Irrevocable (Evan Arden 5)

Beni nods, shakes my hand, and greets me in Italian.

I raise an eyebrow as a sense of déjà vu sweeps over me. I can’t count the number of times someone from the family tried to intimidate me by making it clear that I’m not one of them. It didn’t work in the past, and it doesn’t work now.

“Piacere di conoscerla.” My accent isn’t great, but it’s clear enough. Beni widens his eyes at my response, and Rinaldo chuckles.

“Beni has been handling some of our newer business ventures,” Rinaldo says. “He’s been quite an asset to my group since he arrived.”

“I’m sure he has.” I nod my head toward him. “Lucia probably appreciates the assistance.”

I watch Beni closely as I mention Rinaldo’s daughter’s name, and his eyes dilate slightly as he glances in her direction. He wets his lips and runs his hand over black, greasy hair before he speaks.

“Lucia’s very talented.” He smiles and looks to Rinaldo. “Her father must be very proud of her.”

There is no doubt in my mind—slight relation or not, Beni’s hitting that.

Rinaldo just smiles back, and it’s clear he has no idea. Then again, he might be all for it. He’s wanted Lucia to settle down and gift him some grandchildren for a while now, but hasn’t managed to come up with a suitable mate. Maybe he even brought Beni over from Italy for that very purpose.

All I know for sure is that I’m not on the approved list. Rinaldo’s made that clear.

“Rinaldo, here’s the paperwork we discussed before.” Becca bumps me with her hip, and she moves between me and my boss. She makes no excuses, and the slight look she gives me out of the corner of her eye tells me the act was intentional.

“Thank you, my dear,” Rinaldo says. He takes a binder from her hands and places it on his desk. “Have you met Evan?”

“Not officially,” Becca says as she turns to me with a large, pink smile. “I remember him from a couple of years back when he visited the club.”

I’m not sure which club she means—Rinaldo owns several and I’ve been to all of them at some time or another. New people usually put me on edge, but knowing she’s been around the business for a while relaxes me slightly.

I shake her hand, and she gives me a playful smile and wink. I resist rolling my eyes.

With the introductions complete, everyone begins to file out of Rinaldo’s office to head out to accomplish their tasks for the day. Returning to the couch, I grab my duffel bag and toss it over my shoulder.

“Wanna get a beer?” Jonathan asks.

“Sure,” I say. “I took the bus here, though.”

“You and your damn public transportation.” Jonathan shakes his head.

“The Volvo died on me,” I reply with a shrug. “I need to get a new battery.”

“No worries. I’ll drive.”

“That’ll work.”

We start to head out the door, but Rinaldo calls me back.

“Evan, stick around a minute.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll wait for ya outside,” Jonathan says.

Once everyone has left the room, Rinaldo steps over to the mini bar near his desk and takes out a large bottle of scotch. I don’t ask what he wants to talk about; I just wait until he’s ready to speak.

“How are you, son?”

A significant amount of the tension I’ve been feeling all morning vanishes with his use of the term “son.” I’ve gone through enough therapy to understand why it impacts me so much—orphaned, raised in a convent with limited male role models, and never having any real roots to anyone or any place. The desire to belong to someone is ingrained in me. I’d felt some sense of family in my early years as a Marine, but Eddie-boy, the communications guy, is the only one from my unit left alive.

“I’m fine, sir.”