Page 95 of Immoral

I pat her ass. "You might want to eat all day. I'll be looking to do the same tonight."

"Ohhh, don't tease me, Mr. Marino," she chirps then struts into the bathroom, dramatically swaying her hips and long brown hair.

I chuckle then text the chef what I want his staff to prepare. I stick my head past the bathroom door and tell Cara, "Breakfast will be up soon. I'm going to get a quick workout in."

"Okay, baby. Thanks," she replies then steps into the shower.

I toss on shorts, a T-shirt, and socks. Then I lace up my sneakers. When I get to the gym, Massimo is already there. His hand is in his hair, and his shoulders are tense. He's facing the wall and on the phone. He seethes, "I told you not to go."

I stay quiet, cross my arms, and lean against the wall.

He states, "No. I told you how I felt about you seeing those people. You promised me you wouldn't go."

Pissed, I shake my head. I have no doubt he's talking to the librarian and didn't cut it off like I told him to.

He scolds, "I don't want to hear your excuses. This conversation is over. I have shit to do." He hangs up and spins. When he sees me, his scowl deepens. He accuses, "Are you spying on me now?"

I push myself off the wall. "That was the librarian, wasn't it?"

"Not your business," he hurls then steps in front of the squat machine. He picks up a fifty-pound weight and adds it to the bar.

I grab another one and put it on the other side. We both keep adding more until I ask, "Why are you playing with fire? Her past relationship with Donato is too coincidental. She's working for the Abruzzos. You're smart. Use your head on this one."

He throws his hands in the air and his face turns red with rage. "Jesus, you're arrogant. You don't know anything about her. And for the last time, she has nothing to do with the Abruzzos."

I snicker. "Really? Who did she go see last night?"

Massimo's eyes turn to slits. "None of your business."

"Was it an Abruzzo?"

"Are you kidding me? You think I would put up with that?" Massimo angrily shakes his head. "Not only are you severely misinformed, you apparently think I'm a traitor, too."

"No, brother. I think you're making decisions with the wrong head."

"Fuck off, Gianni," he curses then sits down on the machine.

"You're both up early," Finn O'Malley calls out, walking into the gym with Maksim Ivanov. Both families are staying here with their wives for Fashion Week.

"I'm trying to explain to my little brother which head he should think with," I reply, walking toward Finn and Maksim.

"Enough, unless you want to take it out in the ring. And I'm warning you. I won't hold back," Massimo threatens.

Maksim arches his eyebrows. In his Russian accent, he states, "Boris will be here in a few minutes. He's due for a good ass kicking."

"Why? What did he do?" I ask.

"I said to drop it," Boris barks, stepping toward us with Killian in tow.

"Don't you think you should put some more weight on there?" Killian jests at Massimo.

He grunts and continues his squats.

I glance at Finn and Maksim so they can tell me what the deal is between him and Boris, but Maksim is too busy glaring at Boris.

Finn pats me on the back, muttering, "You don't want to know."

I take the hint to drop it and move toward the treadmill to warm up. The rest of the Ivanovs and O'Malleys trickle in, as well as my other two brothers and Bridget's son Sean. The gym becomes a crowded room of sweat, loud music, and taunting jokes.

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