Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I dried and dressed, foregoing a shave—uncharacteristic of me, but I didn't want to waste any more time—then heading back to the kitchen, finding Romy hopped up on the counter, her long legs dangling, a coffee between both hands, watching as Lucky flipped a frying pan in the air before settling it on the burner.
"Apparently, Lucky can cook," she told me, sounding amazed by the possibility.
He shot her a smile, shrugging. "My ma hopes I settle down with a woman who likes to cook for me, but she insisted that cooking was a life skill and her sons needed to know how to feed themselves too. You cook, babe?" he asked, reaching into the fridge for eggs one of the men must have brought with them this morning since Michael had only picked up a few bare essentials food-wise.
"Yeah. My mom taught me too. Different types of food than you learned, I think, but I make a mean Venezuelan specialty. They might even beat your chef's fancy bread thing from last night," she said, teasing him.
"Well, your cooking might surpass my chef's Panzanella, but it is not going to beat my omelet."
"Oh, come on. Everyone can make a good omelet," she told him, getting a hair tug from Lucky as he moved past her on the way back to the fridge to grab spinach, mushrooms, and mozzarella cheese.
"You're going to be eating those words, pretty thing," he assured her.
I'd had one of Lucky's concoctions. And I had to admit, they often rivaled even the most intricate meals from the women in the family.
I stood back, my black coffee giving me agita. Or, let's be real, the scene before me might have been doing that.
I was not a jealous man. I'd never been serious enough about a woman to feel that way. So it took me an embarrassingly long time to recognize the churning in my stomach and chest for what they were.
Once I did, though, there was no denying it.
It shouldn't have surprised me that Romy would take to Lucky. Women often did. From kids to elderly women, they all liked him. He was fun and charming.
But I guess a part of me didn't want that to be true with Romy.
I wanted her to smile like that in my direction, give her laughs to me like she did with him.
Did that make sense? Was this the time for things like that? No on both counts.
But it didn't change the truth.
I didn't even bother to excuse myself as they bantered about the proper way to whip eggs, walking back toward the front door, figuring I would go outside and talk to the new guard shift, knowing I needed to feed them a story but not the whole truth.
But as I pulled the door open, I froze, finding the last person I expected standing there.
Matteo.
There was a family resemblance. We had the same skin color, the same eyes, the same fit builds. We had the same dark hair color as well, but where I kept mine shorter and neat, he let his grow out long, a wavy mass around his shoulders or tied up. Today, it was down.
I wasn't sure I ever saw Matteo in a suit unless he had to be. And he didn't have one on this morning either, standing there in black jeans and a white tee, looking rested and carefree.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, wondering if our father had demanded he pitch in.
"I heard we have a situation," he told me, shrugging.
"You heard we had a situation, or you heard we had a beautiful woman here?" I teased, getting a smirk out of him as he reached up to rub the back of his neck.
"Well, maybe I heard both things," he admitted.
"How much have you been told?"
"Not much. Apparently, whatever is going on is not for everyone to know."
"Lorenzo is coming to visit soon. New York is getting antsy for more. So Dad wants to make sure we play our cards close to our vests on this one."
"What, do they get an itch every two or three years?" he grumbled, even though he rarely had to deal with them himself. "So, what is going on?" he asked, moving inside when I jerked my head toward the guards out front.
"Romy told us she was told women—and specifically her sister—are being trafficked down in South America and coming in through our ports."
"Who the fuck would be that stupid?" he asked, shaking his head.
Matteo might not have been a huge part of our daily activities, but he had as much family loyalty and pride as the rest of us, immediately pissed that anyone would have the audacity to try to fuck us over.
"That's the question," I told him, nodding.
"Poor girl. Knowing her sister is being trafficked," he said, hearing Romy's tinkering laugh from the kitchen.