Addictive (Diamondback MC Second Generation 3)

Now that I’m officially in remission, I have to get my blood drawn weekly until my next scan in three months, and we’re going from there. Honestly, if that’s all I have to do, I’ll do that for the rest of my life. Going through treatment was hard, so very hard, but seeing my family struggle with not trying to show their emotions and how they were crumbling inside was really freaking terrible.

“For sure. Have a great day. I’m going to see about the other building. Thanks, Sailor.” I wave, and we both walk in opposite directions. Sailor really is the best person for my baby brother, stubborn ass that he is. She’s the one who seems to get through to him more than any of us ever could.

“You, too. Don’t overdo it, okay?” I love that they worry about me, but this is also why I need a place of my own, a sense of normalcy and to get back on my feet.

“I won’t, promise.” That’s a lie. My goal for today is to find an apartment, no matter how long it takes.

CHAPTER 4

MASSIMO

“Massimo, you can’t let him eat desserts in the middle of the night,” Hilda chides. She has been with my family since Sienna and I were running around the house. My grandparents left Italy and moved to Texas. There was a need for certain necessities around here, and the competition was less stiff than in Italy, or even New York for that matter. They kept things under the radar, never having the FBI in their face, and now that we’ve needed them on our side a few times, well, let’s just say money talks, and we have them in the Russos’ back pocket in case anything does arise.

“I know. Was he a bear for you this morning?” After we each ate a slice of chocolate cake, downing it with milk, Dante was so sleepy he was falling asleep at the counter. I knew this morning when I woke him that I’d made a massive mistake in letting him stay up instead of putting him back in bed. He was grumpy, trying to roll over in bed and hiding under the covers.

“He puts you to shame, and you were no walk in the park when you were a little boy,” she announces in her thick accent she’s never lost, even though she moved from Germany to America over thirty years ago.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do for him. Should I send him to Italy? Uproot him even more? At least here he has memories of his mother,” I ask, but I know Hilda won’t give me an answer. It’s a decision I’ll have to make on my own. Sienna, always the planner, left Dante’s care in my hands, knowing I’d do anything she asks, especially since she was my baby sister. I never could say no to her, and when our family attorney read the will and Papa nodded his head, elbows on the table, fingers steepled against his chin, I knew he approved. It was Mama who wanted Dante to go back to Italy with them, where she could raise him the way she thought fit.

“Only you know the answer to that, Massimo. But I’m thinking chocolate won’t fix it. Maybe talk about Sienna instead of staying closed up, eh?” Hilda puts me in my place, and she’s not wrong. It’s hard to bring up the good times when you’re working, taking care of a child you never thought you’d have in the first place, dealing with losing my sister, and attempting to get Henley to acknowledge my presence in some way.

“Yeah, that might work. If you need anything, I’ll be in my office, then I’ll be making rounds. Maddox will pick up Dante from school, take him to soccer, and then bring him home,” I tell her since there’s been a change in plans from what we normally do.

“Okay, I’ll have dinner ready. No dessert, though, no more, not after he wouldn’t eat breakfast and was fighting not to fall sleep.” I hold my hands up because even I know she means business.

“Maybe on the weekends? You know Dante is like Sienna; they only get worse when they don’t get their sugar fix.” Hilda harrumphs, leaving the kitchen to oversee what needs to be done around the house today. I make a cup of coffee knowing it’s going to be a long day to catch up on missed work from last night as well.

I am about to go for the coffee pot when I notice Hilda has breakfast set out for me—orange juice, a bowl of oatmeal, and toast. Her message is received loud and clear. Maybe Dante is more like his uncle than I give him credit for. I sit down, knowing that if I don’t eat, I’ll be on Hilda’s bad side once again, and nobody wants to be on that side.