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“This is my friend, Gabriella. Gabriella, this is Luca.”

“Hey, Luca. Happy birthday. It’s so nice to meet you. Are you having fun at your party?” I ask, looking into his big brown eyes that look just like Brad’s. The genes are strong in this family. They all have the same eyes.

He nods his head quickly. “Yeah, my mommy got me a bouncy house and Legos, and I got a Lego cake. Want to see?”

“Sure do,” I say excitedly.

“You’re pretty.”

I giggle and blush. “Thank you,” I say, tucking a strand of hair that’s fallen in front of my face.

Luca gets up, dragging the big box with him, and Brad stands up, brushing his jeans down as he looks up at me.

“Wait there,” Luca yells as he walks toward the steps.

“We will, buddy,” Brad calls back.

“You’re very sweet with him.” I hold a hand above my eyes to shield them from the bright afternoon sun. It feels like a million degrees in New York today and it’s the perfect day for a garden party.

“Yeah, well, his dad isn’t around, so I try and make up for that by being in his life as much as I can. He’s a cute kid, so that makes it easy.” And that right there has me falling for Brad just that little bit more. There’s so much I am still yet to learn about him, and the more I uncover about him, the more I think I want him, and that thought makes the idea of stopping this thing between us cause a knot in my gut to form.

Brad has said he doesn’t want to settle down, and that’s what I want, or at least what I thought I wanted, but being with him has made me think about things differently and seeing him here withhis family has just unlocked a new piece of the mysterious puzzle that makes up Brad, or rather Marco Russo.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Brad

I was right. Having Gabriella here has eased the stress I usually feel when I’m in this house. She is quickly becoming the person I look for in a crowded room, the one I want to reach out to and curl up with at the end of a long day, and the person I want to share my secrets with. Watching her with my family has my mind going into overdrive. Could I do the relationship thing? Could I give her everything she wants, needs, and deserves? Could I be the man worthy of calling her mine?

“… I told her, you go bending your back like that, Kayla, you got to stretch first. I mean, I know the girl can stretch. She’s got three kids,” my sister says, and I close my eyes and wince as she has no filter and says exactly what’s on her mind.

Gabriella takes a napkin and brings it to her mouth, coughing, then falling into a fit of giggles.

“Well, you and Kayla are welcome in one of my Pilates classes anytime. I’ll show her how to bend correctly,” Gabriella offers, before taking a sip of her iced tea.

“Oh, I bet you could,” my slimy uncle mutters from the end of the table and I give him a death glare. My uncle Lorenzo is my dad’s brother, and we have never seen eye to eye since my dad and brother went down. He blames me, but what he doesn’t know is, I blame myself. They needed to go down. They would have never gotten out of the life if they hadn’t. Me? I was forced into a life of crime. It wasn’t an option. Them going down gave me the opportunity to break free and do better, and many members of my family have never forgiven me for that. They see it as a betrayal.

My mom clears her throat and steeples her hands together. “So, Gabriella, when do you teach a class? Maybe me and Alessia could take a trip into the city and come by.”

‘Sure. I teach most days. Let me send you my studio details,” Gabriella offers.

She picks up her phone, and she and my sister chatter amongst themselves. My mom glances over and gives me a small smile. I appreciate that she’s welcoming Gabriella and making an effort.

My relationship with my mother is strained. I get her need to stay in contact with my brother while he’s behind bars. He’s her son, her blood, but my dad? I don’t understand her loyalty to a man who beat her and cheated on her, a man who forced his sons into a life of violence and crime because he couldn’t seem to do an honest day's work in his life.

My spiraling thoughts are interrupted when my sister whistles. “Gabriella Monroe, fancy name. Any relation to Marilyn?”

Gabriella lets out a nervous laugh and shakes her head. I watch as my mom straightens her back and looks over at Gabriella and her whole demeanor changes.

“So, Gabriella, where did you say you were from?”

“I’ve lived in New York the last twelve years, but I’m originally from a town near the Hamptons.”

“And your parents? What do they do?”

I narrow my eyes at my mom.Why is she asking these questions?

Gabriella shrinks into herself at the mention of her parents. I know she hates talking about them.