my little brother.”
“Baby,” I whisper, my heart breaking for him.
What is it about a powerful man in a vulnerable moment that makes women swoon? Montana is the definition of a tough guy, but right now want to pull him into bed and erase all of the pain from his life.
“I didn’t tell you to get your pity. It was a long time ago, and I don’t think about it much.” He shrugs.
I spread my palm over his heart, feeling the heat of his skin under his shirt. The beat is strong and steady. “You’re no more free than I am.”
He laughs. “Giuseppe hasn’t tried to marry me off to anyone yet, so I’ve got that going for me.”
“You’re young and eligible. There’s still time.”
Montana puts his hand over mine. “I used to think my father was an asshole for stealing my mother away like he did. If he really loved her, he wouldn’t have put her through all that.”
“Used to?”
“I’m starting to understand why he was willing to take the chance.” His dark eyes grow even darker as he looks down at me. The goosebumps on my skin aren’t just from the cold anymore.
After he shared his darkest secrets with me, I give him one of mine. “I don’t know if I can be as brave as your mother.”
We’re so close I can feel every inch of him against me. I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s going to make things more complicated, and the last thing I need is more complications. Have I dreamed about running away? Only about a million times, but for better or for worse, they are my family. In every sense of the word.
But people do strange things, even for a shot at love.
He licks his lips, drawing my attention to how kissable they are. “And I still don’t know if what she did was worth it.”
“But maybe…”
His mouth crashes down over mine. We’re the only two people left in the world, and the feel of his hands sliding down to cup my ass and pull me closer is enough to make me want to melt right out of my dress and into his arms.
“We’re so screwed,” I gasp.
“Hopefully.”
“Fuck it.” I stretch up and kiss him again.
I initiated the kiss, but he takes control, his tongue plunging into my mouth and his arms pulling me closer. Clutching his neck, I give him everything I have. Our encounter on the plane was incredible, but this is different. This means something, more than just a moment’s gratification, and I don’t want to give up even a second of it.
Eyes closed, I’m super aware of him next to me. His muscular body and the smooth fabric of his shirt brushing against my cleavage. My nipples are hard points under the black lace of my dress, and his scent teases my nose. Even over the sting of spilled booze and the thick city air, I can smell the spicy, masculine scent of his skin. Every one of his fingers burns like a brand against my ass.
By the time we come up for air, he’s hard and stiff against my stomach. It takes all of my willpower to push away instead of begging him for more. “We should get back.” My voice comes out as a breathy rasp.
“A bed does sound a lot more comfortable. It might be nice for a change.”
“Don’t tempt me.” I grin in spite of myself.
“Ask me anything else, because I can’t promise that.” The light in his eyes makes me glad he’s holding me up. He sighs and buries his face in the crook of my neck. The short line of his beard tickles my collarbone. “You smell… intoxicating.”
I giggle. “That was terrible.”
He licks my neck and nips my skin, making me gasp. “I remember how you taste, and it’s driving me crazy.”
In my head I can picture him between my legs, but this time it’s me who’s being driven crazy. “Montana…” I’m afraid to take the plunge. Kissing him has already made me want more than I should.
“Shh. I get it. Another night.” He reaches into his pocket and unlocks his phone. “Uber’s on its way.”
“Another night,” I echo softly as I follow him out of the alley.
It feels like a promise.
16
Montana
“DiFiero isn’t happy.” By the furious look on his face, neither is Giuseppe.
Glaring at me across his broad wooden desk is the man who I should think of as a father, but who’ll never be anything other than my boss. I haven’t given it much thought in years, but last night with Andrea dredged up all sorts of feelings better left alone.
The confusion of a child. The anger of a teenager. The ambivalence of a man.
“So what the fuck happened? You were there to keep the girl in line, not help her out of it.”
While he’s sitting comfortably in his deep leather chair, I haven’t been offered a seat, left to stand in the middle of the room, like a naughty schoolboy in the principal’s office. I don’t care. Detentions stopped being scary before I was out of middle school.
I shrug. “Should I have let her run off on her own?”
“You shouldn’t have let it happen in the first place!” He slams his hand on his desk, a flat sound against the dense wood. “Do you have any idea
how humiliating it was for your brother to stand there and hear she was gone?”
