The Woman from the Past (Grassi Framily)

Maybe it was because he was the youngest in a big family. Because he felt like he had a lot to prove so it didn’t seem like he was made just because of his relation and not because of his worthiness.

That was fair, too.

Because he had been made when he’d been made because of Nino and myself. Not on his merit.

It was admirable, as much as I hated to admit it since he was such an insufferable ass most of the time, that he was so dedicated to making a name for himself.

Which was why Luca wanted him with me. To humble him. To remind him that there was more to being a part of the Family than doing the jobs you wanted to do. You had to do shit you didn’t like. You had to trudge through the shitty jobs between making big moves.

He would learn.

It was just frustrating at times to have to be the one teaching him. Especially when I had enough shit on my mind.

“Think of this as a paid vacation,” I suggested, since none of us had really done anything all week.

“I don’t want a vacation. I want to be working.”

“We’ll get to the work part eventually.”

“Not my kind of work,” August said, barely waiting for me to put the car in park before he was out of it and making his way into the hotel.

By the time I followed, Nino was already waiting for me, brow raised.

“The fuck’s his problem?”

“He’s pissed that he isn’t working on a million-dollar deal,” I said, shrugging.

“He’s going to burn himself out,” Nino said, walking with me to the elevator.

“He won’t hear shit about it,” I said, shrugging.

“Fucking August. Always has to learn shit the hard way,” Nino said, shaking his head. “Never could take advice from anyone.”

“That about sums it up,” I agreed.

“Still no luck trying to catch her alone?”

“No,” I said, exhaling hard.

“You’re going to have to start working on a plan that involves not telling her.”

“I know,” I said, nodding as we went into my room. “I don’t like it, but we can’t keep going like this for much longer,” I said, pulling off my tie.

“Hey,” Nino called, making me turn to find him leaning against the door to the hall.

“What?”

“Is there something deeper going on here?”

“Deeper how?”

“You seem more focused on this woman than I’ve seen you focused on anyone before.”

He wasn’t wrong about that.

“I met the woman once. For less than an hour,” I told him, shaking my head as I just barely avoided the urge to go into the mini-bar for some scotch.

“Still.”