Page 7

Junior

I shouldn’t be here.

That thought hit me like a thunderbolt the second I stepped inside the church. I hadn’t been to Mass in years, and I half expected someone to point at me as I crossed the threshold and declare that my kind wasn’t welcome here.

A glance down revealed that my long sleeves, which were completely inappropriate in this godforsaken heat, hid most of the tattoos on my arms and hands.

Likewise, my shirt was buttoned all the way up, covering the ink on my neck.

With my dark hair slicked back and my face shaved, I looked respectable enough, but from the way the church greeter’s eyes widened at the sight of me, I wasn’t fooling anyone.

She was a plump grandmother type with short gray hair and a hooked nose. Instead of saying hello, she jerked her head to the right, looking nervous. “Your mom and brother are already inside.”

I gave her a nod and moved past her, my gaze shifting toward the nave as I wondered which of my siblings had tagged along with Mom.

This was the largest Catholic church in the city, a huge, ornately decorated gothic monstrosity that would have been more at home in Eastern Europe than middle America.

You’d think Saturday Mass would be less crowded than Sunday, but a sea of people was packed into the nave.

Turning left, I headed toward the far aisle, my gaze scanning the crowd.

Today wasn’t about being a good little Catholic; it was recon.

This was my family’s church, Lauren’s family’s church.

I knew for a fact that her Nonna Bianchi still attended Saturday Mass, because Mom was in the event-planning group with her and mentioned her during a recent family dinner.

And if Lauren getting all dolled up and heading to her nonna’s apartment early this morning was any indication, they would both be in attendance today.

I swiveled my head, looking for them.

“Junior? Is that you?” came a lilting Irish voice.

Fucksake. Mom had already spotted me. My luck was the goddamn worst. So much for scoping out the crowd.

I paused mid-step and turned, plastering on a smile.

Mom extracted herself from a group of other women and headed my way.

She wore her church mouse best: a demure floral dress, comfortable heels, and a nondescript purse.

Her light brown hair was loose to her shoulders, and she’d framed her green eyes with mascara.

Looking at her, you’d never know that she’d spent her youth helping her father make bombs in their basement.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, leaning down to hug her. At five ten, I was average height, but I still dwarfed her tiny form.

“It’s so nice of you to come to Mass,” she said, tacking on “for once” because she couldn’t help herself.

To her, being neck-deep in death and destruction was acceptable.

Skipping church as often as I did? Unforgivable.

But being raised in the IRA during the height of the Troubles could do that to a person, so I tried not to let her comment get to me.

I pulled back, keeping my smile firmly in place. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Consider me surprised,” she said, looping her arm through mine. Her voice dropped into something a little softer, a little sadder, as she leaned into my side. “You’ve stayed away awhile this time.”

Guilt washed over me. Fuck. How could I get away from Dad without risking my relationship with her? “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

She squeezed my arm. “I understand, but please be better about texting me. I worry.”

“I will,” I told her.

Mom tugged me forward, and I reluctantly let her drag me to the front of the church, where people were starting to file into the pews.

There weren’t exactly assigned seats, but the congregants knew not to sit in the first several rows unless they belonged to certain families.

They were a place of privilege, prestige.

Every single person around us had a surname ending in a vowel.

I was surprised to see Alec already in his seat when we approached, turned away from us as he spoke to an older man I vaguely recognized. Out of all my brothers, I least expected him to be here. If I was a lapsed Catholic, he was a full-blown atheist.

“Look who decided to join us,” Mom said.

Alec turned, and we locked eyes, both of us wearing equally suspicious looks.

What the fuck are you doing here? I wondered, and I could tell Alec was thinking the same thing.

Neither of us did anything without reason.

I was here for Lauren; I had no idea why he’d come.

Maybe he needed to get on Mom’s good side for some reason, or he was trying to make a deal with the retired don beside him.

I made a mental note to interrogate Alec about it later as he rose from his seat and offered his hand. We shook, squeezing each other harder than necessary.

“Nice of you to finally show your ugly face,” he said.

I grinned. “Not as ugly as yours. Is that a new mole?”

He looked me over, unperturbed. “Your eyes are set too close together. That’s what it is.”

