“It could be full of germs,” I singsonged.
“It’s surprisingly good… for a black suit smoothie, nice even.”
I smirked at him. “Am I supposed to say you’re surprisingly nice even with that black suit you’re wearing now? Because I won’t. This meeting has not been enjoyable.”
He finally stepped back, like he realized he overstayed his welcome. His shoes sank into the sand a little and looked completely unnatural in it. “I’ll see you around.”
“Please don’t,” I grumbled once he was out of earshot. I turned and washed out the blender. I scrubbed it harder than I should have but it was the only way to take out my frustration. The man was an entitled piece of work. What business did he have in the area?
He probably wanted to open a smoothie shop down the street.
I knew a shark when I saw one, in the water or out of it. They snuck up on you, then circled and circled, watching for your weakness. I wasn’t giving him any information though.
I spun back around and made myself a smoothie. I poured way too many strawberries in with strawberry yogurt and added some strawberry syrup too. My smoothie didn’t have to be nutritious. It was feeding my mental health instead, right?
I let the machine whir as I stared out at the beach. One of the guys lifted his smoothie to me in a cheers motion and I smiled.
This was my town.
My beach.
My oasis. And no one could take that away.
9
Bastian
She was supposed to be older, or more mature.
Not my damn one night stand.
Jesus, Morina looked damn good on the beach in her natural environment.
Not that it mattered. She was dealing with a different side to me now. This was the last place I needed to tie up my father’s illegal business doings. I’d been at it for years.
The Armanelli Family, the most infamous Italian Mob in the United States for years was almost legal.
I knew Miami and this small town was my last loose end, the frayed thread that I needed to tighten up or cut off. Maribel was dabbling on two sides of the fence. She paid for protection from an Irish family to keep that food truck up and running. Then, she partnered with my Italian family and father for the oil company.
Two partnerships with opposing families meant she was fucking one of us.
Morina knew something.
She had to. Except the way her eyes fell, that deep blue sapphire suddenly a little misty and confused about her grandmother, I wasn’t sure she did.
My one night stand in Miami was turning out to be a fucking problem.
“What do we have wrong here?” I asked Dante in the car later that day.
“It’s just a blip on the radar. We’re scoping out the city and Maribel, not a food truck. We’ll take care of it if necessary.”
“This little town connects to oil terminals, the farms, and the corporate area, Dante. That company brings in millions and if the majority voter is dabbling in different partnerships, that’s a problem. My father always invested here, not the company itself.”
“Ah, your father maybe liked Maribel then.”
I laughed at that ridiculous statement. “He was a fucking prick who loved no one but his money. We both know it. You remember my mother. If you couldn’t love her enough to stop doing the shit he was, then you could love no one.”
Dante didn’t respond to that. He knew my mother. We all had. She’d showered the world with the love of Italy with her cooking, her singing, her passion for life. My father stared at her like she was beautiful, but he walked past her time and time again to go kill a man, to make a deal, to continue building his empire of wealth.