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CHAPTER FOUR

Santo

“It’s short,” Luca said the next day, thumbing through the cash I’d handed him.

“Fifteen hundred, yeah.”

“Again?”

“Phil’s place was closed for a few months,” I explained.

“Why?”

“He died,” I told him.

“Oh. Shame. Is the shop being sold then?” he asked. I knew what he was actually asking: were we going to need to lean on a new owner in the near future?

“It was handed down to family,” I told him.

“That makes it easier. Why haven’t they paid yet though?”

“They just reopened. When I showed up, the new owner was trying to sort out the books. Phil didn’t exactly keep great records. I offered to come back next week.”

Luca’s brows knitted at that. But it was my brother Dante who asked the question the boss wouldn’t.

“So, how pretty was she?” he asked.

Luca looked at Dante, then back at me, a light in his eyes. “Is the new owner a woman?”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “Her name is Dasha.”

“Let me guess. Blond and curvy?” Dante asked. Sometimes, your siblings just knew you too damn well.

“Alright,” Luca said, leaning back in his chair, a ghost of a smile toying with his lips. “Look, I’m fine with you giving her a week to sort shit out. But don’t go letting your dick make Family decisions with this woman.”

“Got it,” I agreed. “It’s not gonna be a problem,” I assured him, even if another image of her flashed across my mind, dress hiked up, round ass out toward me, begging me to fuck her.

“Alright. Well, this is yours,” Luca said, shaving off some bills and handing them back to me. “Anything else you need to talk about? Any new jobs going on?”

“Nope, that’s it,” I said. “Why are you here?” I asked Dante.

“Pitching a new job,” he admitted.

“You? Leading a job?” I asked.

“I’ve led jobs before,” Dante said, shrugging it off.

And, yeah, he had. We all had. But the brother I knew didn’t go out of his way to find new ones. He liked hitting the gym, then using all that bulk of his to walk the docks looking all intimidating.

I couldn’t help but wonder why he was taking on more responsibility now.

“Well, if that’s all, I have some work to get back to,” Luca said, rising from the desk.

Dante and I walked out of Famiglia together.

“Hey,” Dante called, standing beside his SUV.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t fuck the Dasha chick. No matter how hot she is.”

“Really? You’re giving me advice on decorum?” I shot back. “Didn’t you once fuck the girlfriend of a rival Family?”

“To be fair, I didn’t know who she belonged to. And she was hot,” he added with a devilish smile as he slid into his truck.

I had no intentions of getting myself into the world of trouble like Dante had after that whole fiasco.

I was going to be smart and keep shit professional. Even if my cock started to get hard each time I thought of Dasha.

Save for the next meeting where we had to discuss the arrangement, I’d probably only be seeing her once a month for two minutes as she handed me an envelope of cash.

Or that was what I thought as I got in my car and started to head in the direction of a furniture store.

Only to find Dasha’s shitty little hatchback sitting on the side of the highway with its hood open.

Dasha herself was leaning back against the trunk in a yellow and white floral sundress, her head lowered, looking defeated.

She was probably waiting for one of the guys from her garage or AAA. There was no reason for me to pull over and offer assistance.

But, you know, what would my mother think? She raised me better than that.

Or, at least, that was what I was telling myself as I pulled up behind her and put my flashers on before climbing out of the car.

“Mr. Grassi,” Dasha said, brows raising as she looked at me.

“Santo,” I corrected. “Car crap out on you?” I asked.

To that, she exhaled hard.

“Yes. Started making a weird sound, then got really shaky. And when I pulled over and shut it off, it wouldn’t turn back on.”

“You waiting for the tow?”

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s been almost an hour.”

“You’d think being the boss would get you preferential treatment.”

“Oh, uh, I didn’t call my shop,” she admitted, gaze sliding away, uncomfortable.

“Giving you a hard time, huh?” I asked, leaning against the trunk with her.

“They hated me the second they saw me,” she admitted. “I’m assuming it’s a… woman thing. And maybe a young thing. But it just felt easier to call another shop. I don’t really want people who don’t like me working on my car.”

That was darker than I’d expected.

Did she really think her own crew would fuck with her car?

“I’m half-tempted to go to school for mechanics just to prove that I can be their boss,” she admitted as I really tried not to notice the way her perfect breasts were doing a small amount of spilling out of the square-cut bodice of her dress.

“Don’t think assholes like them will care how qualified you are,” I said.

I knew a thing or two about difficult men. Our Family had dealt with all sorts of dickheads over the years. Some just wanted to keep pushing that line to see if it moved. And if it did, even an inch, you were fucked. They would never stop.

I imagined that it was doubly difficult for women as a whole and even more so for a woman in a male-centered field.

