Page 40 of Bitter Poetry

I act casual on the surface, like I don’t give a fuck about much.

The truth is, I do. My father was a good man, and my mother is a sweetheart. But they were never meant to be part of this world, and I feel in my soul that I was. My uncle tried his hand at underboss, and that’s when everything started to come undone.

My mother and Dante are all I have left, and I’d burn the world down for either of them in a heartbeat if I needed to. I have always been like this: focused, intense, and not giving a fuck about the lives of people outside my family.

I get out of the car before Jero can ask anything else, waiting for him to round the vehicle so we can enter together. I’ve been working with him for a while now, but I wouldn’t hesitate to end him if he presented himself as a threat.

He stops next to me, letting me feel the weight of his stare. I understand my limitations, that I’m not an invincible killing machine,yet. Jero has twenty pounds on me, even if I top him by a couple of inches.

Then there are the years, which help in some ways and not in others.

Could I go toe to toe with him and win today?

Probably not.

I let my face empty before I meet his gaze.

He frowns. “Your brother has just been fucked over by Ettore.”

“And?”

He shakes his head, his frown deepening. “Nothing, I guess.”

I wait for him to say more. For all he’s a good soldier with a propensity for violence, he is not stupid.

“Your poker face is on point.”

“Poker face?” I grin and gesture toward myself. “This is the real deal.”

His eyes flicker with something I don’t like. Empathy, maybe. It’s either that or he knows something I don’t, and that will piss me off.

“She’s a good kid,” he finally says.

She? At first, I think he’s talking about Jessica. But then I realize, no, he’s talking about Carmela. The thoughts that slam through my mind are homicidal. I swear I don’t even blink.

He stares back, equally unflinching.

I’d choose Dante over Carmela. Only, my brother is all in for her. Why is it only now, as Jero eyeballs me, that I realize it’s no longer a straight choice?

Yesterday, I told myself I was okay with Ettore putting his hands on her—just a casualty of war. Sometimes you have to make priorities and all that. Only Dante won’t be okay with it, and now my fucking head hurts trying to unpick what the fuck that means.

In a moment of startling clarity, several things become apparent as I stand on the sidewalk, staring at arguably the most dangerous man in the city, trying to work out if he’s issuing a threat.

I fucking hate Carmela Accardi and the chaos she has brought to my life.

But I also want to fuck her.

And I can’t have her.

Even if by some miracle I could remove Ettore from the picture, my brother put a claim on her first.

“You’re right. You’re the real deal,” he says, finally. “Some men need to go through some seriously fucked-up shit to reach your level of ease with violence. But there you are, just pop out of the can ready for action, from a happy home and all. Ettore doesn’t see it. He thinks you’re his little protege. The son he never had. If it comes down to the wire, you’ll have Dante’s back over Ettore.” He shrugs. “And me.”

“I’m not going to start a war with Ettore over Carmela if that’s what you’re asking.”

The truth? I might.

He sighs, and some of the tension eases. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m asking. I’m not big on thinking, in case that’s not obvious. But you are. There is a fuck ton of it going on inside your head all day, every day. One day, you’re going to be dangerous. Ettore doesn’t see it.”