by Bethany-Kris
“Made men don’t fight, and certainly not in a public club where it causes them to be arrested.”
“We’re not made yet.”
“And you won’t be, if you continue this behavior,” Gian returned.
Ouch.
That stung a little.
Marcus cleared his throat, coming further into the office to take one of the two high-back leather chairs that faced their father’s desk. Gian looked to his oldest son, considering something before he asked, “And what did you have to say to them about all of this?”
“Nothing we say to them matters. That’s half the problem.”
“Pardonne-moi?”
“They’re spoiled,” Marcus returned in English, knowing the twins had always struggled to learn French like their father spoke more often than not. “And because we’ve spent more time and effort cleaning after their messes than correcting them, this is the problem we face.”
We, Beni noticed.
Not you.
Marcus took responsibility for his brothers as much as he placed blame on his parents. It wasn’t lost on Beni, and he wasn’t shocked to hear Marcus say as much, either. Always the responsible one—he looked out for everyone in their family. He felt an innate sense of duty toward his younger brothers, and for his parents. Maybe it was because he was the oldest, or it could have been the fact he was the only Guzzi brother that was a singleton without a twin to match him, and better him.
After all, Beni always said Bene was his better half, and his brother would reply in kind. When he was nervous, Bene was there to push him. If he went to far, Bene would rein him in. It was the same for him with his twin.
Chris and Corrado were the same.
Marcus, though?
He had to do it all alone.
His need to protect and look after his family came from a different source than theirs, but it was there, nonetheless. It was why they loved him. Even if he was just like their dad.
Some days, Beni found himself wishing all his brothers could go back to a time when they were nothing more than teenagers. Before the mafia swept into their life to determine how they behaved and treated one another when the doors were open to the public, and even when they were closed. He missed the times when Marcus was easier, more carefree. That seemed so long ago, really.
“They’re selfish because we’ve allowed them to be,” Marcus continued like the twins weren’t sitting right there, “and that’s the other half of the problem. Spoiled, and selfish. They don’t consider the family—their need to protect our name comes from a self-centered place, and not for a selfless reason. They don’t consider the mess they make, only the instant gratification from their outbursts.”
Gian shifted on his feet, letting his arms fall to his sides. “And so, how do we correct that?”
For the first time since entering the office, Marcus glanced the twins’ way. Beni could plainly see the concern warring with duty in his oldest brother’s gaze. And yet, Marcus hardened his expression because that’s what he needed to do. And he was nothing if not reliable. He got shit done, even if it was hard.
Like now.
Beni respected it.
Even if he hated what came next.
“We have to stop letting them run wild, and then cleaning up after them when something goes wrong. We can’t continue to expect them to learn when all we’ve taught them is someone else will be there to take care of them, Papa. That’s all.”
Gian nodded, his attention going to Beni first, and Bene second. “He’s right, you know.”
The twins said nothing.
They didn’t really need to.
Gian pushed away from the desk, standing straight before brushing invisible dust from his pant legs. He took the time to fix the gold G cufflinks on his suit jacket, and then lifted his head slightly so that the twins were forced to meet their father’s gaze.
“I want to say it’s because you both are young, but I think a bigger part of the problem is that you both feed off one another. Is it made better or worse because you are in home territory, and you know someone will be there to catch you when you mess up, or fall? That’s yet to be determined, but we’re going to find out.”
“What does that—”
Gian held up a single hand, quieting Bene. “No, it’s my turn now. I have given the two of you more than enough chances to correct the issues you seem to have, but that clearly hasn’t worked, Bene.”
“Come on, this isn’t a big thing,” Bene muttered. “We just had some fun, and got into a fight. It wasn’t like we killed someone.”
“Yet.” Gian lifted one shoulder, his tone cold and flat as he continued on with, “You have not done something I cannot fix yet, and I do not want to reach that point with the two of you. I need you to learn to respect and value your place in this family and business. Apparently, I am not the right man to teach you. I thought the two of you would be like your other brothers—this is what you wanted, and so you would fall into line, and settle out of your wildness. Instead, you’ve used your status and privilege as an excuse to become worse.”
Beni knew exactly what his father was saying.
And how he would fix it.
Correct an issue before it gets worse.
That was the Guzzi way.
“We’ll start with a year away, and go from there,” his father stated.
Even Marcus looked up at that, although their oldest brother stayed quiet.
Gian nodded. “A year away, mentoring under a different organization. Your uncle in Chicago is willing to make a place for the two of you in the Outfit. I will reconsider after the year is up, depending on how well the two of you have done.”
“What?”
“We’ve never worked for the Chicago mob,” Beni said.
Bene scowled. “I fucking hate Chicago.”
They did have a lot of family there, though, being as it was where their mother came from, and where her family remained. Or rather, what was left of it.
