Page 5 of Ink

“Loved?”

“Yeah, I lost them two years ago.”

I didn’t give him any additional details because I'd never make it through this appointment if I did. Talking about their deaths was too hard for me, even after this much time had passed.

“I get it.” Onyx lifted his shirt and twisted to the side to show me the black ink on his back. “Had this done to honor my mom. Lost her when I was a teenager. It’s what got me interested in becoming a tattoo artist.”

I hadn’t expected the tall, muscular, tattooed biker to open up to me like that, but I felt much more at ease with his confession. “I hate that you had to go through a loss like that, but I’m glad you understand why I want this particular tattoo. It makes me feel a little more comfortable with you being the one to draw it.”

He dropped his shirt back into place and leaned his hip against the reception counter. “You have nothing to worry about. I’m the best in the business.”

“Most of Ink’s clients would disagree,” the guy behind the counter murmured.

“Ignore Jay. He’s a prospect who just started answering the phones for us last week. He has no fucking clue what he’s talking about.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Onyx smiled at me. “For the clock face, you want the short hand on eight and the long one on eleven?”

“That’s exactly what I want.”

2

INK

Icarefully placed a bandage over the fresh tattoo I’d just inked onto my cousin’s rib cage.

“You know how to take care of it,fratello?” I asked, not really paying attention and pretty much on autopilot.

Marcello rolled his eyes as he curled his abs up into a sitting position. “No, after thirteen tattoos, I forgot. You wanna enlighten me?”

I tossed him a dirty look and grunted,“Cazzo zito, stronzo.”

He grinned and hopped off the table I used when the piece's location required my client to lie down.

Shoving my rolling chair toward a small station that held my cleaning supplies, my mind was already on my next appointment.

I loved my job, and at the core, my art was a connection to my father. Although he had many responsibilities for The Family, he always found time for me and his art. He’d taught me everything he knew.

He’d loved my mom and me fiercely, and inside our home, it was easy to pretend we were a typical family. But I was a DeLuca, and that changed everything when I walked outside the door.

Just like Gabbi had said, when people heard the name DeLuca, it put the fear of God into them.

Why?

Because they were the fucking Mafia.

It had taken a toll on my mom, so when my father was murdered, she’d had enough. I was ten and didn’t understand why she was taking me away from my life and family, moving us from New York City to Georgia.

My mom had been close to my dad’s sister, Laina. Even after the family had pretty much disowned her for running off with the president of a questionable motorcycle club. They’d been really old school in those days. Which would have been a huge fucking problem for me since I’d chosen a life outside The Family. Thankfully, the younger generations were more open-minded.

The coincidental thing about the whole situation was that Laina and my dad’s brother, Salvatore, had moved to Georgia to take over the Southern branches before he married Giulia. Despite being only a half hour from each other at the most, their families didn’t even speak.

However, Salvatore had brought his wife and kids to New York frequently, so they were the only people who were familiar to me. They were family.

My mom didn’t want me to have anything to do with The Family, so she wasn’t happy that I spent a lot of time with my DeLuca cousins.

I was close with Laina’s family too, though, and as I got older, I knew I didn’t want to be a part of the Mafia. Although I remained close to my family, I distanced myself from the darker side of their life. Sal tried to change my mind, but he didn’t push too hard. Then he went to prison, and Rafa took over as underboss. He fully supported my choice and didn’t even try to convince me to work for him. Not that I didn’t get pulled into Family shit from time to time.

I’d spent more and more time with the Silver Saints, and by the time I was an adult, I saw the “family” I needed in a motorcycle club. I was related to the DeLucas by blood, and that carried a fuck ton of weight to Italians, especially in The Family. But the members of the Silver Saints were just as tightly bound. Even more so in some ways.

They weren’t a brotherhood by blood, but their loyalty to the club and each other was stronger than shared DNA because it was a choice. It was earned. It was a pledge.

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