Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Al grips my shirt in his fist and yanks me close, his fist cocked. “You were what?”
“I’m in love with her.” I sound like a pansy in front of the guys, but nothing less than the truth is worth uttering to Al about Summer.
Al’s fist flies, and I let it land without dodging or defending myself because he’s the don. Pain explodes in my eye, and I see stars as I slam back into the wall.
“You don’t take from me.” Al’s still up in my face. “You don’t take from me without asking first.”
I close my eyes, weariness overcoming me.
“Look at me.” Al’s still fisting my shirt.
I open my eyes, not lifting my head from the wall. “It’s over. It’s over, anyway.” Not that it matters to Al. A betrayal is a betrayal, I suppose. Al’s right. I should’ve asked first. I was a fucking idiot.
Al’s eyes narrow. “What the fuck do you mean, it’s over?”
“I mean, I made a play for her, and it failed. She doesn’t want me. She’s still hung up on her ex. End of story.”
Al’s fingers ease from his shirt, and he steps back. He shakes his head. “Get out of my sight.”
My brain shuts off completely. Numbly, I walk to the door and exit, not looking back. Am I permanently dismissed, or does Al just need time to cool down? How ironic that I originally wanted Summer to solidify my position in the Family, but touching her is what cost me everything.
And more ironic? I don’t even care.
It must be my bludgeoned heart because I can’t even muster a reaction to it. I wouldn’t care if Al sent the guys out to cap me in the parking lot.
I just really didn’t give a shit anymore.
Summer
There are so many moments in my life I wish I could have do-over. The night I fell for John’s bullshit charm. That jump into the orchestra pit that shattered my foot. None of those even come close to how much I want to re-do Pete’s birthday party.
I barely eat, too sick with regret. My apartment has never felt so lonely—not even when I first moved in, after my breakup with John. I haven’t heard from Carlo since he texted yesterday.
I pick up my phone and call my mom. She’s my second best friend.
As soon as I hear her voice, I start sniffling.
“Baby, what’s wrong?”
“I screwed up,” I tell her.
“Uh oh. Tell me what happened.”
I tell my mom about dating Carlo–skipping the part about stripping at The Candy Store and our kinky sex sessions. Then I explain what happened at the party.
”Oh, honey. Sounds like you hurt his feelings.”
It’s crazy to think about someone as stoic and strong as Carlo getting hurt, but I realize she’s right. I must have. “I acted like a self-involved pain in the ass,” I agree. “He probably feels like I used him to make John jealous.”
“Did you?”
I suck in a sobbing breath. “I guess I did. Which is so stupid. I wish I could go back in time and fix it all. I would have never gone to the dumb party. Or if I had, I’d only worry about what Carlo thought and felt.”
My mom hesitates. “He told your dad you’re still hung up on John.”
“He talked to Dad?”
“Well,”—I hear a wry note in my mom’s voice—“they had it out. I don’t think your dad was happy about him going behind his back on this.”
I go cold. “Is Carlo okay?”
“I’m sure he’ll live.”
“Did Dad hurt him?” My voice rises in pitch.
“Don’t ask me things I don’t know, baby.” I hear the familiar note of warning in my mother’s voice. It’s not for us to know what goes on in the organization. They keep the women out of it. Some kind of Old World chivalry to protect us. Or sexism, depending on how you look at it.
“Are you still hung up on John?”
“No!” I answer immediately. I remember how I hadn’t been able to forgive him. How I was hanging onto that resentment.
I guess that means I was hung up. But not anymore. Not when I know what it cost me. And as soon as I detach my blame from him, I realize it was never about John at all.
“I mean, maybe I was. But not on John, the actual person, more on what he represented.”
“What do you mean?”
That old sense of failure and inferiority rise up, but for some reason, now that I’m faced with losing Carlo over it, I can see that it’s stupid.
I don’t need John to want me to believe I’m enough.
I honestly don’t even need Carlo for that although he’s the one who helped me gain my confidence back.
“I thought he was the measurement of whether I was good enough or desirable enough. But, of course, that was bologna.”
“It’s because he gaslit you,” my mom says. “I might let your dad hurt him after all.”