by Bethany-Kris
He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his slacks and rocked on his heels at the front of her desk. Now, she was wishing she had just left instead of sitting at her desk and flipping through that damn magazine for inspiration.
Hindsight, and all that.
“No,” he said, “I just heard you were heading out on an assignment and wanted to say goodbye as I won’t be seeing you until you come back.”
August shrugged as she stood from her desk, making quick work of packing up the few things, like her laptop and clutch, that she hadn’t put in her bag earlier. “Yep—a month, maybe more, in Chicago for this spread pitch to the team. Well, I’m taking my three weeks of vacation, but the extra week or so ... Michelle allowed me to work on this.”
“Finally seeing your potential, then.”
Maybe.
“I just want to see what comes out of it. This idea has been in the back of my mind for a while.”
“I bet.”
Then, Ian reached over the desk and caught one of August’s loose box braids in his fingers to curl around one digit. It was a purposeful move, and it all but made her freeze on the spot. That was the problem with this man—a simple conversation could quickly cross over into inappropriate territory before someone blinked. One couldn’t prepare and avoid it when he behaved this way.
Typically, she kept her hair, but especially when it was done in the protective style of braids, plaited neatly down her back, or tied up. Today, she had worn them down, and she was regretting that choice.
Although, she shouldn’t have to regret it at all.
Her hair was not a toy.
“I miss your curls,” he said.
For several years, August had gone a natural route with her corkscrew head of curls. Sometimes, she still did when she wanted to give her roots a break from the intensity of braiding.
“Maybe,” August said lowly, although her tone remained firm, “but I like the braids, Ian.”
He dropped his hand instantly.
August dragged in a quick breath.
“Well, I do miss them.”
August said nothing.
“Enjoy your trip to Chicago,” he added, finally taking a step back, “and I will see you as soon as you are back.”
Right.
Ian’s little visit reminded her that this trip to Chicago was more than just the spread in the magazine, and visiting her old friend. Like the job offer she had been given a year ago that she hadn’t entertained. She was sure as hell entertaining it now.
• • •
August practically bounced on the balls of her heels after ringing the ornate doorbell wrapped in brass on the front doors of a three-level Melrose home. The expected windiness of Chicago wasn’t that bad, so she didn’t mind standing there on the porch while she waited for the doors to open.
Even before she saw the cloudy, dark form take shape in the frosted glass of the French doors, she could hear her friend behind it. Camilla’s loud footsteps pounded down the entryway hall of her home, and then the squealing started.
It didn’t matter that they were now in their twenties.
Or that Cam was married.
The fact they were grown ass women, essentially, with jobs, lives, and all the other good stuff that came along with adulthood didn’t factor in to their excitement to be together at all. And she was grateful for that because more than anything, sometimes August just needed to relax. Say screw all the adult responsibility, throw caution to the wind, and have a little fun.
Cam was perfect for that.
When the two of them were together, it reminded her of being seventeen again, having crazy weekends with her best friend, and sitting hungover in church because of it.
Good times.
The cream-painted doors were thrown open in a rush, no grace to it. Camilla darted out before August even had time to appreciate the silk wrap dress her friend wore, never mind the man who darkened the doorway behind her.
She didn’t mind, though.
Camilla’s arms locked around her neck, and squeezed tight enough to take her breath away. August hugged her friend right back, their squeals lighting up the porch, and surely drawing attention from any neighbors that happened to be outside of their houses currently.
She wished she cared.
Pulling back, Camilla grinned wide enough to show off perfect white teeth. Her pixie-like appearance was only aided by her light skin tone and small features, and white-blonde hair that was currently streaked at the roots with a deep purple shade. The contrast between the two women, August with her nearly six-foot in height, and Camilla in all her small, pixie glory couldn’t be denied.
And yet, they were a perfect match.
Best friends ‘til the very end.
Always.
“Oh, my God, I missed you so much,” Camilla said.
August blinked away the tears that had clouded her eyes. “Yeah, me, too.”
Behind her friend, Cam’s husband lingered in the opened doorway of their home. Tommaso didn’t step in on the girls’ moment. He never did. It was one of the things August liked best about him. Despite the fact that this had been the man to finally settle her wild friend down into married life—or as settled as Cam could be—never mind convincing her to move all the way to Chicago to be with him, August liked Tom.
He was a good man.
Good to Cam.
That’s what counted.
“Tom,” she greeted.
He grinned, winking. “How was your flight?”
“Who cares,” Camilla crowed, still holding onto August, “she is here for a whole month now!”
August laughed, hugging her friend to her side again. “It was good.”
Tom nodded. “Perfect. Did you settle into your hotel before coming here?”
Cam waved a hand, dismissing that notion. “She’ll probably stay here more, anyway.”
“Yeah, I did.”
Camilla was already moving to a new topic, which also wasn’t anything new for her friend. “We have to do something. You know, to celebrate you being here, and all. Dinner, maybe? Oh, or a club. Yes, let’s go drink and dance.”
