Page 16 of SINS & Lies

I meet Uncle Andre’s expectant gaze, his eyes boring into mine as if searching for my reaction. “Well?” he prods, his voice a low rumble, almost soothing.

If this were anyone else, I’d tell him to grab a bottle of lube and go fuck himself.

Instead, I straighten my sleeve and shrug. “From what I’ve heard, the Luciano girl has enough to buy off Jimmy’s debt and then some.”

Uncle Andre’s lips tighten, a smirk curling at the edges. He leans in. “Not if a single dollar of it came from you.” His words cut through me like a knife.

He’s got me. Got my goddamned balls in a vise, and he knows it. It’s like I’m standing beneath the five commandments of the underworld, getting sledgehammered over the head by them.

1. Family first;

2. Death to our enemies—how swiftly and severely they meet their end is a matter of personal preference, limited only by one’s imagination, appetite for violence, and time allotted;

3. Betrayal warrants swift consequences—with similar creative license as number two;

4. Snitches get stitches—which, despite its lack of originality, remains a steadfast truth;

and last but not least,

5. Debts will be honored.

No one eats, sleeps, and breathes these laws more than I do. And right now, the last one is coming back to fuck me in the ass.

The D’Angelos set the rules, and once established, they became gospel.

When our family split, each king dictated his own laws, his own brand of justice—no questions asked.

We don’t meddle in the affairs of others, and they damn well know better than to stick their noses in ours.

At least, if they want to keep their faces intact.

The consequences for crossing those lines? Bloodshed and war.

And make no mistake, Kennedy Luciano is worth neither. At least, that’s what my brain keeps telling my dick.

For a fleeting second, I wonder if she stands a chance of paying down the debt on her own. Casually, I crunch the numbers in my head.

Hell, I don’t even have to carry the one. For all that asinine work-herself-to-death nobility, she’s barely scraped together ten grand.

Which is admirable. Too bad she owes ten times that amount.

Which means I’m either gearing up for battle or I’m tossing her to the wolves and drowning out her cries as I move on with my life. Uncle Andre’s pleased gaze meets mine. “Well?”

I tap a finger on my tailored slacks. Well, indeed.

If I had a diplomatic bone in my body, I would smile and nod, allowing my uncle to cozy up to my good graces like a boa constrictor. It would be a cozy scenario, where I could have my fingers in all the pies...especially Bella’s.

But there’s the rub.

I am many things...a bastard? Yes.

An alleged womanizer? Absolutely, though admittedly, it’s been a while.

A lethal thug? Or, my personal favorite, the devil incarnate? Guilty as charged.

But a master diplomat? Definitely not.

I’m more of a shoot first, discuss later kind of guy, as evidenced by Rocco’s hand.

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