Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
"Shit happens," I said, shrugging. "I was only worried until Gio said where you were. Then I figured there was a rational explanation."
"You should LoJack the kid," she declared. "They make shit like that now. For people who have kids or older relatives who wander."
"You're not the first person to recommend that," I told her. "I'll look into it. Was this his idea?"
"No. Mine. I'd just gotten out of the shower and I heard some noises from his room. Like the whole sniffling and whimpering type of noises. I'm just... I'm not good at the talking feelings out thing. But I'm a pro at the distracting you from them thing. So, that was what I did."
"He won't let anyone see him grieve."
"Maybe that's an issue. Maybe not," she said, shrugging. "I guess we will just have to wait and see."
"Yeah," I agreed, a movement to the side of me catching my gaze. When I pulled to a light to glance over, I saw Alessa unbuttoning her pants.
Caught, she shot me a smirk. "That kid must have hollow legs to put that much food away."
"But you'd be damned to be out eaten by a kid?" I asked.
"You're starting to get me," she agreed, nodding.
I was.
And that was the problem, wasn't it?
Chapter Six
Alessa
"What?" I grumbled, feeling Ciro and Gio's eyes on me.
"Are you... sewing?" Ciro asked in the same tone he would use to ask me if I had grown a third arm.
"Obviously," I said, holding up the needle and thread I'd pulled out while I sat in the living room at my father's house, waiting for dinner.
I couldn't cook.
So I wasn't allowed in the kitchen.
It was Sunday. Which meant that Santi had taken Avi to his mother's place for dinner. Which was good. Because I knew my step-mother would be offended if I missed one of hers.
And, quite frankly, it was the only day of the week I had a home-cooked meal.
"Who taught you how to sew?" Gio asked, sounding almost horrified at the idea that me, his tomboy little sister, knew how to do anything girly.
"No one taught me," I said, shrugging. "But when you grow up as poor as I did, you learn how not to have holes in your old hand-me-down Goodwill clothes, so the kids at school don't make fun of you."
I was actually really good at sewing. I was more proud of it than I was willing to admit. I'd used the skill more than once to stitch up some gnarly cuts I'd gotten as a teen since we'd never had any sort of health insurance.
"Why are you sewing, though?" Ciro asked, head tilting to the side.
"Because the dinosaur head got disconnected," I said, holding up the green costume in my hand.
"The... what?" Gio asked, perplexed.
"It's for Avi," I clarified. "He didn't want to trick-or-treat. He said he was too old."
"Shit, I trick-or-treated into my teens," Gio said, snorting. "Free candy. Why wouldn't you?"
"That's what I said," I agreed. "I got him to agree when he saw this blow-up dinosaur costume thing. But after the trial run of it, there was some damage."
Which was probably because the trial run involved a Nerf gun fight through the entire apartment, including his impressive jump over the couch to seek cover.
Sure, not my smartest idea.
But, hey, it was a good time.
"You like this kid, huh?" Gio asked, head cocking to the side as he watched me.
"He's a good kid. He got handed a rough situation, but he's coping pretty well."
"With your help," Gio said.
"I don't know about that," I said, shaking my head.
I was nobody's nanny or therapist or stand-in maternal figure. I was just the kid's friend.
In a way, he'd been allowing me to experience so many things I'd missed in my own childhood.
It was fun. I was having a good time. And I was getting paid for it. That was the best of both worlds if you asked me.
"Maybe you... hey, look who the fuck it is," Gio said, his attention going behind me where the door was. "The fucking prodigal son returns," he added, hopping up to go greet Elio.
It had to be Elio.
The youngest of the family, save for me. He'd been off dealing with some shit in Chicago for the past several months.
"Ey, Gio," Elio greeted as the two did a quick hug that involved borderline violent thumps on each other's backs. "Ciro, how you been?" he added, offering his hand. "Less. The fuck are you doing?" he asked, looking at me with furrowed brows.
"Didn't you hear?" Gio asked. "She's Mary Fucking Poppins now," he said, smiling as he whacked Elio on the back.
There was no mistaking the family resemblance between the Morelli brothers.
Elio was tall like the others, but was somewhere between Ciro's swimmer's build and Gio's gym rat build.
But where both Ciro and Gio were relatively clean-cut and traditional, Elio had tattoos on his hands, had full sleeves, even had them snaking up the sides of his neck. He had one of those "longer on top" hairstyles and a small stainless steel hoop in his nostril.