Of course. It’s about Marc.
He pushes his chair back and gets to his feet. Pacing slowly, he gestures angrily. “I didn’t have to take you in. Raise you. Give you a roof over your head.” Stopping long enough to give me piercing stare, he asks acidly, “Where does your loyalty lie, Montana?”
“The Family, of course. You know that.” I smile without humor, staring him down and daring him to challenge me. He might hate everything I represent, but that doesn’t mean he’s been afraid to use me when it suits him.
My family has my loyalty until I draw my last breath.
My mother, aunts, uncles, cousins, and yes, even that shithead Marc.
One day this man will be gone, and until then I bide my time and do what I can to keep the people who matter safe. A new name seems to have crept onto that list, and I don’t know what to do about it yet.
Giuseppe’s eyes narrow. “Never make the mistake of overestimating your importance.”
“Oh, I think you’ve made it perfectly clear how much I don’t matter.”
“I wonder sometimes…” Turning his back, he pauses in front of a large window overlooking Lake Michigan, crossing his hands behind his back. “Explain to me how protecting the DiFiero girl led to getting into a brawl with Marco and refusing to let him take her home.”
“I told you. Andrea was bolting. Their family is even more fucked up than ours. She didn’t know shit until she walked up to you at Gino’s.”
“You’ve been watching her. What do you think? Will this work?”
Fuck, no. She’s too good for this, you backwards asshole.
It’s what I want to say, but I push it down and answer as his man. “She’s young and idealistic. Nearly done with school. This engagement blindsided her and she’s pissed, but…”
“But?”
“But she’s her father’s daughter. Give her time to adjust and she’ll come around.” It kills me that what I’ve told him is probably true. If I stepped out of the picture, she’d probably at least give Marc a chance, and as much as I hate to admit it, he can be charming when he wants to be.
Too bad I’m not going anywhere.
Giuseppe snorts, still not happy, but mollified for the moment.
“Marco tells me you two were quite friendly when he got there.” Turning to face me, his mouth is a grim thin line. “This alliance is crucial if we want to stay relevant in this city, and she’s the only unstable piece left in the puzzle.”
“She’s a person, not a pawn. Treating her like an asset is exactly what everyone here is doing wrong.”
Giuseppe gives me a look that would’ve had me running when I was younger. “How old are you now?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“When I was twenty-nine, you know what I was doing?” He pauses, forcing me to answer before he’ll continue.
“What?”
“Taking back what was mine.”
Fucker. “And how’d that work for you?”
Giuseppe’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he gestures around him. “I have a beautiful house, a beautiful wife and a beautiful son. What do you think?” His face hardens. “It’s all a game, and we play our parts when we have to. The winners set the rules for the next round.”
“So what do you expect this marriage to do?”
“Ever since that damn Trabucco became mayor, things have gotten ugly.”
I nod, remembering him. A slimeball, but once he won the election, suddenly his whole platform started to revolve around taking down the Mafia.
Giuseppe continues, “Harry Keaton is back in, and Palmieri blew himself up on his idiotic crusade. The DiFieros,” he sneers, obviously still not happy with our new allies, “have history, connections and the respectability we need to keep from hemorrhaging people. The Feds are working closely with Keaton and making it hard to do business in Chicago.”
Palmieri was our guy, a plant in the police, until he went rogue. Keaton was his old partner, as clean as Palmieri was dirty. Him being in charge of an anti-Mafia unit is bad news.
I pick my words carefully. “Ever consider that the old ways aren’t going to last forever? A hundred years ago we could take on the cops. Have you seen the news? They have fucking drones now. This isn’t prohibition anymore.”
He waves away my concerns. “Good thing my money isn’t invested in moonshine. I’ve been Don for thirty years, and my father sat in this same seat for forty. We’ll adapt, but wasting time bickering with each other isn’t doing either of our families any good. Marco and Andrea are the future.”
“And where am I in that cozy little picture?” Don’t think I failed to notice you never even think of me as family, you old bastard.
“Still alive.”
“And in exchange for that generous retirement package, I help you pimp out your precious son? What a deal.”
