Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“No,” he said, checking his phone before tucking it away. “But I honestly wasn’t looking,” he admitted. “My ma was in my apartment when I got home.”
“Why?”
“Filling my freezer.”
“Your mom grocery shops for you?” I asked, getting my first ick toward this guy.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “She cooks for me,” he told me. “It’s her thing. Especially for the single guys in the family. And for the new moms or anyone who is sick. It’s how she shows her love.”
“That’s kind of sweet,” I decided. “My mom… fed us,” I said. “She always hated cooking. She said it was one of the things she loved the most about my father—that he was a great cook.”
“Which genes did you inherit?”
“Not the cooking ones. I once tried to make pasta. And managed to burn the pot of water because I forgot about it. Do you cook?”
“We all learned, but I don’t remember the last time I actually did it. I’ve been working my ass off since I was eighteen.”
“Do I detect some bitterness there?” I asked.
To that, he sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah, sometimes,” he admitted. “I should be further up in the Family than I am. And I suspect it’s my brother who has kept me where I am.”
“Your brother isn’t the boss, though, right?”
“No. But he’s Lorenzo’s right-hand man, so Lorenzo listens to what he says.” He paused for a moment, then admitted, “It’s why I’m determined to fix this shit. I figure if I can wrap this up without anyone else having to get involved, I will finally get the chance to move up.”
“Well, you do have someone else involved,” I told him. “And we are going to get these assholes—a nice sub sandwich for their hard work,” I added, catching someone watching us a little too closely.
Anthony snorted. “Told you we should have gone on the deck,” he said as we mostly fell into silence for the rest of the trip.
“Okay,” I said when we were on solid land again, even if my legs didn’t quite get that message yet. It was giving me that feeling I got when I ran on a treadmill for a long time then jumped off, my body giving me the sensation of moving forward even when I was standing still. “What now?”
“Now we get a ride,” he said, his hand moving behind my back, but this time, he made contact, pressing against me as I tried to pretend that my stomach didn’t flip-flop at the feel of him, that my mind didn’t immediately start to flash back to the office, to his lips and hands on me, his cock against me.
“Keep looking at me like that, babe, and we’re not going to get to the deli,” he murmured, his voice shivering over my skin as he opened the door of a cab for me to slide into.
I did, glad for a moment to myself as he moved around the cab to slide in the other side.
He rattled off the address of the deli, and I rolled down my window as Anthony’s cologne filled the cab, making it hard to think. Let alone reason with the desire coursing through me as we rode to meet up with his friends.
I don’t know what I’d been expecting of a mafia-owned deli, but I knew that the tiny little shop in front of me as I climbed out of the cab was not it.
I guess I expected it to seem upscale or something. But it was one of those hole-in-the-wall places that make you question if they paid off the health inspector for a passing grade, but you also know that they had the best subs in the area.
“Not what you expected?” Anthony asked, pulling open the door.
“Not at all,” I admitted as the door opened and the distinct scent of onions, vinegar, and various meats made my stomach rumble at its emptiness.
The inside was cramped and overfilled, the walls lined with snack racks, drink fridges, and a coffee station with a small center area set up with four tables of four.
Toward the back of the building was a long counter where people were lined up, ordering food as Anthony’s hand went to my lower back again.
His gaze scanned the store, nodding his chin toward someone behind the counter, who disappeared into a back room.
Not a moment later, another man emerged, moving out from behind the counter to make his way toward us.
Unlike his deli, he did scream ‘mafia’ to me. He was a tank of a man—tall and extremely fit—with dark hair and eyes, and two disarmingly attractive dimples. He spotted Anthony and shot him a smile.
He was dressed like Anthony in dress slacks and a black button-up, but he went without a jacket, and his sleeves were rolled up to reveal a watch I imagine cost more than the average family’s monthly income.