If I could tell the whole world about my day and shout it from every rooftop in LA, I would. The entire world deserves to know what I just landed. A fucking opening stop in Paris fashion week and the fucking hottest model I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’m gonna fuck her tonight, no doubt. These will be the best four weeks of my life.
Look, I know I said I have a one and done rule. But this girl might break all of that for me. More out of necessity than anything else— but still. Lydia Royce won’t know what hit her when I’m done. I’m on cloud nine, a sky-high level of happiness with such excitement I might spontaneously combust. I’m on the way home, listening to Knox sing along with his favorite— Toto. Normally, I would have him turn it off, but he knows when I’m in a good enough mood to push the limits on what’s acceptable. I don’t say a word the whole ride home about it. All I can do is think about how fucking happy I am. How perfectly everything is playing out for me.
I put in the work and landed Paris fashion week only months after truly kicking off my modeling career. I get a text from my agent, Amanda, as we pull around the rotunda in front of my home.
“Congrats on landing your first MAJOR runway show. You will be brilliant.” I read in my head with a grin, hearing her perky voice congratulate me. It’s turning out to be the best day, considering how horrible it was in the beginning. Which reminds me as I step out of the car that I need to avoid Vince at all costs. I don’t care to tell him about my success because it will just turn into another fight. He always thinks he’s supremely right about everything. It’s like I can’t do anything right, no matter how hard I try, and I would rather not see that look on his face, not after feeling this way.
I rarely feel this way— excited, happy, exuberant even. It’s not a wave I'm willing to jump off just yet, so I don’t. I walk up the steps to the entryway, sneak inside quietly, security trailing behind me, and pitter-pat up the stairs like I’m back in high school, sneaking inside after a night on the town with my friends. Just as I reach the top step, I hear someone clear their throat. I turn my head to see Tito leaning at the top of the steps, throwing a strange metal ball up and down like a yo-yo in one hand.
“Fuck. I thought you were—“
“Vince.” He nods behind me, and I turn around to see Vince with folded arms waiting at the bottom of the steps. A look on his face so fierce that I might as well prepare to be screamed at all over again. I feel the high off today slipping away, and I shift my jaw.
“Where the fuck were you?” He nearly snarls at me like a dog. Except he’s not the dog, I am. I’m his fucking bitch. Doing whatever the fuck he says and trying to make him happy. This is such bullshit.
“Living my life.” I snark, and I hear Tito snicker in disbelief behind me.
“Wrong answer.”
“I’m sorry, were you there?” I raise my brows inquisitively, like a smart ass, and I’m proud of myself now because it angers him more.
“Romeo, you might think this is funny, but because of you, we lost one of our boys today.” My shoulders drop a little, and he sees how this has affected me. He appears to take too much pleasure in bursting my bubble.
“What do you mean?”
“You had a mission to attend, Romeo. The boys were spying on Odessa. It's been too quiet from them. We think they’re planning something. And you just didn’t show.” He glares at me, the scolding big brother.
“He got shot in the head.”
“Who?”
“Big J.” My cousin, taller than us all since birth. We never talked much, but I always felt safe with him on a mission. He had my back.
“Fuck.” I say under my breath.
“Yeah. Think about that next time you want to go off and do shit on your own. His blood is on your hands, brother.” He turns around all self-righteous like he’s better than all of us, and fuck, maybe he is. But I’ll be damned if I let him take this moment of joy from me.
It’s awful. I get it. Big J shouldn’t have died, but I didn’t do anything. If I were there, he would have still gotten shot because he protected us all. That’s how he should be remembered and talked about. Not,“well, if his cousin was there, he would have lived.”It’s all bullshit.
“You really think a lot of yourself, huh, Vince?” I growl and turn back up the stairs, making eye contact with Tito, who seems saddened by the whole situation. I don’t need him to feel sorry for me, so I hope he’s not. As I gaze by him, I hear Vince’s feet reproaching the steps.
“You don’t get it, Romeo.”
“Get what?” I turn around like a lit wick of a bomb.
“You may not havedirectlydone anything to hurt our family, but you still did. Not doing anything is what causes people to get killed. As much as I want peace, that’s not the world we live in. It’s still dangerous and will continue to be until this New Era catches on with everyone else. We require you here. Not off at some studio posing in front of a camera for random clothing stores—“
“I landed a Paris Fashion Week position.” I cut him off, my proud voice echoing through the stairwell and down to the foyer, where it hits him. He jolts back for a moment, thoughtful silence making him breathe funnily for a second. After he regains composure, he takes a step forward.
“I will not allow you to attend if you don’t keep up with the missions I assign you. Period.”
“Vince—“ Tito pipes up to admonish his rashness.
“End. Of. Discussion.” He growls and leaves the foyer once more. This time I hear Nari begin to cry and the immediate shift in his tone as he heads over to soothe her.Fucking cunt.I growl low under my breath and storm past Tito, who seems completely distraught. He always did know how to take on other people's problems like they were his own. I stomp across the hall, turn the corner, and down the next hall, really slapping my Prada work shoes over the marble until I reach the door at the end of it. I slam it loud enough for the whole mansion to hear like I’m a fucking teenager and kick my shoes off, throwing whatever’s in sight with a rage that cannot be quenched.
Vince is a fucking asshole. He is an asshole with the worst case of self-righteousness I’ve ever seen— and I’m around models all day. He is absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the worst brother in the history of brothers. Carlito is rolling over in his grave right now because how the actual fuck is he looking like the better brother next to Vince?
Vince used to be the cool one. Yeah, he was always a bit of a prick, for sure. But at least he wasn’t Carlito, always lurking about and never talking to anyone except Antonio. Probably because Antonio was never a threat to him— an incessant partier, he couldn’t get himself together to save his own ass. And then, all of a sudden, Stella Lombardi came into his life, and he became bearable. Whatever, though, right? Why the fuck does it matter to me? I’m gonna do whatever the fuck I want. Screw Vincenzo. He’s not the boss– not of me anyway.