He chuckles dryly. “Never forget, that one day, he’ll be the one sitting here giving you orders. Don’t play dumb with me. I know you aren’t the meathead you pretend to be. It’s in your best interests to make sure you carve out a place in his world.”
A place that would have me watching Andrea with my brother? I’d rather write myself off now while I still have my pride.
“If he keeps acting like a dick around her, nothing I do is going to make her think any better of him. Am I supposed to stand around and let him fuck with her?”
Giuseppe’s fist clenches. “Don’t get too attached to your brother’s fiancée. This is business, not romance.”
“I’d do the same for any woman.” At best a partial truth.
He covers the distance between us in two strides, getting right up in my face. If he expects me to flinch, he’ll be disappointed. His attempts to bully me into submission are old hat. One on one I can take him easily and we both know it. Just like we both know I’ll lose everything I care about and won’t make it out of the house alive if I do.
“Your father thought he could defy his Don and run off into the sunset without any repercussions. He learned his lesson the hard way. You might not be my son, but you are one of us, and don’t ever forget it, because I certainly won’t. I give you a degree of latitude to keep your mother happy. Don’t abuse it.” A vein in his forehead stands out, pumping angrily. “Now get your ass back to their house and do your job. And ONLY your job.”
My future stares me in the face like the barrel of a gun. No matter what I do, I’m screwed.
17
Andrea
“You know what? If my childish sensibilities offend you that much, then I’ll spare you the misery of having to deal with them.” I slam my bedroom door before Mom gets the chance to reply.
Immature? Absolutely, but what do I have to lose? That’s all she thinks I am, anyway.
“Andrea!” She hammers my door like she’s trying to break through. “Don’t you dare walk away from me.”
If she thinks I’m childish now, I can only imagine what she’d say if she saw the face I’m making at her. What’s the point? Doing my best to put the pounding out of my head, I flop onto my couch.
For two days I’ve been a prisoner in my own home. My choices are to stay in my room, or be spotted by Mom or Dad and suffer through yet another lecture about family and responsibility.
Fortunately my room is a suite, and I haven’t really been hungry in days. Not since the night they dropped their bombshell on me. Though honestly, it’s been longer than that. Even when I went out with Evie before I left school, I barely picked at my chicken.
I think I’m dying. I text Montana. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
I haven’t really talked to him since he came back to our house after dropping me off that night, but I know he’s around. He slipped me his number when I went down to breakfast yesterday. Knowing my father, Montana is probably stuck standing around somewhere where Dad can keep an eye on him.
Time is running out. The
Caporossis—through a suspiciously friendly Marc—agreed to give me a week to adjust to the news. I don’t know why he’s being so generous about it, but I’ll take every last free minute it gives me.
My phone chimes. Sulking isn’t the same as dying.
Sulking?
The big jerk does know this is my life we’re talking about, right?
Remembering our conversation in the alley, shame creeps in, tinging my self-pity. If anyone else knows what it’s like to have their life screwed up and dictated by other people, it’s him.
I don’t know how to respond, or even if I should. Instead I open apps almost randomly. No new email. No Pokémon in the area. And then there it is. A little helpful reminder from my period tracker that I’m twelve days late. I’ve always been a little irregular, which is why I started using it in the first place.
But twelve days? It couldn’t really be that long, right?
God knows I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. And thanks to the boinkers next door back in England, there hasn’t been much sleep lately. I poke my boobs. Sore, but that’s normal for PMS. I’m probably just late.
Right?
But this is really late, even for me.
It’s been… I bring up the calendar and check the days. Almost four weeks since I flew back to England. But Montana and I used protection. I know we did, so I’m just late.
Turning on my TV, I flip through channels aimlessly, but can’t focus on anything without my brain circling back to the possibilities. My phone doesn’t help, either. According to Google, I’m either pregnant, not pregnant, or it’s cancer.
Great, thanks.
There’s no way I can sneak out of the house on my own. Not with everything on lockdown after my escape from the dinner from hell. I haven’t looked, but it wouldn’t surprise me if my father even has guards posted on the roof.
A quick shower and a fresh coat of war paint later, I’m as prepared as I’ll ever be to deal with the dragon-lady downstairs. By the time I pull on my favorite cashmere sweater and my most kickass ankle boots, you can barely tell I’m freaking out inside.
