Page 148 of Steal My Heart

“Congratulations, boss.” I shake hands with my brother, and the men cheer. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Hold up. You’re not leaving without a parting gift.” Fabien snaps his fingers, and two men enter the basement carrying a medical chair.

“We swore a blood truce,” I whisper furiously at him.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he whispers furiously right back. “We’re getting you properly inked.”

My path to becoming the boss was unconventional, and I never received the family tattoo when I was made.

Shrugging out of my jacket, I undo my tie and get to work on the buttons. Both get discarded, and I take a seat, extending my right arm.

The artist sketches out the words vertically on my right bicep before he begins moving the needle.

La famiglia prima di tutto

While I’m in the chair, I get another tattoo inked for Remi: a small butterfly shot out of a cannon directed at my heart, withAmorinawritten in script.

I’m not sure which is more shocking to the men: the peaceful transfer of power or my tattoo choice.

My new tattoos get bandaged up, and I work the buttons of my shirt.

Boom.

The foundation of the house rattles violently, and Fabien and I sprint up the stairs, flinging the door open.

All that’s left of my vehicle is a burning shell, with Maks futilely attempting to put out the blaze with a fire extinguisher.

“Molotov cocktail,” he shouts. “Stay inside.”

“I thought you handled the Kirksey problem!” I sprint through the house in search of Al, with Fabien hot on my heels.

“I’m working on it!”

Al appears in the hallway, and we skitter to a stop. “Was that a bomb? I can’t believe I missed it!”

I stab my brother in the chest with my crooked finger. “Act like the fucking boss and fix this before I’m sworn in. Oh, and you owe me a new vehicle.”

He curses.

“Al, get in the panic room,” I tell my sister before I’m on the phone with Remi’s new bodyguard, wanting my fiancée on lockdown as a precaution.

“Can’t believe I only clipped that fucker!” Al exclaims.

“Did you give her a gun?” Fabien’s words drip with judgment.

I bristle. “You’re questioning my child-rearing style after being away for nearly ten years?”

“I’m not a fucking child!” Al stops her foot.

“Get in the panic room,” both Fabien and I say at the same time.

“You know what’s worse than one controlling Calvani brother? Two!” Flipping her newly dyed blonde hair that’s in a braid, she stomps her cowboy boots down the hall.

“Wear that home at your own risk; you know Nola doesn’t like country music,” I call after her. Our sister has replaced goth girl with Nashville Broadway girl.

Fabien looks at me like I’ve gone insane. “I don’t even know who you fucking are.”

I know who I am, and I feel…