The Woman at the Docks (Grassi Framily)

It was a rhetorical question because even as he was saying it, he was making his way toward the kitchen, leaving me to follow behind.

"Oh, look who the fuck it is," Lucky said, turning to find Matteo walking in, sending his cousin a smile. "The prodigal son returns," he added as Matteo approached, both of them hugging before parting. "Babe, this is the other brother, Matteo," Lucky introduced him. "Matteo, this is our new friend Romy. She was doubting my culinary skills," he added as Romy's eyes moved over my brother, likely taking in the similarities and differences between us. What conclusion she came to was beyond me, though.

"You're probably going to regret that," Matteo told Romy. "Are these up for grabs?" he asked, going to the coffee tray with all of Romy's other choices.

"Don't take this one," Romy warned, tapping her finger on the top of one. "Trust me," she added. "I don't know who thought fruit flavor works in coffee, but they're probably the same people who put pineapples on pizza or chocolate on pretzels."

He took her advice, picking a different one up at random. "You mean culinary innovators?" he asked. I knew for a fact that he hated pineapple on principle, let alone on pizza, but he liked poking at people more than he liked taking their side.

"Those are the people who brought us chicken and waffles potato chips," she said, grimacing.

Matteo gave her a smile. "So how long have you been with us, darling?"

"Well, let's see. Your brother kidnapped me about a day and a half ago. I've been here since then."

Matteo shot me a raised brow. He didn't need to say anything. We'd been having silent conversations across the room from each other since childhood.

He was shocked about the kidnapping. He was questioning why our methods had changed so much in so short a time. He wanted to know if she was still technically a prisoner.

That last one, that was a gray area.

"I have to go have a sit down with our father. Are you coming?" I asked, already knowing the answer, but wanting him to come with me. It was bad enough I had to leave her with Lucky and his charm. I didn't need Matteo there with Romy too.

It shouldn't have mattered.

She wasn't mine.

And yet...

"Oh, you know me. I can't go being a productive member of this family. Expectations will raise. I will fail to meet them. Everyone gets disappointed. It's a vicious circle."

"You got this?" I asked Lucky, tone a little harsher than it needed to be, making him pause in slicing up some spinach, giving me a long look.

"Yeah, I have it covered, boss," he said, tone a little pointed.

I should have felt bad for pulling the authority card on my cousin, one of my closest friends.

But I was in too surly a mood to care as I stormed out of there, met with my father and Leandro, comparing the notes from all the individuals we'd interacted with so far.

From there, I made my way to the docks to talk to Angelo who had isolated all the videos of shipping containers coming in from South America—in particular Venezuela—for the past several weeks.

Nothing seemed off.

All the businesses we'd imported from had been connections since my father was my age, old, trusted importers of legal goods.

"I hate to say it, but could she be fucking with us?"

My knee-jerk reaction was to say no, to insist that she had been too impassioned about her sister.

But then again, the worst criminals were very convincing with their false words.

I drove back to the rental, feeling anger bubbling up.

And instead of calling it what it truly was—desire disappointed, jealousy of my brother and best friend's charm with women in general and this one in particular—I went ahead and blew the fact that we hadn't learned anything about traffickers and containers full of women yet. I created a backstabber and liar where I wasn't sure there was one yet.

"I need to talk to you. Right now," I added after walking inside to find Lucky, Matteo, and Romy sitting at the card table playing poker using pieces of dried wagon wheel pasta as chips. "Basement," I added, yanking her chair backward, making her body lurch, her hands flying out to slap on the table instinctively.

I didn't look at my men.