Page 60 of Mafia Captor

“He’s a good man,” Boston corrects me.

“Okay, man.”

“I’m a good man too. But I do bad things. Everything I do has a reason behind it. I have my own moral compass that I follow. I think as long as you’re doing that, you’re okay, no matter what you’re getting into.”

“Getting into. That’s the problem. Exactly what are you getting him into?”

“Nothing.” He pauses. “Yet.”

My blood boils. “Yet?”

“Look, he’s around the brothers. He likes us. What can I say? We’re a good group. He knew about the Bachmans way before he came here. He’s a young guy, with energy and passion. He’s wicked smart. You wanna hear the truth? He fits right in.”

My temperature rises even more. “Idecide where he fits in. I’m his big sister.Ilook out for him.”

“Sweetheart. He doesn’t need you anymore. He can look out for himself.” He stares at me. “He’s got a job. An apartment. A life that’s totally separate from you. No offense, but what does he need you for as far as making life decisions goes?”

“He didn’t even go to college after I left. He needed my help, and I wasn’t there and now he doesn’t have a degree. I have to keep a close eye on him to help him with his future, to make sure he doesn’t miss any other opportunities.”

“He didn’t go to college because he didn’t want to go, Ashe.” His tone softens. “He never even mailed the applications.”

“What did you just say?”

The heat turns to ice. A cold chill creeps down my spine. I think of the nights at the kitchen table, poring over the papers, painstakingly completing each application. This can’t be. It just can’t.

I search his face for the truth. “What do you mean by that?”

“He told me. He only filled them out to make you happy. He knew he wasn’t going. He already had work at the shop by then. He loves his cars. And he’s damn good at what he does. The engine on the Ferrari was vibrating more than usual and the kid had the engine mounts replaced in 15 minutes.” Boston gives a shrug. “You can’t choose someone’s passion for them.”

“But…” My mouth closes.

A thousand retorts come to mind but they’re all stupid.

Boston’s right. Beckett loves his cars. They make him happy. Who am I to stand in his way? I’m still the big sister. No need to tell him he’s right.

“Lying about the college applications? That’s just cruel. He’ll definitely be hearing about this.”

“Leave the kid alone. That was years ago. Who cares?”

“Ugh. You don’t get it.”

“I do too,” he says. “I’ve got four times the little bros you have. I understand when you have to let go. Which was eighth grade at the latest.”

“Eighth grade? Whatever. Your brothers had a mother who wasn’t bipolar.”

He walks over to the bed, sitting beside me. He slips a protective arm around my shoulders. His voice is warm, soft, caring. “He just needs you to be there for him. Someone to talk to. To bounce shit off of. You buy him some pizza every once in a while. Let him borrow your best car for a date. That’s it.”

I give a little sniff, looking down at my sandals. “I only have one car. I drive a Honda. No one ever wants to borrow a Honda.” I don’t know what else to say.

“We’ll change that, baby. I was thinking how cute you’d look in a green Audi E Tron. Everyone and their mother will want to borrow it.” He runs his fingertip over my thigh in circles. “In fact, I may have already had Beckett put the order in.”

Did I hear him correctly? “You bought me a car? Like, a whole car?”

“Half a car wouldn’t drive too well.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” I know nothing about cars but the idea of owning something that isn’t one hundred percent purchased by its reliability rating kind of perks me up. He’s so generous with me—it’s kind of ridiculous. “And just because you think I’d look good in it? Gosh, that’s so sweet.”

He kisses my cheek. “Just try to relax. Okay? I take good care of you, don’t I?”

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