“You’re probably right,” she agreed.

Her light was a little dimmer than it had been the day before. It pissed me off that those guys at her shop might be the reason for it.

“Oh, finally,” she said, seeing a tow truck slowing alongside us. “Hey!” she said, turning to give the guy who climbed out of the truck another of her megawatt smiles.

I waited as she talked to the guy while he fiddled under the hood of her car for a minute before slamming it and seeming to declare he had to take it.

“You want a ride, sweetheart?” I asked as she reached in her open window to grab her purse.

“Oh, well, he offered to bring me to the shop,” she said, waving to the tow truck guy.

“To the shop. Where that car is gonna sit until sometime tomorrow, since no shops around in town are open right now.”

“He’s not wrong,” the driver said, shrugging.

“Oh, right,” she said, pursing those pretty lips of hers. “Well, um, okay.” She gave me another smile. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Do you need to get anything out of the car?” I asked, seeing it was jam-packed with crap in the backseat.

“Oh, no. I was on the way to bring all that to the Re-Store, actually. My uncle was a bit of a packrat,” she explained, turning to watch as her car was pulled up on the bed of the tow truck.

“We have your number,” he said when he was done. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

“Great. Thanks so much,” she said, giving him another smile, then watching him walk away.

“Shall we?” I asked, holding a hand out toward the passenger door.

“Yes, thank you.”

I opened her door for her, waited for her to slide in, then closed it.

“Christ,” I sighed as I moved back to the driver’s side. Now her honeysuckle scent was gonna be all over my car, making me think of her each time I got in it for days until it finally subsided.

“I’m sorry if I’m getting in the way of your plans.”

“Nah. I was just going to the furniture store. I don’t have a couch,” I explained.

“How long have you been in your new place?”

“I bought it, I dunno, almost a year ago.”

“And you don’t have a couch yet?” she asked, half-laughing at me.

“To be fair, I haven’t spent much time at home.”

“Maybe because you don’t have any furniture?” she suggested.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” I agreed.

“My uncle has entirely too much furniture. Do you have need for an old, ripped office chair? Because I have four.”

“Four?”

“Instead of taking anything to be donated or tossed, he seemed to just… put things in his basement. There are also three TVs, an old mattress, about fifteen pillows, and even an old refrigerator.”

“I hate to think what’s in the garage?”

“Six lawn mowers.”

“Six? Damn.”

“And it goes without saying, there are endless boxes of car parts. I hate to think what is in the storage unit he has. Oh, but you know what he doesn’t have?”

“What’s that?”

“A pot or pan. Not a single one. He must have eaten out for every meal for his entire life.”

“Blasphemy,” I declared, feeling her gaze on the side of my face.

“Do you cook?” she asked.

“My ma wouldn’t have let me move outta the house without learning all the basic life skills. I can fold a mean fitted sheet too.”

“Impressive. I kind of just… fold and roll them. Life is too short to get frustrated over bed linens.”

“Fair enough. These days, I have someone who folds my fitted sheets for me.”

“Do you outsource the cooking too?”

“Depends what you mean by that.” Sensing her curiosity, I shrugged. “I hop around to the tables of all my family members on the nights when I don’t order in. I live alone. Don’t really see the point of cooking a whole meal just for myself.”

“I cook every night,” she admitted. “Just for myself. I find it relaxing.”

What I didn’t find particularly relaxing was the image she conjured up in my mind of her in the kitchen cooking me a meal wearing nothing but high heels and a barely-there apron.

“Shit,” I said, realizing I was already pulling into the lot of the furniture store without even asking Dasha where I was supposed to be dropping her off. “I was supposed to be driving you home, wasn’t I?” I asked.

“Well,” she said, already reaching for her door handle. “I could really use a bedside lamp,” she said, climbing out of the car, ready for a little adventure despite the change of plans.

As if I needed another reason to like the woman.

I pretty quickly learned how bad of an idea furniture shopping with Dasha was about two minutes later as she kept planting her perfect ass on a bunch of different couches and chairs, running her fingers over the material, making me imagine those hands moving over me, of moving over her, of pressing her into those cushions…

“Oh, now that is a couch,” she declared, pulling me out of my fantasy to find she’d walked toward the back corner of the store where they kept the shit that wasn’t as popular. “Don’t you just want to press your face against it?” she asked, running her fingers over the back of the dark green velvet couch.

“Oh, they have it in pink,” she went on, looking at the tag attached to the arm. “If it wasn’t so astronomical, I would totally get a pink couch. My uncle has a striped couch. I think, at one time, it was maybe brown and gold. I have it draped in a blanket,” she admitted with a grimace. “Sorry, I’m totally talking your ear off, aren’t I?”

