“I don’t trust him,” Carlo says.
Al’s gaze turns deadly. Fuck. Something needs to be done to prevent blood from being spilled around here.
“I might need to increase his cut of the proceeds,” I say. I don’t want Al involved in this. His pissing contest thing will make it worse. If Sammy’s feeling like he’s not getting his due, money will help smooth things over.
“Fuck that. Why?” Al demands.
My brother is old-school, like our dad. He doesn’t understand the subtleties of men’s feelings. Or if he does, he doesn’t give a shit.
“Honestly, he probably just needs a fucking pat on the back from you, Al. Would it kill you to tell him he’s valuable to the organization?”
Al’s upper lip lifts in a sneer, but Carlo nods as if he suddenly understands the picture. “He’s butt-hurt over Joey owning him,” he summarizes.
I shrug. “He does run every part of this business. I’m sure it chafes him to answer to me.”
“He answers to you because you’re his goddamn capo. You’re my brother, and you’re the only one who gets keys to the fucking kingdom.”
“And every man has his pride. You treating him like he doesn’t measure up has gotta hurt.”
“It’s not my job to massage his fucking feet. He can go see your girl–” Al breaks off when he sees my murderous expression. “Scratch that, he can find his own masseuse. He works for me, not the other way around.”
I don’t argue further. Al has his way of running things. It’s a top-down organization, and changing things would probably undermine his authority. It’s not for me to insist.
All I know is it’s not a job I ever want to take.
I sigh and lock the door after Al leaves the office then open the safe behind the wall and stack the money inside.
ChapterFive
Sophie
Date number two is a dream date as far as dates go. Fairytale perfect. Almost ridiculously so.
Joey had four designer brand dresses delivered in exactly my size, along with matching Jimmy Choo and Dolce & Gabanna heels and a couple Chanel bags. The courier who showed up with the haul told me they were all paid for, but if I wanted to exchange anything for size or style, I could do so at Mr. LaTorre’s expense.
Damn. Talk about impressive. I can’t figure out why he’s trying so hard. It doesn’t even make sense.
When he showed up, he brought flowers. Took me to a fancy dinner near Times Square before the show. And of course, the front-row tickets for the show were incredible.
Now, as we drive home, I’m wondering why I feel so comfortable with him. How this could be so easy.
I’m the type of person whose mind can go in circles about a situation until I drive myself nuts. That’s how I’ve been over this thing with Joey.
Part of me was excited about our date. Not just seeingHamilton–which is always a guaranteed good time–but seeing Joey again. Putting on one of the designer dresses to impress him. My mind’s all revved up. And I’m in conflict with what I’m resisting.
I don’t want to fall for Joey. I really don’t. Seriously. I’m not going to get involved with a Made Man. I’ll put in my three dates and then be done with him.
To make sure that happens, I resolve not to have sex with him this time. I’ll just have to explain to Joey that I’m not interested in a relationship.
So I steer the conversation back to the reason I can’t–and won’t–ever consider him as a long-term thing.
“How old were you when you realized your dad was the don? Or that there was something different about your family?” I ask.
Joey shoots me a surprised look. “Huh. Interesting question. I don’t know. I think I always knew. Maybe Al drilled it into my head.”
“He’s a lot older than you, right?”
“Yeah. Fifteen years. We’re actually half-brothers. His mom died of breast cancer when he was four. My ma was his live-in nanny from Italy. You can see how that turned out.”