Page 41 of Craving Chaos

“I’d like to think I’d be at least a tiny bit more adept at this survivalist crap if I had.”

“Me either. I haven’t ever spent much time outside of cities. I’ve traveled but to Chicago and LA and even Rome. Never thought to go to a national park or something like that. Always seemed boring, I guess.”

I huff out a laugh. “Think we’ve proven that theory wrong. Nothing boring about trying to stay alive.”

He doesn’t respond as long seconds pass. I must be learning how to read him better because I get the distinct sense he wants to say something but is holding back.

“What is it?” I prod him.

“You’ll think I’m batshit crazy.”

“You already think I’m crazy. That way we’ll be even.” I press one shoulder back to nudge him playfully. The wind is still whistling all around us, but I’m finally warming up. Hard not to with my own personal heater wrapped around me.

“I never thought I’d say this,” he continues hesitantly, “but it’s more than not boring here.”

I slowly peer over my shoulder at him, eyes wide. “Are you trying to tell me you like being stuck in the wilderness?”

He grimaces before jumping to his feet. “Just forget it,” he mutters as he wrenches his hoodie and undershirt off in one go, giving me my first unhindered view of his tattooed back before he puts the hoodie back on without the undershirt. I’m entranced by the giant serpent tattoo encompassing most of the available skin. I have to force my attention back to our conversation.

“Don’t be like that.” I wrap the blanket back around my shoulders. “You surprised me is all.”

He sits in the chair at our makeshift table, arms crossed over his chest. “Not something I expected either. Doing shit like catching dinner and chopping wood is a hell of a lot more satisfying than I would have thought, that’s all.”

“I get that.”

His eyes finally cut to mine briefly, but he doesn’t say anything, so I continue. “Providing for yourself without relying on others is incredibly satisfying.” I don’t want to outright point out the similarity to my situation back home because this isn’t about me, but I’m still hoping he catches on.

“I always thought of my father as a powerful man because he commanded so many people and his decisions were so far-reaching. I get that there’s power in that, but that sort of power only exists with the cooperation of others.”

“There are no others here.”

“Exactly. And I’m realizing there’s an entirely different sort of power in self-sufficiency. A power in knowing you don’t need anyone else to survive. The simplicity appeals to me. Everything is so straightforward here. Eat. Sleep. Survive.”

I study him but find his stoic features inscrutable. “You’re not saying … you want to stay here, are you?”

“No,” he answers immediately. “Definitely not. But it’s changed my perspective about a lot of things.” He begins to shuffle the deck of cards, not elaborating.

Since he seems to be done with the topic, I indulge in my curiosity about his tattoos. “What’s the snake about?”

“It’s sort of our family symbol. Not like we put it on shirts or anything, but it’s representative of our role. We control the unions in the city. Workers are the scales of the snake—small and fragile on their own—but together, they can become a deadly beast.”

Interesting. I can see why he never thought much about independence. His entire world is based on a cooperative existence.

“Do you have to deal with politicians much? Seems like unions go hand-in-hand with politics. My brother Oran handles most of the schmoozing with city officials. I’m glad it’s him and not me. I’d piss off too many people to be given that responsibility.” I strive to be a valuable asset to my family, but we all have to acknowledge our strengths and weaknesses. I don’t exactly excel at stroking egos. As the head of the Moretti family, I wonder how much of that sort of thing Renzo has to do.

“Politics can be a big part of our world, though the Giordano family is ensconced in city government, so they control most bureaucratic functions. We keep to the blue-collar side of things. But the two families rely on one another in many ways. That’s why my father had talked to me about an alliance with them before he died.”

“An alliance? When someone throws that word around in my circles, it means a marriage.” It’s a simple observation and not technically any of my business, but I have to know.

“Her name’s Arianna De Bellis. Her father was the boss of the Giordano family.”

My stomach turns itself inside out. I don’t know what she looks like, but her name is fucking gorgeous. She sounds like an Italian princess. I’ve never thought much about my name, but it suddenly sounds abrasive and unsophisticated. And Irish.

“Was?” I prompt.

“He was killed back in June.”

I wonder if he hadn’t been killed if Renzo would currently be engaged or even married. Again, my stomach contorts itself angrily.

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