Page 72 of The Mob Boss' Pet

“Where’d he find that guy?” I ask with a laugh.

“None of our lawyers will work with him because you said they were off limits.” Roberto gives me a hard stare.

“You think I should go back on my decision? That I made the wrong call? Am I going too easy on him for killing Sergio?” I fist my hand on my desk.

“No,” he’s quick to answer. “It’s not that.” He drags a hand through his hair. “I’m just saying... hell, it’s hard to watch this from the outside and not be able to help.”

“He did this, Roberto. Not us,” I remind him.

“I know.” He stretches his legs out in front of him. “I know,” he says with more conviction. “Five years. You think that’s enough time for you to forgive him?”

“Forgive him? That’s never going to happen. But I’ll be able to stand his presence by then.” I’m not sure that will be the case either, but I have to give Roberto some hope.

“What about Maria?” he asks softly.

My jaw clenches instinctively. “I don’t want to talk about her. She has family. They can deal with her.”

Roberto nods. “Yeah. It’s probably better that way.”

“Yes. It is.” I push away from my desk. I’ve been sitting idle too long. I make my way to my wet bar and pour a drink.

“You still have those burner phones? I need one.” Roberto goes behind my desk and opens the bottom drawer.

“Yeah, I think there’s one in there.” I wave my drink toward him and down it. Not even the burn of the whiskey settles me anymore.

Roberto pulls out a laptop and looks at me. “Is this hers?”

My gaze lands on it, sending a rippling effect through my nerves.

“Yeah.” I turn back to the decanter and pour some morelet me forgetjuice. It never works, though.

“Why do you still have it?”

“I forgot I even had it,” I say, downing another drink. I leave the glass on the bar; it’s not helping anyway.

“I can have Charlie bring it to her,” Roberto offers. “Because it’s hers,” he says when I continue to stare at it. Something so lightweight has me weighed down to the floor.

“I can do it,” I say, taking it from him. “I... I’ll drop it by her place.”

“You know, as shitty as our brother is, he did bring her home to you,” he offers as some sort of silver lining. As though there can ever be anything like that in my life.

“Don’t you have something to do?”

He puts a hand on my desk and leans closer to me. “You shouldn’t have sent her away.”

“Oh? And why’s that?” I ask, shoving his hand away so I can sit back down. He’s fully recovered, other than still having some soreness with movements. I can kick his ass without regret at this point.

“Because you care about her.”

I laugh. “So?”

“You don’t deny it?”

“Why would I deny it? Yeah, so I care about her. That doesn’t change anything.”

“You had a collar on her,” he reminds me. As though I need a reminder. Her pink collar has been tucked under my pillow for the past month. I’ll have to move it; it’s only making this harder.

“It was just a game.” I brush away his suggestion.

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