“I don’t mind,” I said, running my hand over the couch. “It is nice,” I decided.

“Try it out,” she said, dropping down onto it.

I wasn’t about to turn that offer down.

“Wow. It’s even better than I thought,” she declared.

I didn’t know if I could agree with her or not because her leg was pressed up against mine. So was her shoulder. And when she turned her head to look at me, she was close enough to just slightly lean in and press my lips to hers.

“I think I found a couch,” I said.

“Yeah?” she asked, beaming. “What color?”

“Think I want this exact one,” I told her.

And not because it had her honeysuckle scent all over it. Because that would have been fucking insane.

“Okay. I’m going to go check out the lamps while you do the boring ordering part,” she said, slapping a hand on my thigh to push herself to her feet.

I had to sit there for a second, willing my cock to calm back down before I made my way to the desk to do the ‘boring ordering part.’

“Actually,” I said, glancing over to see Dasha checking out a lamp that featured a copper rabbit wearing the shade like a skirt. “Can I add another couch to the order?”

“The same couch?”

“Yes. But in pink.”

“Pink?” the salesman asked, brow quirking up.

“Yeah, pink. But sent to a different address.”

“We can definitely arrange that,” he agreed, posture going straighter at the idea of more of a commission. “What’s the other address?”

“Tell you what. That pretty girl with the rabbit lamp is gonna come up here in a second. I am going to ask her for her address. You are going to jot that down and ship the couch there. And in exchange for your discretion, I’ll take that whole dining set to my address too,” I said, waving over toward the one that Dasha had oohed and ahhed over when we’d passed them on the way to the couches.

“Very well, sir,” he said, practically buzzing with excitement.

“I know it’s kind of silly,” Dasha said as she walked up with the lamp.

“Nah, I like it. It has character.”

“Exactly,” she agreed, beaming.

I pointed to the lamp as well, and the salesman was quick enough to know to add that to my bill too.

”So Dasha, where am I dropping you off after this?”

“Oh, 152 Crescent Circle.”

“In Navesink Bank?” I asked. Sure, I’d lived there my whole life, but I didn’t know every damn street name.

“Yes. It’s a charming little dead end. So peaceful over there.”

The salesman gave me a nod, letting me know he got the information.

“Sounds nice,” I said, taking back my credit card. “Ready to head out?”

“Wait, I have to pay for my lamp,” she said.

“It’s taken care of,” the salesman said, and I got to watch Dasha’s confusion turn to understanding, and then a big smile shot in my direction.

And, damn, if that didn’t feel like a punch to the chest.

“Think of it as a housewarming gift,” I told her as I held the door open.

“The only one I’ve gotten,” she admitted.

“No friends or family around here?”

“No. My mom passed when I was young. My father lives abroad with his… fifth wife.”

“Wow.”

“That came off a little snarkier than I meant it. We’re not close, but there are no hard feelings either.”

“Were you close with your uncle then?”

“Phil?” she asked as I turned the car over. “No, actually. I only remember him from one summer when I was seven. Right after my mom died. My dad… spiraled. Uncle Phil stepped up when child services got involved.

“But after that, well, I didn’t know how to keep in touch when my father took me to the other coast. I should have tried harder when I got older…”

“Teens are notoriously shitty about keeping in touch with families. My mom had to always be on my ass to keep me showing up to family functions. I wanted to be out with friends. Or, let’s face it, girls.” To that, her smile went a little tight. “But it seems like your uncle understood, since he left everything to you.”

“I hope so,” she agreed, running her finger over the feet of the bunny lamp and gave me a couple of directions toward her place.

She was right; it was a charming little dead-end road featuring only four ranches in slightly different styles, but all having the classic picture windows out front and the single garage door.

“It’s that one,” Dasha said, pointing toward the one just to the side of the dead end; the one with the cement driveway that was spiderweb cracked, allowing some little weeds to creep through. “I know,” she said as I pulled in the drive. “It needs some serious TLC. But it has pretty good bones.”

“Just needs some curb appeal. A couple of shrubs and flowers… maybe paint that hideous puke-green front door…”

“Right? What was he thinking?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “I would invite you in, but it’s a complete disaster.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. You probably shouldn’t be inviting strange men into your place anyway,” I added with a shrug.

“True. Thanks so much for the ride. And my lamp. It is going to be very well loved.”

“No problem. I’ll see you next week,” I said.

“Looking forward to it,” she said with such a genuine smile that I almost wanted to break our contract with the shop, just so I didn’t have to ruin her opinion of me, make her fear me in any way.

But that wasn’t my call.

So I spent the next week trying to find a way to approach her about it so she didn’t fucking hate me forever.