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He grunts and backs away, fixing his oversized wrinkled shirt. “You’re all beaten up. I thought you were out of the game, Arosso.” His teeth grind, and he continues to shove me, getting out his anger. “Are you a swindler like everyone else in thatcrime family of yours? I swear if you put my daughter in harm’s way—”
“I didn’t. Now back up so we can talk.”
He grunts and runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t know how much more I can take of this.”
“Of what?”
“You goddamn kidding me? Four walls! Locked in a basement while my blue brother scours the state to find me, while a mobster runs around doing pick-ups with my daughter—”
“Remember why you’re still breathing, Captain. Remember whyshestill breathes. You think it’s happenstance?”
“Mph,” he grunts with his back to me. “You better have a good explanation for today. If my daughter was in any sort of crossfire danger—”
“She wasn’t.”
“Then what the hell were you two doing?” He eyes me angrily.
“I took her to my job at one of the stage houses. She likes the show that’s filming there. My cousin got wind of me bringing an outsider on set… and figured out who it was.”
“Your cousin…? One of the Valentinos?”
“Donny.” Being honest is the best way forward here.
He winces. “Donny, the kingpin, has eyes on my daughter?”
“On the contrary. He wants nothing to do you with you two. That’s why he was angry. But we settled it, man-to-man.”
“Man-to-man? You’re an old bastard like me… and you’re getting into fist fights? What the hell’s the matter with you?” I can feel the tone lightening now that he knows it wasn’t a rival mafia scuffle, or anything to do with the bratva.
“Says the guy who just tried to assault me.” I smirk.
“Oh, if I tried, you would know,” he challenges. “Look at me and look at you. Even when you keep me starved down here, I still have thirty pounds on you.”
“It’s called a diet. I’m saving your life again.”
We both cackle.
“You want a beer?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Nothing better to do down here.”
I head up the stairs two at a time, noticing the door slightly cracked open, and when I get there, Quinn is lingering by the kitchen island with a red face and a big smile.
“Whatcha doing?” She smiles at me, being a bitch.
“Shut it.”
“You two are getting along, aren’t you?”
I stuff my head into the fridge and grab two light beers.
She snorts when I don’t respond. “I knew you guys would hit it off if circumstances were different.”
“We’re strategizing,” I say. “Doesn’t hurt to take the edge off.”
“Uh huh. You boys have fun down there.” She waves.
This brat is playing house in her head. Like this is what a normal family looks like. Yeah, I love her. I admit it. But this isn’t some sort of celebration where we run to our parents and cheer about it.