Gian shrugged, a faint smile curving his lips as he replied, “In case you didn’t get the memo, boys, it’s no longer about what you want—I’m doing what’s best for you. Otherwise, the more you both act out, the worse my fears become about what will happen to the two of you when I’m not looking. I can’t always watch over you. Marcus won’t always have time to look out for the two of you. And you’re scaring your mother.”
That did it.
Just the mention of hurting their ma.
It was enough to set them straight.
Or, mostly.
“So, Chicago,” Gian said, “you’ll leave within the week. Do make sure to spend as much time with your mother as possible before you go. Understood?”
What choice did they have?
“It’s not so bad,” Marcus said over his shoulder, “Chicago, I mean.”
Beni didn’t believe that. Not for a second.
“And it’ll be good for both of you,” he added quieter, “even if you don’t think so right now.”
Right.
Time would tell, wouldn’t it?
2.
“The most important lesson a woman can learn in business,” a smart woman once told August Rivera, “is that she will always have to work twice as hard to be viewed as even half as good as a man in the same position. You’ll always have to work for it. They never will.”
That woman?
Her ma.
Ada wasn’t wrong, either. Her mother liked to hand down those little tidbits of information whenever she thought August was listening. Truth be told, she listened far more than she didn’t. Her drive to be successful was in the fabric of her being. All she had to do was look to her parents for the reason why, too.
Her mother, now a fine jewelry designer who immigrated from Nigeria with a small savings and a hope and dream, built her company, Ada’s, from the ground up. She was the very definition of blood, sweat, and tears.
Her father, half Italian and half African-American, grew up in the projects
of the Bronx watching people struggle against injustice and oppression. He saw a need, busted his ass through his college years while donating what time he had left to his community, until passing the bar and becoming a defense attorney.
August was meant to succeed.
If anything was written in her stars, it was that.
Maybe that was why, at twenty-two, August already felt like her career had come to a complete standstill. The general rule of thumb for someone who wanted to move up in any company was to refuse to stay in the same position for more than two to three years.
Well ...
She had been the assistant to the editor of Bared Brands magazine since she was eighteen. What had been a temp position as an intern for the editor turned into a part-time position while August worked her way through three years of college. And then, after graduating with her degree in business and journalism, her boss offered her a full-time position as her assistant with the promise of more.
She wanted to work on the magazine. On the editor’s team.
Somehow.
Just once, she wanted to see her name listed in the credits of a spread as part of Michelle Coss’s team. It didn’t seem to matter that, writing for the online publication, she had hit viral status at the age of twenty, or that she had clearly proven herself as a good writer capable of handling the workload on the team. All the gatekeepers at the company saw was her age on paper, and that she hadn’t put in her time, as they liked to say.
But that was her goal with the magazine, and the reason for her mistake of agreeing to move to full-time assistant for the editor. Because here it was, a whole year after continuing this job full-time, but several doing the job, and she still hadn’t gotten the chance to pitch an idea for a spread to the editor’s team.
You might, though.
Right.
Which brought her back to the current conversation she was having with her father while sitting at her desk. From her position, she could see the frosted-glass walls that made up her boss’s office, and the stylish gray and green, modern décor that covered the space where she did most of her office work for the magazine.
In all honesty, her boss was pretty good. Michelle didn’t mind if August took an extra half hour for lunch, or if she sat on her phone for an hour when she was supposed to be running errands. The job itself wasn’t bad. And there was nothing hard about the work—but that was also the problem. She wasn’t being creative, and she wasn’t challenged pushing papers, running errands around the city, or taking calls.
That’s not what she came here for.
She wanted in on the editor’s team.
Simple as that.
She was going to have her chance, though.
Finally.
“Are you all set for your trip?” her father, Cameron, asked.
August nodded, although he couldn’t see it. “Yeah, I just have to grab my bags at the door, and head out in the morning.”
Cameron made a noise under his breath before saying, “Be careful, hmm? Don’t let those TSA workers feel you up, and watch your step while you’re in Chicago. Can’t trust any—”
“I’ll be fine, Dad.”
God knew she had to speak up before her father could really get started. If there was anyone who knew how to have a good panic, it was her dad. Another time, and August might find it amusing and cute. Not today.
The trip to Chicago was more than just a vacation to her. It was the chance for her to finally make a move with her job here at Bared Brands.
“Have you figured out how you want to present your spread to the editor?”
August sighed. “Put me on the spot, why don’t you?”
A laugh answered her back.
That was all she got, though.
After an entire year of asking if she could present an article spread on the culture of a brand in communities or cities to her boss, the woman finally agreed to let August have a shot at it. She had written a few short articles for the online version of the magazine, but like a lot of internet publications, those were submitted without the expectancy of pay. The magazine depended on journalists, writers, and opinion sections to fill up their content spaces, drive traffic, wherein they proceeded to make money through ad revenue, and otherwise.
