Page 51 of Jordan

He rolls his eyes and I get to my feet, grasping his chin and looking into his bright green eyes. “You know how I feel about that,” I growl.

“Sorry,” he says, swallowing hard.

“Sorry…”

“Sorry, sir,” he amends.

I let out a long breath. “Don’t let it happen again.”

He nods once. I lean forward and kiss his lips. He sucks in a breath through his nose, his hand gripping my hip. I pull away before we can get caught up and I end up bending him over my desk and fucking him. I have work to do.

“What do you need to tell me?” I ask.

He clears his throat, dropping his hands and stepping back. “My mother is not doing well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’d like to visit her. A week or two maybe.”

“Perfectly acceptable,” I tell him. “Have Bernice handle it.”

“I don’t need you to pay for it,” he tells me with a frown.

“Well, I’m going to anyway. So have Bernice handle it, and I’ll see you when you get back.” I leave no room for argument. Rafael isn’t my prisoner. He is allowed to come and go as he pleases. But that’s because he wants to be here. I don’t have to worry about him leaving and not coming back. He respects our agreement.

He takes another step back and nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’ll see you when I get back.” He sounds unsure. Like maybe he’s worried I’m going to break up with him. I’m not. Rafael stays, regardless of my marital status. I mean, after all the fun we had at the club, why would he think I’d want to give that up?

Rafael leaves my office, and I get settled at my desk to go back to work, but I can’t focus. All I can think about is Jordan. Rafael, too. My father. My brothers. This fucking mess of my life. And it all circles back to Jordan.

What the hell am I going to do with her?

Chapter Twenty-Three

Vincenzo

My brother’s property is bigger than mine, and forty-five minutes away. He takes pride in his lush lawn and plants the gardeners work tirelessly to keep green in this awful dry heat. If he’s so concerned, he should move back to California, where he lived for many years. Get a house by the beach and enjoy the weather and views he truly loves. He could go back to working with Uncle Tommaso like he did for a while when he and dad got into some big fight I know nothing about.

“Good evening, Mr. Bramante.” Harris, one of Elio’s guards, greets me as I reach the door. The moment I open it, I’m met with the scent of fresh dough and herbs. I make my way through the house, following the deep voices to the study around the corner.

“Look who it is,” Marco calls out with a giant grin, lifting his glass in the air. Elio looks up, a small smile playing on his lips. They’re sitting in a small conversation pit off to the side. The study is decorated in all dark wood and red. Not my style, but it suits Elio well.

The three of us rarely do Sunday dinner anymore, and when we attempt to, something always comes up. We should really take it more seriously. It’s been a tradition in our family for generations. It’s bullshit we let it slip only because our father doesn’t know any better.

Marco pulls me into a hug when I reach him. He smells heavily like alcohol, so he must’ve been here for a while.

Elio and Marco have always been closer as they’re closer in age. I’m the baby. Piccolino, as they call me. The one who was never included in anything because I was too little. Now, I’m bigger than the both of them and enjoy throwing it in their faces whenever the opportunity arises. Which isn’t often, since we hardly joke with one another anymore.

“Nice to see you, Marco,” I say. I step away and share a hug with our oldest brother.

“Didn’t think you would show,” he remarks.

I gesture to the bottle of bourbon on the table between the seats they were in. Elio pours me a glass.

“I’ve things to discuss,” I say, taking the glass.

“So I’ve heard,” Elio answers.

Marco rolls his eyes, finishes his drink, and slides the glass to Elio, who fills it.