Page 7 of Of Grief And Gratitude

“Sorry to pull you away from your night out.” Shane offered me the plush brown leather chair he’d been sitting in and took a seat across from me as his father returned to his chair. Sean stood behind them. “Why don’t you have a seat, and we’ll get down to business.”

“That’s fine, really.” I sat and made myself comfortable, crossing one leg over the other and resting my hands in my lap. “Sean wouldn’t tell me what this is all about.”

“There was no need to make it dramatic, boy.” Seamus sent his middle son a quelling look, but the warmth in his eyes held no animosity. “How are ya adjustin’ to bein’ back home?”

“It’s different from life in New York,” I explained. “But it’s nice to come home for a bit.”

“You don’t have a job yet?” Seamus prodded.

“Not yet, no.” I shifted in my seat. My unemployed status was a sore spot. I’d hoped to land a job with a PR company quickly, but things weren’t going as smoothly as I’d anticipated.

“Well, the luck o’ the saints is with ya today,” Seamus said, reaching forward and patting my knee. I looked at each set of green eyes staring at me, wondering what they were up to. “Ye’re going to work for the O’Connors.”

My breath caught, and I struggled to suck in air at the news. It wasn’t a question, but a gentle demand. “Work for your family?”

“Ye’re practically family already,” Seamus effused. “God willin’ one day you’ll be as good as blood.”

I paled at his comment. He wasn’t exactly subtle about his desire that I marry one of his sons. I didn’t think he even cared which one, as long as it tamed somebody.

He continued before I could form a response. “We’re in need of yer expertise with reputations.”

“You need PR?” I asked, surprised. “Your reputations are pretty clean, as far as the public eye is concerned.”

“Not for us,” Shane explained. “For a business associate. You’ve no doubt heard of the Neretti family.”

I nodded. Everybody knew of the Italian mafia leaders in Chicago. Ettore Neretti was notorious for his brutality, and his sons were largely regarded as menaces to society, depending on who you asked.

“The youngest boy got himself in a fix with the media.” Seamus clucked his tongue. “They need somebody to come in and set everythin’ straight. That’s where ya come in.”

“You want me to work for the Neretti family?” I gulped. Could I tell them no? Probably not. They’d been like my own family since childhood, and Seamus had been there after my dad died.

“Not exactly.” Shane ran his palms down his muscular thighs. “You’ll be more like a family liaison, making sure Romeo cleans his act up and stays the fuck out of the spotlight. We’ve got too much business that could be impacted if he draws attention to us.”

“Romeo.” I was mindlessly repeating his words now, but I couldn’t place him. I’d never met any of the Neretti’s, just heard stories. He sounded like a real winner. "What happened?"

Seamus sighed. "Ah, lass, ya know better than to ask."

"A reporter showed up at a drop site. It caused… complications." Shane looked at me intently, testing me, and I found myself unable to look away from his dark moss-green eyes.

"I see."

Shane nodded. “We meet with the Italians in a few days. We’ll pay double your usual rate. Are you on board?”

Now that caught my attention. I couldn’t deny that I needed the money. My savings were quickly depleting without an income to live off of. Survival and loyalty drove me to my decision, and I knew my answer before my lips moved.

“Yeah, I’m on board. Consider Romeo reformed.”

Chapter Three

The blinding light in my makeshift recording studio made it difficult to see the comments scrolling on my phone screen, but that’s why I had my laptop set up on a table in front of me. The spare room in my high-rise condo had its own aesthetic—charcoal-colored walls, dark wood floors, and a bed covered with black satin bedding. The furniture was understated and held the items necessary for my shows and the massages I occasionally gave. A black curtain divided the other half of the room with the massage table from the section with the bed, and I had a black wingback chair that could be moved to either side for background decor.

Today, I was filming in front of the bed. Thirsty subscribers flocked to my live videos to see me strip and jack off. Throw in some grunts, growls, and the occasional fuck, and they were panting. Go figure.

It was no secret that I was into that kind of attention, so running my site wasn’t a chore. I bit my lip and ran my fingers down the lapels of my suit before dragging them up to my bowtie and slowly pulling on the ends. I swayed my hips to the beat of the music and let the silk slither free of my neck before twirling it in the air and tossing it aside. It wasn’t long enough to do the makeshift cuffs I liked to show off when I wore a regular tie.

Take it off, they typed.

Show us those muscles, Daddy.

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