Page 39 of Sins of the Orchid

I recalled her throwing up on Santino’s shoes. Then she apologized in her unique way.

“I’ll make you better shoes, Santi.” She looked like shit. I swore there was a hint of green under her pale skin. “They might be real leather but animals are killed for them.” She swayed over to him, raising her head to meet his eyes, and Santi scrunched his nose. She probably smelled like vomit but was too drunk to realize it. “My product will be environmentally friendly, and animals won’t suffer for it.”

Despite his fury, Santi actually offered her a semblance of a smile. The bastard never smiled.

Through the haze in my brain, I recalled Santi driving us both to his place, where Amore finally passed out on his couch.

“How pissed off was Luigi?” I asked my brother. Amore’s brothers were protective of her. They might not have known they had a sister for the first thirteen years of her life, but now they’d kill anyone that harmed a single piece of red hair on her pretty head.

Santino folded his arms in front of him. “He wasn’t pleased, that’s for sure. But he was reasonable. He took her back in his car. You will take her father’s car back.”

“Ah, fuck,” I muttered. “Bennetti won’t like the dent in it.”

I cursed myself for getting drunk. That fucking bourbon her old man had in the back seat was some serious shit. I was going to fix that dent regardless of if Amore got to the top of that pole. It was a stupid damn challenge anyhow, and one I came up with after half a bottle of bourbon.

“I got it taken care of,” Santino retorted dryly.

“How?” He would have had to stay up all night to fix it by himself.

“Don’t worry about that. Though next time you two come up with a bright idea like this, I’ll beat the living shit out of you. Are. We. Fucking. Clear?”

Santino would be a don in name soon, but he wasn’t quite there yet. So, for now, he couldn’t order me around and punish me for disobeying. He was only my brother. So, his threats didn’t scare me, though he’d follow through on beating the crap out of me. No matter brother or don.

“Are you going to her birthday party?” I asked him.

“No, I have business to attend to.”

“What is going on?” I asked. In recent weeks, Pà has kept me out of most business dealings. I wasn’t sure what the fucking deal was, but it agitated the crap out of me.

“The Venezuelans. Now, get ready and don’t be fucking late for her party.”

“Fine,” I muttered, rolling my lethargic carcass off the bed.

Half an hour later, I was at the Bennetti residence. The white villa, right at the edge of the city, was impressive. White marble columns at the front of the house gave the home a Mediterranean feel. If only the white fucking glare didn’t hurt my eyes. It was brighter here than in heaven, for fuck’s sake.

The first person I spotted when I pulled up to the house was Amore, throwing up. My car windows were rolled down and the sounds that traveled through the air were not pleasant. The palm of her hand pressed against the oak tree, supporting herself. Her dress hugged her body as the breeze swept through it. My father and hers stood by her side, one rubbing her back and the other holding her hair away from her face.

Guilt swelled in my chest. It was her eighteenth birthday, and I fucked it up for her. She was looking forward to it all week, and now she was miserable.

At my tender age of twenty-one, Santi said I should have known better than to let her drink.Water under the bridge, I told him. I couldn’t fix what happened in the past. It was a waste of time and energy to dwell on it.

Unlike me, when Santi was my age, he was already running the show in our family business. Now at twenty-six, he was the youngest and richest member of the Cosa Nostra. We couldn’t all be overachievers. Even Amore superseded me in everything. She was super rich, super smart, and super pretty. Not exactly my type, but she held charms that no other girl compared to. Except she never even batted a lash at any of my compliments. She was completely immune to my charms.

Hmmm, a challenge maybe? I thought to myself. It wasn’t such a far-fetched idea. Amore grounded me. She just sawme. Not my brother. Not a Russo. Just me, and she accepted me just the way I was. She never compared me to Santi, nor to our father or anyone else.

I parked the car, put my shades on to hide my eyes, and exited the car. Amore’s father heard me first and raised his head to meet my gaze.

“What the fuck happened yesterday?” he growled. “Luigi said food poisoning. Where did you eat?”

Food poisoning?Was Luigi trying to have Bennetti burn down a restaurant?

“It was some food truck.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but Amore retched again, and another round of vomiting began. Both the old dons fussed over her, like two Nonnas. She had a unique way with people; everyone wanted to please her.

I strode over to the nearby oak tree and leaned against the bark, pushing my hands into the pockets of my jeans. The sun shone, the weather was perfect, but she looked miserable. I guess alcohol and Amore Bennetti didn’t mesh well at all. There was no way she’d survive the entire day at this party in her state.

“How about I take Amore inside so she can take it easy?” I suggested. “I’ll stay with the birthday girl and tend to her.”