Series: Chicago Sin Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Yeah.
Got the memo.
I was gone. My girl was fair game.
Now I know how things get played.
I definitely feel disrespected by both of them, but the truth is, no hearts were broken.
I may have thought I loved Grace when I left, but that shriveled and died long before I got the news about her new engagement. It died that first year in prison when she stopped writing and never came to see me.
“I want you to stay clean while you’re on parole. You ride that no-work job and build your life again. Don’t carry a piece or drive a car or violate the other terms of parole. I don’t want you getting sent back for something stupid.”
“I’m not going back,” I agree.
No fucking way.
Not because I’m so goddamn happy to be out. I still can’t dredge up a single lick of emotion.
But I’m damn sure I won’t go back.
I’d rather take a bullet to the head.
Chapter Three
Hannah
Hannah Munn, Florist to the mob.
That’s me.
Say what you will about the mafia, but there are a few perks to having your business in their building. One is the regular customers—which I desperately need.
My shop, Garden of Eden, is a place that allows the sins of the mafia to grow.
And if I don’t sell five more bouquets by the time I close tonight, I won’t be able to make my payment to the don.
And the simmering anxiety that brings would be the downside to being owned by the mafia.
“I need two bouquets. A big one for my wife, and—”
“And a smaller one for the girlfriend,” I finish for Lorenzo, the cheating bastard. It’s the same every week. “Some beautiful lavender roses came in yesterday. I made you a stunning bouquet for the wife.” I walk to the cooler and pull out the arrangement—a dozen fat lavender roses with pink and purple freesia and greens.
Because I believe flowers mean something, I put a lot of effort into Lorenzo’s wife’s bouquets. Like, if I get the arrangement right, if I really wow her, it will make up for her husband’s infidelity. Although maybe she’s off with her own side piece—what do I know? She could have some hot pool boy or sexy yoga teacher licking her from toes to clit right now. I shouldn’t care about someone I know nothing about, and yet I do. I take on other’s emotions to a crippling degree sometimes. Always a people pleaser.
“And this one is for the girl du jour.” I hand him a bouquet of brightly colored gerbera daisies.
Lorenzo cocks a half-smile like he’s not sure what du jour means. Or maybe he’s wondering if I’m being disrespectful. Hope not. I flash a bright smile to assure him I’m trying for cute.
I head back to the cash register and ring him up. Lorenzo’s been coming here since before Mary Alice hired me as an apprentice ten years ago when I was just a teenager.
Every Friday, he and a half dozen of the Pachino men go see Rocco, the barber next door, for a straight razor shave, then hit Garden of Eden to get blooms for their ladies. Another crew comes through on Thursdays. And the older, retired generation usually stops in on Saturdays. One thing about these mafia men I’ve noticed is they like their structure and routine.
“Keep the change, doll.” All these years, and he never bothered to learn my name. Or if he has, he never uses it. He pushes the six dollars and coins back across the counter. “It’s your hush money.” He winks. Same joke, every time. Every. Single. Time.
“Thank you, Lorenzo.” I drop the money back in the till. Lord knows I’ll need it to cover the checks I’ve already written that may already be bouncing me straight to bankruptcy. Or worse, getting my kneecaps busted by one of the very same customers I’m giving thanks for.
“You heard from Mary Alice?”
I smile, indulgently. I suspect Mary Alice was Lorenzo’s girl du jour a few times over the years, but my former boss would never tell. Florists are excellent secret-keepers.
“Yeah.” I spin one of the roses in his bouquet to set it at a better angle. “She texts photos of her grandbaby pretty much every day. She’s in seventh heaven out there.” Mary Alice moved to Green Bay when her daughter had a baby last year, forcing me to choose between continuing my studies to become a nurse like my mom or buying the business from her.
My parents definitely think I made the wrong choice. They don’t say that outright—they’re more the type to let me make my own mistakes, but I sense their worry every time the topic comes up.
I’m starting to wonder if I made a mistake too.
“Well, you tell her I said hello.” He tucks the two bouquets under his arm and pushes his wallet back into his pocket.