Page 210 of Remy

“I didn’t exactly plan for any of this,” I mutter.

“I fucking hope not, otherwise you’re dumber than the dumbass I already thought you were.”

“Fuck you, Salvo.”

“Fuck you, too, you deadass dumb shit. I can’t believe I spent my Sunday morning in your mistress’s fucking house, waiting for you to return home from some tawdry weekend love fest. What a goddamn joke.”

“It wasn’t a tawdry love fest, you Gucci-wearing, frappe-drinking, mother-loving asshole.”

He scowls at me with a raised brow. “You’re seriously throwing drink choices at me while you fuck up all our lives?”

“This has nothing to do with you.”

“Like hell it doesn’t. I’ve covered for you. I’ve lied for you. To fucking Lorenzo—who happens to be the only good fortune we’ve had our whole godforsaken lives. And here you are, pissing it away because of a pretty face and a mediocre set of tits.”

“Speak about her like that one more time and I’ll—” I clench my teeth, cutting off the threat.

“Seriously?” He glares at me. “That’s how it is now? You threatening me? You pointing a goddamn gun in my face because of a woman?”

My forearms throb from my tight grip around the steering wheel.

He scoffs. “You’re all I’ve got left, you self-centered motherfucker.”

“Oh, fuck off, Salvo. Like you give a shit.”

“Are you fucking with me right now?” He deadpans. “Dad’s dead. Mom’s imprisoned. And Matthew and Abri are in Washington, living their best lives. I thought we were in this together.”

Guilt chips away at my anger. I don’t fucking appreciate that he’s making sense for the first time in his life.

“Like I said,” I mutter, “I didn’t plan for this to happen.”

“It must be serious. She wears your ring.”

“It’s as serious as it gets as far as I’m concerned.”

He drags in a long breath, then lets it out on a sigh. “You do realize she can throw us under the bus.”

“So can Valenti or Russo, along with any of your men or Lorenzo’s. What’s the difference between her and them?”

“For a start, you’re not sticking your dick in Valenti and growing attached.” He narrows his eyes on me. “Or are you?”

My nostrils flare as I take the next turn harder than necessary.

“They’re disposable,” he grates. “That’s the fucking difference. If they mess up, they’re gone. Poof. Vanished. How the hell are you going to act if she does something wrong and we’re forced to silence her?”

“She won’t,” I bite out.

“Says your dick. Maybe let your other brain function for a little while.”

“Both brains are fully functioning and equally enthusiastic to fuck your shit up right now,” I snarl.

“That’s disturbing. Maybe, in future, don’t reference your dick brain and fucking me up in the same sentence.”

“I hate you, Salvo.”

“I love you, too, brother.” He messes with the buttons on my dash, turning on the radio.

We remain quiet for the next fifteen minutes, the low hum of music echoing from the speakers.

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