Page 66 of The Enforcer

“You better fucking eat it,” Nova snapped, making it obvious he was reading over Tino’s shoulder. “And burn that list before someone sees it.”

Tino eyed the pasta Nova put in front of him. It looked fine, but it smelled funny. Rather than eat it, Tino underlinedNova’s cookingthree times on his list, because the asshole could not cook.

At all.

It would stand to reason that Nova would be able to. There were directions on the boxes. There were books full of detailed explanations about how to make food edible, but Tino was quickly on his way to starving to death.

He knew better than to try it, but he was hungry. He should probably smoke first, but he was starting to feel a little worthless being stoned all the time.

So fuck it. He ate it.

Tino actually spit the macaroni out on the plate, gagging as the metallic taste stung the back of his mouth. “Casanova.” He groaned. “How did you ruin pasta and sauce outta a friggin’ jar?”

“Stop being a pussy.” Nova took a bite of his pasta. Then he went back to flipping through the law book resting on the arm of the couch. He turned ten pages in rapid succession before he said, “It tastes fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Tino assured him. “There’s nothing fine about it. What did you do to it?”

“Eat the fucking pasta.” Nova pointed at Tino’s plate with his fork. “I made it. You eat it.”

“I’m not eating it.” Tino shook his head. “You shouldn’t either. You’ll get sick if you eat this merda.”

Nova turned and looked at him and took a bite pointedly.

Tino gaped at his brother, unable to believe he could eat that shit. Basic survival instinct kicked in with a vengeance. He got up and half hopped, half ran to the stove without his crutches. He grabbed the pot, noticing there was still water in it, as if Nova hadn’t bothered to drain it. He dumped the whole thing into the sink, knowing there was somethingnot right.

The entire bottom was black.

Most of the pasta was still stuck to it.

Tino brought the pot to his face and winced at the horrible smell of burned pasta. “Look at this!”

Nova stared at it when he got up, looking genuinely confused. “It tasted fine to me.”

“It doesn’t taste fine. It tastes like merda,” Tino said with a whine. “Why can’t you cook? What’s wrong with you?”

Nova grabbed the pot and smelled it curiously. “I did it as long as it said.”

Tino yanked the pot out of his hand and threw it in the sink, realizing right then that Nova had never cooked. Not from scratch. Romeo did the cooking and stored it in Tupperware containers for them. Microwave meals were about as far as Nova’s domestic kitchen skills went. “You’re not allowed to cook anymore.”

“I don’t wanna order pizza. I’m trying not to draw any attention to us,” Nova said anxiously. “The cunt will start bitching if we have delivery. Just eat a cereal bar.”

“I can’t eat any more cereal bars. Can’t we buy a friggin’ microwave? Can we go to the store and buy one?Please.”

“I don’t wanna spend any more than I have to. The lawyer’s eating up all the money Romeo saved and—”

Tino whined again. He was hungry and trapped in this shithole, and his back hurt. Now that he’d made the decision to stay away from drugs as much as possible, reality was starting to become more than a little difficult to deal with. So fuck it. He had a bratty-little-brother moment.

Tino sat down in the middle of the floor and sulked.

“I miss Romeo.”

He wanted his older brother.

He wanted someone to hug him and protect him and tell him it was going to be okay.

Romeo was six-six and built like a tree.

A really big, very muscular tree.