Mafia Casanova

Laughter trickled out of the joint baby shower, the house was littered with happy couples and screaming children, something that a year ago would have sent me running in the opposite direction or at least forced me to lie face down on the pavement in the middle of rush hour traffic.

Instead, there was a small twinge of pain in my chest where my heart of stone beat. The saying, green with envy, never made sense until that moment.

I felt physically sick as my eyes drank in the blue balloons, blue cake, blue confetti, and what seemed to be hundreds of tiny little blue clothes folded near the unwrapped gifts.

I’d been late on purpose.

I knew I would only be able to stomach so much, and not showing up would be insulting to the family, Eden included; after all, I would be his godparent. This would be my godson.

Worst idea Tristian had ever had, but there it was.

Part of me wondered if he did that so that his son would always be protected, never hated by yours truly. I would never touch a child. Our relationship had been strained in the last year, ever since his marriage and their instant pregnancy, instant happiness, instant family, I’d drifted away, burying my head between women’s thighs some nights, slitting their throats the others. Some might say I became the hardest underboss in the Cosa Nostra.

With laser-like focus and determination to forget the woman in the other room, I’d poured myself into making more of a name so that even if I couldn’t touch her, see her, kiss her, be with her, she had no choice but to hear my name until she was sick with it.

If that made me a monster, so be it.

She needed to hear my name like I did hers in my head with no end in sight. There were nights where I pictured her lips I kissed, her tongue I sucked, her pussy I stuck my dick in. Those were the times I felt the most guilt, picturing my brother’s wife so I could come.

What kind of monster had I become?

“Romeo.” My brother’s voice interrupted my morose thoughts. He was wearing a blue shirt with the moniker Dad to be scrawled across the front. “Glad you could finally make it.” He held out his hand.

Was it my imagination, or did he emphasize the word finally? I took his hand, completely unfazed as his fingers squeezed mine to the point of all-out strangulation before I dropped it to my side.

It was the first time we’d shaken hands in months, the first time we’d been forced to talk, the first time we’d been in the same room together voluntarily.

“It seems like all I’ve been doing lately is congratulating you.” My smile felt so fake I wanted to choke myself. “And a boy? I bet Mom’s excited. She always did favor boys. Much to Juliet’s dismay.”

Tristian scowled. “I used to think that, but have you seen Juliet recently? If she’s not at the house, she’s out shopping with Mom, getting her hair done, nails. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mom took her wine tasting as a teen.”

A shriek sounded as Juliet rounded the corner, ran at me at full speed, and launched herself into my arms, her glossy black hair swinging into my face. “You’re here!”

“And you learned how to strangle a man, good for you.” I chuckled, hugging her back.

She laughed against me, her body humming with energy as I set her back on her feet. Damn, she was growing up really fast. It seemed every time I saw her, she turned more and more into a woman.

Where had the time gone?

Great.

Another female in my life I needed to worry about. Fuck. I saw a lot of shooting and torture in my future.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I lied through my teeth, earning a snort from Tristian.

Bastard.

Juliet rolled her eyes. “Mom and I had a bet. I told her you’d show, but she said you’d rather get drunk than—”

I cupped a hand over her face. “You talk too much.”

She jerked away. “Don’t mess up my lip gloss.”

“Wouldn’t dare.” I winked. “Where is Ma?” I peered around her and froze.

There she stood, rubbing her pregnant belly while my mom stood by her side. I could always decipher what was behind each emotion each time she showed them.

She was happy.

Fucking elated.

And as if sensing me in the room, she turned and gave me a glimpse of a sad smile.

Pity.

It nearly hurt worse than the sorrow and anger.

She knew.

Of course, my own mother knew how much I’d loved the girl standing by her side—how many times had I imagined this very scenario until it was explained that my purpose would not be a contribution to the family by way of marrying and settling down.