Page 33 of Wanted Beta

He sighs softly. “He’s been on his phone since we opened. I’m sure he’s just … checking his socials.”

Right. Sure. He’s just checking his socials.

He’s definitely not playing online poker in a bid to make the money we need to live that the restaurant is supposed to be making. That would be risky and irresponsible, not to mention going against the promise he made to us that he would delete the apps and stop gambling.

I take off my apron and cap, dumping them on the counter that I’ve barely used all afternoon.

The plain white T-shirt and jeans I’m wearing aren’t classy enough for the front of house, but that hardly matters when no one is even in the restaurant.

I storm through the kitchen into the bar where I spot Giovanni sitting at the closest table, his jacket hanging over the edge of the chair while he studies his phone, elbows pushing the tablecloth up a little as he grumbles under his breath.

“First time lucky, my ass.”

“What are you doing?” I ask, stopping beside his chair.

I don’t need to see the screen to know the answer.

How the hell he thinks this is helping, I don’t know.

He sighs, straightening and dropping the phone onto the table. He pushes his hair back from his face as he turns to me. “I’m keeping our mortgage payments going, Enzo. This place isn’t turning a profit, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to start anytime soon.”

“We have savings for that. You shouldn’t be gambling …”

“I’m not gambling our savings away. I made two grand today,” he says, his tone sharp. “You want to know how much the restaurant made? Less than twenty bucks. Stop giving me shit for making sure we have a safety net.”

It pisses me off that he has a point, but that point doesn’t matter.

“You’re addicted to that site.”

He frowns at me, but he doesn’t say a word because he knows I’m right.

Alphas might have an instinctive edge when it comes to gambling, which tends to result in more wins than losses overall, but that doesn’t make it okay. Obsessive Alphas can get addicted, especially when they feel like it’s the only thing they’re good at.

Before he discovered this stupid gambling app, Gio was full of energy and enthusiasm for the restaurant. He’d researched the business side of things and he found us this building. He had me thinking he was fully invested in this fresh start.

Now, I’m not so sure.

Ever since we actually got this place, he’s been looking for any excuse to avoid working.

It doesn’t help that we haven’t been busy since we opened, I guess, but this stupid app has been occupying his thoughts ever since we moved in and started all the renovations.

He’s been preoccupied for weeks now, months even.

“Give me your phone,” I tell him, holding my hand out.

He frowns at me before he palms it and hands it over.

The only complaint I get is from his sour expression.

He knows he shouldn’t still have the app on his phone.

We talked about this, and he promised he’d delete it.

It’s never that simple when you’re dealing with addiction.

Promises lose all meaning when they’re continually being broken.

I slip the phone into my back pocket, and I look out across the empty restaurant.

---