My chin drops as a few of my missing puzzle pieces suddenly slot into place.
My friends in Rosewood joked about my father being part of the mafia, but it was just a joke.
Dad works in security. He runs his own company. And he… fuck.
“I’m sorry,” Calli says with a wince.
“M-my dad is part of—”
“I don’t know for sure. The fact that your name is Greek and you turned up at Knight’s Ridge—here—might be total coincidence.” But even as she says it, I think we both know it might be a coincidence too far.
“I guess that answers a lot of my questions. I’ve been trying to find out what my dad does for a living for years.”
“I might be wrong,” she tries again.
She rolls onto her side and looks at me, sympathy and regret written all over her face.
“It’s okay,” I say softly. “I’m glad you told me. Hell knows, everyone else has been keeping it a secret for long enough.”
“You’re not mad?”
“At you? Of course not. You’re the only one who’s been man enough to tell me how it really is. I do think I’m going to need something stronger than that, though,” I say, nodding toward where she abandoned the cans of soda when we walked in.
“That I can do.”
Calli makes quick work of placing an order for more pizza than we’ll ever be able to eat in one night before slipping out of the room with the promise of alcohol on her lips.
Dragging my cell from my purse, I open up a browser and type my surname into Google.
Doukas: means ‘duke’ or ‘lord’.
“I’ll take that,” I mutter to myself before typing Cirillo Family into the search. “Holy shit.”
“You okay?” Calli asks me a few minutes later when she finds me staring at my cell with my mouth agape.
“Have you read all of this?” I ask, turning my cell around to show her what I’m looking at.
“A few years ago. I have no idea how much of it is true, and it’s not like anyone willingly tells me anything around here. It’s like the fucking Dark Ages. Men rule and women keep their mouths shut and look pretty.”
“That’s bullshit,” I spit.
“Tell me about it.” She rolls her eyes. “But I stole this from the boys.” She holds up a bottle of vodka, an accomplished smile covering her face.
“Gimme,” I say, making grabby hands at it.
She laughs and happily passes it over.
Twisting the cap, my hands almost tremble for a taste as I lift the bottle to my lips.
I’m not sure I’ve ever needed a drink more in my life.
My father is—I am—potentially part of a legit fucking mafia family. What the actual hell?
The first shot burns, but I don’t let it stop me as I swallow mouthful after mouthful until the alcohol begins to warm my belly.
“Okay, take it easy,” Calli says, reaching for the bottle and easing it away from my lips.
“I just… what the fuck, is this my life?”