Page 32 of My Daddy Is An Ex-Con

Amedeo pounds my back. "Great shot."

Tommaso nods. "I haven’t seen you shoot like that in ages."

Vincenzo smirks. "Remember how fucking crazy you were when you drove to rescue Enzo?"

"Yes." My voice is deep. Low. Growly and primal. "I charged through Sicily in my sports car like a fucking badass."

"More like a mental asylum escapee," Vincenzo drawls.

"Or a convict who broke out of prison," Amadeo teases.

Rage pulses behind my temples.

Whipping around, I roar as I stomp toward my three cousins. "Don’t make jokes about prison."

"Whoa, baby." Vincenzo lifts his hands. "I didn’t realize that was so triggering."

"It is." I blow smoke from my gun. "Nothing I’ve ever been through has traumatized me in that way. I have nightmares about being in the joint. Living with killers."

Amadeo’s eyes narrow. "I swear you killed someone."

"I was framed." Like many ex-cons, I maintain my innocence.

"You were locked up for kidnapping and murder, right?" Vincenzo is asking the important questions.

"Yes." Darkness seeps into my core. "I’dreallyrather not speak about it."

Amadeo pushes out a groan. "I was only complimenting your badass driving skills. Don't be so touchy."

"You have a short fuse, my friend," Tommaso agrees.

I set my gun down. "You try living in the can with psychopaths and see if you make it out without developing significant triggers."

"Sensitiiiiiiive," Amadeo grunts.

Okay, bitch—what’s so wrong about that? I might be a ferocious beast on the outside, but a little inner sensitivity never hurt anyone.

Well—that’s not true. My sensitive soulhasresulted in death—for people who upset me.

"Thanks for the compliment." I try to keep it polite. "I fought like hell to reach the Riccardis’ compound before it was too late. It didn’t work out."

Here’s what happened last week. After Tommaso received word that the Riccardis kidnapped Enzo after Enzo was jerking off to a picture of Tommaso’s dick with his name tattooed on it, Tommaso and Cyan realized that the Riccardis had installed a bedbug virus on his phone.

I’m not a techie—I wasn't sure what the hell a bedbug virus was, but Tommaso claimed to be an expert.

All I knew was that when he told me to help save Enzo, I had to act.

Nothing—and no one—stops me from protecting family. Not hurricanes. Tornadoes. Enemies.

"Luckily, they’re dead." Vincenzo blows out a breath of relief.

The compound burst into flames after Tommaso cut the wrong wire that activated the exterminator protocol on the massive automatic machine gun pointed at Enzo.

I narrow my eyes. "Like hell they are."

"You’ve got to quit saying that." Amadeo spits the words out. "We’ve put out feelers—they vanished."

"Bullshit," I snarl.

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