Actually, that sounded pretty good.
“Let me settle in for a few days, and then we can do whatever. I have a couple of interviews set up for this week, and I do not want to be hungover for them. This assignment could finally get me a better position at Bared Brands, and I don’t want to screw it up for anything, Cam.”
Cam pouted. “Fine. This weekend, then?”
“That’d be perfect.”
“Oh, there’s a new club opening on the east side. We should—”
Tommaso made a noise under his breath, drawing in the women’s attention. “Not sure that’s a good idea, babe. There’s been some ... bad activity on that end. Gang movement, and stuff. A crew having trouble. Better not to be caught up in something on that side, you know?”
Without even asking, August knew Tom was talking about the Outfit. Mafia business. The mob had come on her radar when she met Cam as a young teen, and people whispered that the girl’s father was a mafia boss. Of course, she hadn’t believed it until her father confirmed it later when he took on a job litigating a set of charges for Camilla’s father, Calisto.
Still, the mob hadn’t touched August’s life.
Not really.
And still, she understood that it was very real and present for her friend. Camilla’s family was saturated in mafia business. And her husband? The son of a prominent mob boss, too. August always figured, as long as she didn’t ask questions or get directly involved, then she was safe.
Right?
“It should be fine, it’s just a club,” Cam pointed out. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Tom gave her a look before muttering, “We’ll see. But have a backup club in the plans, got it?”
“Done deal.” Then, Cam turned her attention back on August. “Speaking of a better position ... although let’s forget Bared Brands, have
you considered the offer Alessa gave you a year ago?”
Tommaso’s aunt, Alessa Conti, owned Manic Media. The job offer, although she would have to start over and work from the ground up in her career, still lingered in the back of her mind even though she refused it the first time around.
Yes, she was considering it.
No, she was not telling Cam just yet.
Her friend would get excited, wouldn’t leave it alone, and would then undoubtedly affect August’s decision to make such a big change in her life and career. Not only would it mean starting over, but also moving away from her family.
She needed to figure it out on her own.
“Not really,” she lied. “I’m here for other things.”
Camilla sighed. “Breaking my heart, Aug.”
“Impossible.”
A smirk answered her back. “But is that a problem?”
3.
“Wake up,” Beni snarled.
He was fed up with kindly telling his twin to roll his lazy, hungover ass out of bed. Bene barely reacted beyond a displeased grunt under his breath before rolling over in the black sheets that covered his bed. In fact, he even went as far as dragging the matching black comforter with silver accents over his head to block Beni out. Like that was really going to work. Come on, you know me better than that.
Beni grabbed the comforter, and ripped it away from his brother. Along with the flat sheet, and the pillow he was using. That left Bene blinking, dumbly and probably still a little drunkenly, against the bed.
“Next is gonna be cold water on your face,” Beni said, amused.
“But why?”
“We have shit to do. Get up.”
He’d been telling him that for an hour now. On and off, as he got up and around, readying for the morning and the rest of his day. He kept coming back to his brother’s room in their shared Chicago apartment in the Heights—the place wasn’t amazing, but it also wasn’t a shit hole. Given they were two bachelors and mostly just needed a place to sleep considering they rarely did anything else at their place, it worked for them.
“I’m too hungover for your shit today,” Bene mumbled, smooshing his face into the mattress. “Go away.”
Nope.
Beni stayed put.
Six months working and living in Chicago, and you would think Bene might have learned by now not to overdrink. They always had shit to do the next morning, usually early. No one needed to be feeling like a walking, talking ball of puke while doing it.
Except for Bene, it seemed.
“I told you not to get smashed last night,” Beni said, picking up a few of the stray pieces of clothing on the floor to throw over the chair in the corner. “And now look at you.”
“Shjhf jhjd nknksj.”
“What?”
All he heard was unintelligible mumbles.
Bene turned his head, so he faced his brother with closed eyes. “I said, it’s fucking Saturday, Beni.”
“And we have to be at the gym in an hour. So ...?”
“That’s ... that’s a no from me, bro. I’ll puke all over the mats if I workout today.”
“And I don’t workout alone, so get your ass out of bed. Your hangover isn’t my problem.”
“I fucking hate you.”
“But do you really?”
“Right now,” Bene said in a disgusted sigh, “more than you will ever understand.”
And yet, he was still getting what he wanted. It took a bit of effort, and some time with Bene sitting on the edge of his bed with his head between his knees to soothe the rising vomit. He did eventually get his twin out of bed and looking like he might be ready to hit the gym.
Yeah, he could have gone alone.
Except he didn’t want to.
He watched Bene’s bare back—uninked, like his; their father always clear on his great disdain for tattoos—disappear into the bathroom across the hall from their bedrooms that were situated side by side in the small apartment. The door slammed closed behind his twin; another sign Bene was not in the mood for this today.
