Page 9 of Bossy Ex's Brother

I sighed, turning to my second-in-command, who was eyeing me with a concerned look.

“What is it?” I grunted.

“It’s the Morettis,” he said, walking forward urgently. “At least two of their men are at Baker’s avenue right now with two of ours. I got a call from one of our watchers who said a fight was gonna break out."

Well, that’s fucking annoying.I’d specifically told my men to lay low for the next few months after the last fiasco with theMorettis led to their don’s wife getting shot in a police crossfire. Her wound had been fatal, and the poor woman didn’t make it to the hospital, much to Don Moretti’s devastation. I knew he was probably planning revenge for that and was just looking for an excuse to start something. I didn’t want my men to get caught up in a blood bath.

But here they were, deliberately exposing themselves. Baker’s avenue was practically Moretti land. Why the fuck were they there in the first place? What part of lay low did these men not understand?

This was the third fight our men had picked with the Morettis this month, and I was getting fucking sick of the bullshit. I was trying to establish a peace treaty, for crying out loud. How the fuck was I supposed to do that when they couldn’t even stop themselves from getting into fights?

“Who are they?”

“Antoni and Ricky. The two initiates from last week.”

Great, even the newbies were idiots.

“They’ll handle it,” I said distractedly. “If they’re stupid enough to find themselves on Moretti territory, they can be stupid enough to suffer the consequences.” And learn a painful lesson along the way.

“Yes, but what if the two Moretti boys call in backup? It could be a bloody situation. And the police might get involved.”

Yeah, that would be a real pain if it were to happen. The Morettis were known for generally keeping a low profile but being vicious to anyone who dared to attack them. We were the same. It was what made us the two most powerful families in the area; the fact that we could simultaneously cause so much havoc in the city and still evade the police.

Of course, we had to be enemies as a result of our power.

We’d met bloodshed with bloodshed and arms with arms. We’d both painted the street with each other’s blood, and evenafter long moments of quiet, the threat was still there, tremoring in the air.

I was tired.

“They’ll kill them, Luca,” Brandon pleaded, his eyes trying to impart the direness of the situation as if I didn’t fucking already get it. “They’ll kill them, and then all the other lowlifes will think we’re weak because we couldn’t fucking protect our own.”

“Fine. Goddamnit.” I stood from my chair angrily and brushed past him on the way out the door. More annoyance spiraled in my gut, and the thought repeated again and again.I was so fucking sick of this shit. So fucking sick of it.

I stormed out into the club with Brandon right behind me. Things were getting started with people bumping their fists to some kind of EDM music. There were already the usual customers crawling through the doors. This was one of our tamer establishments, so most of them were average working-class Joes who wanted to unwind for the night. The real money came later when the high-rollers came in.

Some of my men who were standing at positions throughout the club caught the look on my face and were instantly on alert. I didn’t have to say anything. They instantly started mobilizing, moving toward me even though the party was in full swing. We cut across the dancing bodies to get to the car.

I got into the Lexus that constantly sat in the parking lot with Brandon and ordered, “Baker’s avenue.”

Sammy, the driver in front, nodded and began pulling out.

As we drove there, I watched the city pass by, wondering how my life got to this point.

This wasn’t supposed to be the plan.

It started when I was barely more than a kid, running petty crimes so that my mother didn’t have to work a second job just to put me through school. I didn’t do anything major at first, just a little pickpocketing here and there. I always told my motherthat I got the money from working for one of the women in the church, and she believed me for some time. Until she didn’t.

She made me quit stealing, which was good because the payout wasn’t enough anyway.

And so I started to get into the harder stuff, running errands for the gangs in the area at the time. I’d had to drop out of high school to do it and then ended up in juvie for years, effectively throwing away the rest of my future.

When I came out and saw my mother’s face and the disappointment stamped on it, I knew she’d given up on me being an upstanding citizen. And it hurt, but at the same time, it was freeing. Nothing was holding me back from a life of crime, and since no one wanted to hire a man with no high school diploma and a record, it seemed like a no-brainer. I went and joined the mafia for good.

And made good money doing it too.

I’d funnel whatever money I made to my mother to support her and my little brother, Lorenzo. The kid was my only hope. He was the smart one, the one who, according to folks, had an IQ of 124. He was the one who was supposed to get out and get a nice fucking job as a lawyer or a doctor, someone respectable, someone who helped people. He was supposed to be the one my mother was proud of, and maybe once the time came, he could help me get the fuck out of this shit.

But instead, he decided to run away. Breaking my mother’s heart twice and damning me to this life forever.

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