Cruel Summer

All of the Costas are fine specimens of men, but there isn’t one sane braincell between the four.

“So, you still hang around here?” I ask her.

She cringes. “Definitely not. Women who hang around this place are seen as free whores to use. I still go out for lunch and the occasional movie with Razor, but I only come here when he’s invited me or my family to one of the get-togethers.” Her eyes move over to Giovanni who’s standing by the cotton candy machine talking to a man. “Usually, the Costas aren’t here, but I know Gio is old friends with Hollow.”

I nod, but a shriek leaves my lips when something smacks into the back of my leg. I reach a hand back, holding onto the throbbing part. When I turn around and see the hellish little boy running toward the soccer ball that’s now only sitting a few feet away, I let out a swear.

“Hey, you were in the way, lady,” the little boy says when he gets closer. And I take back the fact that I thought he was no older than six, he can’t be any older than four. Curly, black hair falls into his face and his light brown skin bares a few freckles. He has a little button nose that would make him look like the cutest kid on earth, but his lips are stretched into a deep frown and his eyes are promising hell as he stares at me, his jaw clenched.

“Fabi,” Daria says, her tone disappointed as she looks down at the little boy.

The little boy opens his mouth to say something else but when he looks back up at Daria, his lips snap shut. He lets out a little irritated grunt.

“Do you want me to tell your daddy that you’re being rude?” she asks, raising a brow.

“No ma’am,” he says, before shooting me a glare like I’m the one who kicked a ball into him instead of the other way around. “I’m sorry,” he says and it sounds more like sawwy. Which is cute, unlike the look in his eyes that promises retribution.

He picks his ball up and hustles away from us.

“Whose kid is that?” I ask, my brows wrinkling.

"Daria rolls her eyes. “Abramo’s. He’s my nephew.”

I remember her and Isabelle saying that her nephew was bad, along with Giovanni saying the same to Hollow. I can tell from meeting him for five seconds that they weren’t lying. I also remember someone saying that the little boy’s mother was killed because she was black and Abramo’s mother is a racist.

I wince at that.

Laughter catches my attention and I turn my head in time to find the little boy back out in the middle of the field. His soccer ball is back at his feet now and he lets out a loud laugh as Maximo gives him a little shove and steals his ball from him. Enzo lingers a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest but a smile on his face.

When the boy tries to get it back, Maximo pulls it back with his right foot, both of his hands in his pockets and his posture relaxed. There’s a smile on his face and he seems to take pleasure in beating Favi, especially as the boy’s laughs transform into grunts of anger. Until he’s had enough and he rears back, punching Maximo right in the thigh, only an inch or so away from his crotch.

“Fabiano!” A man with red hair yells before he’s storming over to the little boy and yanking him up. The little boy is trying to explain himself even as the redhead yells at him. Maximo’s eyes are alight with amusement and I suspect he’s more entertained by the little boy hitting him than anything.

Of course he is.

“Good thing Frances was the one who saw that go down and not Abramo, or he’d have already whooped Fabi’s ass,” Daria remarks before letting out a soft whistle. “That’s a fine man any given day, but him in jeans is even hotter than that stuffy suit.”

I follow her gaze, pausing when my eyes land on Vito. He’s here after all.

The jeans he has on are more of a soft blue gray than the usual denim color and it only seems to compliment his tan skin. He’s wearing a red compression shirt and his hair is pulled back into a low little ponytail. He’s letting it grow out again and with the combination of scruff growing on his face, Daria’s right, I don’t think he’s ever looked hotter.

And his eyes are right on me.

He moves over, stuffing one hand in his pocket while the other one moves to push a stray hair out of his face, his muscles flexing. “Daria,” he says, smiling at her. She wiggles her fingers at him. “Do you mind if I steal Winter?” he asks.

She shakes her head, “No, I need to go find Razor anyway, he owes me a smirnoff.” She gives me a pat on the shoulder before heading toward the grill.

My face heats up as I look up at Vito and my fingers tangle together as his hot gaze burns into me. “You look nice,” he says after a moment.

“Thank you. You do too,” I tell him. “I like the jeans.”

His lips spread into a wide grin. “Thanks, I always keep a pair on hand for the one time of year that I wear them.” He steps back slightly before pointing at the cotton candy stand. “Join me?”

I nod, following him over to the stand. The girl with the pink hair smiles at me brightly before her gaze moves to Vito and she pauses. She blinks her pretty blue eyes at him. “Well, hello there,” she says and I don’t miss the way her gaze seems to linger on Vito’s forearms.

He returns her smile but there’s nothing flirtatious to it. “Hi, you’re Hollow’s little sister, right?” he asks.

The girl rolls her eyes and it's what makes me notice that she can’t be out of her late teens. She blows out a long breath. “No, I’m Candy,” she corrects him, shaking her head, “I fucking swear people always want to just label me as Hollow’s little sister as if I’m not my own person.” She blows out another breath before placing her hands on her hips, her earlier bubbliness gone. There’s actually something entertaining about the hard look she levels Vito with. “What do you want?”