It was the paper magazine where space was coveted.
In more ways than August could explain.
Her online publications, two informational pieces and one opinion piece, had gained her a bit of notoriety online, and about fifty-thousand followers on her socials. You would think that should be enough to prove her weight to the magazine, but she swore they only saw her as an artist willing to bleed her passion on glossy paper that they would take for all it was worth ... without, of course, giving her much worth in return.
“Well?” her father pressed gently.
August sighed. “I thought I knew how I wanted to present it, but I think it’ll be better to scrap any plans I might have until I get to Chicago, and can actually walk the streets. Talk to some people. See how they feel about the brands that have changed their landscapes, and influenced the culture around them. You know?”
“My smart girl, hmm?”
She smiled, unable to stop herself.
Always her biggest fans.
And cheerleaders.
It was what she loved the most about her parents. It never failed.
Her boss suggested, if all went well, that there was possibly a six-page spread waiting for her take on the influence where brands were concerned in the urban sectors of Chicago. That was, as long as she could pull it off, the content was engaging enough, and her message was clear in the article she had to produce for it.
All things August could do.
Undoubtedly.
She just had to get out of her head to do it.
“Ada thinks the trip will be good for you,” her father said, referring to her mother. “And she wants you to take lots of pictures with Camilla while you’re there. She misses her.”
Yeah, August bet.
August’s best friend from the time she was a young teenager, Camilla Donati—now a Rossi, as her friend married a man connected to the Chicago mob a couple years back—was one of the things she was looking forward to the most in the windy city. She didn’t get to see Cam nearly as much now that she had moved out of New York, and it always felt like they had a ton to catch up on whenever they got together again.
At the same time, it felt like they picked right up where they left off, too. That was one of the better things about having a best friend, even if she was several states away from August now. Time and distance didn’t really make a difference to their friendship.
They were still Camilla and August.
“I will,” August assured her father, “because I am sure Ma won’t let me forget it.”
Likely text her a dozen times a day.
Cameron chuckled. “You know it. And how is Ian treating you?”
Speak of the devil, and he shall appear ...
A truer statement had never passed her mind before.
Ian Bared wasn’t actually the devil, but he could come damn close to it sometimes. People working at the magazine called him a tyrant, and he about looked like it, too, in all his six-foot-four-inch glory, carrying around a solid two-hundred-twenty pounds that he stuffed into a tailored, Armani suit day in and day out.
At her father’s mention of his acquaintance—she wouldn’t call them friends, all things considered—Ian’s shadow darkened her desk, making August look up from the magazine she had spread out across the glossy top. She was quick to give the man a smile, and used a sticky note to keep her place in the magazine before closing it up.
Ian smiled back, a little too widely maybe, before waving a finger at her in a silent demand for her to hang up the phone. He wasn’t her boss—per se—but he was the CEO and majority owner of Bared Brands. And if not for her father’s connection to the man through a case he litigated on behalf of the magazine a few years ago, Augu
st likely wouldn’t have gotten the internship that started her career at this place.
For whatever reason, Ian liked her. Maybe a little too much, all things considered. His office was four floors higher in the large skyscraper, and yet he made an effort to come down to visit her at least once a day.
He wasn’t entirely inappropriate, but he also didn’t have to be. Some guys just gave off that kind of vibe. Maybe their stare lingered a little too long, or their words offered too much room for suggestion.
August found herself between a rock and hard place with Ian Bared. He was closer to her father’s age than her own, and for whatever reason, seemed to like her. She wasn’t interested—at all. She also felt like because her position here had been determined by his relationship to her father, not to mention Bared Brands didn’t exactly foster the greatest environment for women to speak up when they were uncomfortable with the attention of a man at the company, that she couldn’t tell the CEO to leave her alone.
Fucking perfect, huh?
As her mother once said ... work twice as hard.
“He’s great,” she lied to her father. “I will call you back tonight, okay?”
“Everything good?”
“Yep. I just have to get back to work.”
“All right. Try to make it to dinner tonight, yes?”
“Absolutely. Love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too, August.”
Ian’s smile became impossibly wider after August hung up the phone, and gave him all her attention. That’s what this man seemed to want the most, after all. The attention of women, and men, depending on the situation, entirely on him.
He was the God around this place.
“Mr. Bar—”
“Ian,” he interjected smoothly. “How many times have I told you to call me Ian?”
A lot.
She also figured that keeping it professional would help the man to understand she was not interested in dating someone who could be her father.
It didn’t.
Clearly.
“Ian,” August said, measuring her tone for politeness—no need to make a scene, after all. It never ended well for women who did that, but especially not at this magazine. “I was just about to head out for the day. I was off a half hour ago. Did you need something?”