“I think the mole is growing hair,” I told him. Other families might show their affection for each other the normal way, open and easy, but in the Trocci household, our love language was antagonism. This exchange was my and Alec’s fucked-up way of saying we’d missed each other.

He opened his mouth to fire something back at me, but a woman’s voice cut him off.

“Is that little Nicky?”

Shit .

Alec’s eyes lit with unadulterated glee. I hated that old nickname, and he knew it.

“It sure is,” he said, banding an arm around my shoulders and jerking us in the direction of the speaker.

The wound at my side pulled, painfully, and I stomped on Alec’s toes to get him to release me. He let out a low curse, his arm falling away.

“Behave,” Mom hissed.

We assumed innocent expressions.

“Mrs. Mancini,” I said, facing the woman in the pew ahead of us. She had to be pushing ninety, but her fingers were firm when she reached out to shake my hand.

“Oh, you grew up so handsome,” she said. “Even better looking than your brother.”

I shot Alec a shit-eating grin and dropped my voice. “She must have noticed the mole.”

He shook his head, but I could tell from the way his lips twitched that I’d almost made him laugh with that one.

Mrs. Mancini’s gaze shifted to Mom as she released me. “Why don’t you bring them to Mass more and show them off? Some of us have single granddaughters.”

“Unfortunately, I’m taken,” I lied through my teeth. “But Alec isn’t.” Putting my hands on his shoulders, I shoved him forward like a sacrificial lamb.

His glare promised vengeance. My answering smile felt diabolical. Mom looked heavenward, as if praying for patience.

More people continued to filter in, offering a welcome distraction from the attempted matchmaking.

The next several reintroductions went about the same way, though.

Alec and I got the standard hellos and how have you beens followed by a nice strong shot of Catholic guilt about me and my wayward brothers, directed at Mom.

By the time we finally took our seats, she was over it. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered between me and Alec, crossing herself even as she blasphemed. “You’d think it’s all my fault you’re not here every weekend.”

“Isn’t it?” I asked, deadpan.

She glared, knowing my dry sense of humor well enough to pick up on the troll. “One more word, and I’ll volunteer you to be an usher next week.”

I lifted my hands in surrender. Mom didn’t make idle threats.

Slowly, the seats around us filled while this week’s volunteers moved about the sanctuary as they prepared for Mass.

Where the fuck were Lauren and Mrs. Bianchi?

They should have been in the pew right across from ours, but the spot was conspicuously empty.

I turned, scanning the back of the crowd.

The whole reason I’d come here was for the chance of seeing Lauren in the flesh, and if I had to sit/kneel/stand through an hour of bullshit for nothing, I’d be pissed.

I was just starting to turn back around when a flash of color caught my eye. Entering the nave were two women, one as old as the rest, leaning on the arm of someone much younger. Someone wearing a pastel pink sundress that contrasted beautifully with her tan skin. It was them. They’d made it.

My gaze zeroed in on Lauren. Need and possessiveness roared through me at the sight of her, and I briefly entertained the idea of striding down the center aisle, throwing Lauren over my shoulder, and walking out to the sweet sound of her startled shriek.

Instead, I turned back around to keep from drawing attention to myself.

I couldn’t help my self-satisfied grin, though.

Earlier, I’d watched Lauren just long enough to guess that she was escorting her grandmother here, and it felt good to be right, especially because it would put me within touching distance of her.

I kept my gaze on the altar, eyes unfocused while my full attention went to my periphery.

Any second now, she would walk into sight, and I wanted to be looking at her when she noticed me.

I wanted to see her up close and personal, study that split second of recognition and gut reaction before her brain caught up to her eyes and she schooled her face or tried to hide her feelings.

That tiny moment of time was where the truth lived.

Suddenly, pink bloomed in my periphery as Lauren pulled even with our pew.

I turned my head, but instead of looking my way, she had her back to me as she helped her grandmother to her seat.

Not that I was complaining. It gave me a moment to study her, my gaze trailing up her shapely legs to her spankable ass.

The echoes of her moans filled my ears as the memory of her riding her own hand floated to the forefront of my mind.

Just last night, this woman had made me come so hard I’d seen stars, and she didn’t even know it.