Oh, well.
Behind the door, he heard flushing before water started to run. Bene’s unhappy grumbles continued even after he came back out of the bathroom, glaring at his brother the entire time while he passed him in the hallway.
Beni smirked right back.
“Clean up the attitude,” he told Bene, “because it’s not going to help you when I decide to kick your ass in the ring later.”
Bene groaned from the confines of his bedroom. “We’re boxing this weekend? I thought we were just ... why?”
“That’s what Tank wants us to do.”
Tank, their personal trainer. It wasn’t like the twins needed one, but the guy helped to keep both of them on track with their busy schedules. He made sure they found time to come into the gym, and regularly had plans ready for them when they showed up.
“And if you make me tell him we’re going to be late, I will beat your—”
Bene came out of the room with a scowl that could rival the devil’s. His fist struck out, smashing Beni right in the shoulder before he passed him in the hallway. Beni rubbed his now sore muscle.
Shit.
“Just so you know, your hangover isn’t going to stop me from beating your ass later,” Beni warned.
“Only have yourself to blame if I puke on you.”
Right, right.
A risk he was willing to take.
There was something about a good competition with his twin that always had Beni revving and ready to go. It never changed in all their years. For some, the competition wasn’t healthy, but for him and his twin, it worked to keep them motivated.
Separately, and together.
Because they were a team.
Always had been.
“Are you hitting that club tonight?” Beni asked. “The new one Joe opened on the east end with Cory?”
The Rossi brothers were famous for their businesses. And the two had a ton of them. Everything from restaurants to bars and clubs, and even a couple of random ones like laundromats and fucking barber shops. Good money, sure, but he bet that was a lot of upkeep. Being in the mafia should have been enough to keep the Rossi brothers busy, but apparently, they needed more.
“If last night didn’t kill me, then probably,” Bene said, heading down the hallway.
Beni followed behind. “You’re looking alive now.”
“Barely.”
Well, whose fault was that?
He kept his mouth shut.
As Bene worked his way into his clothes, punching his arms through a custom Frankie Zombie hoodie that was actually Beni’s, while the two of them headed for the front door, the landline in the apartment started to ring. With traffic, they were already cutting it close to hit the gym before they would be late, so he didn’t bother to run and pick it up. Whoever it was could leave a damn message, or call one of the twins on their cells if it was that important.
“Probably Dad,” Beni said as his twin slipped on his shoes. “You talked to him last night when he called, right?”
“Yeah.”
It wasn’t so much the reply his brother gave, as much as it was the way Bene said it. He drawled the word out slowly like he considered not saying it at all. Not to mention, his twin was now avoiding his gaze as he stood straight, and grabbed his gym bag off the hook designated for his shit amongst the many lining the hallway.
He didn’t know what that was about.
That yeah.
Or the way his brother said it.
Fuck it.
He would figure it out later.
They had other shit to do now.
• • •
Being hungover didn’t mean shit when Bene was in a mood, and needed to work out all the frustrations he’d been carrying for a week. It was what Beni appreciated the most about his twin when put in a ring against him for a sparring match.
He’d landed one good punch to his twin’s kidney before Bene fucking s
napped. He’d only been faking his interest in working out up until that point in the ring. He came because Beni forced his still-drunk ass out of bed, not because he truly wanted to be there.
Now, though?
He was raining punches down on Beni like he fucking meant it. Beni was feeling every single one of the punches that landed, too. He always did know just the right buttons to push to get his twin pissed in no time at all.
Zero?
Meet one hundred.
That’s what Beni and Bene were for each other.
Under the mouthguard, Beni laughed sardonically when his twin backed him into the ropes, and those punches moved from his face to his kidneys. Shit, that hurt, but whatever. It was the twin thing again—his brother didn’t need to say he had shit on his mind, or that something was bothering him.
Beni just knew it.
Could feel it.
Those bonds he shared with his brother were unexplainable to those who didn’t have the same thing with someone else. Even their other twin brothers, Corrado and Chris, didn’t share the same intuition and knowledge about their twin the way he did with Bene.
Hey.
At least Bene was working it out.
Or getting there.
He gave his twin all of a good solid minute and a half to beat the hell out of him before he came off the ropes swinging right back. Bene was expecting that, though. Another thing about the two of them being mirrors of one another.
There were no surprise moves here.
Not only did that make it easier to spar in some ways, but it also made it harder. They could prepare for the others’ moves, and at the same time, strike out with the unexpected.
Of course, with their gear on to spar, there wasn’t much damage they could do to each other except for some sore ribs, and maybe a headache. The trainer watching from the floor kept the match clean, for the most part, hollering to force the boys apart when they started crossing a line.
Beni was huffing like hell when Tank finally blew his whistle to call it a round. Bene wasn’t in any better shape. The two twins took a step back from one another, gloves already up and ready to tap each other with matching smirks and glinting eyes.
