Bene (The Guzzi Legacy Book 5)

by Bethany-Kris

  What did it matter?

  Bene didn’t even know what was wrong anymore.

  Not really.

  Bene didn’t manage to drag his ass out of bed until closer to four in the afternoon, and even then, it was only to dress in something suitable, so he could head to his favorite restaurant down the block that also doubled as a bar in the evenings. A business his eldest brother, Marcus, owned. One amongst many in the city that had the Guzzi name attached somewhere in the paperwork.

  Not that he needed to drink again, and especially not mid-week, but the best way to cure a hangover was with a couple of shots. Or just chugging a whole beer. Whatever worked, Bene was up to try, and also ignore the fact he shouldn’t be drinking at all. He didn’t need the problem that this was becoming for him, and yet he also didn’t know how to stop.

  Just perfect.

  He figured … at least he would get some food into his stomach, and hopefully get rid of the lingering headache. Then, he might be up to calling back some of the people whose calls he’d missed earlier in the day. Of course, nothing could ever be simple for him.

  His food, and third shot of whiskey, had just been placed in front of him by the server when he lifted his head in enough time to watch a familiar figure pull up to the front of the restaurant. He sighed, regret filling him instantly. He shouldn’t have chosen this restaurant to work through this goddamn hangover. Not when his family—but especially Marcus—had a direct contact to all of his businesses, and probably had a bead out on Bene.

  Marcus stepped inside the business and took a moment to survey the busy floor and tables while he undid the buttons on his suit jacket. Bene swore it was like looking into a younger mirror of his father whenever his oldest brother was around. He often dressed the same as their father, and even carried himself with the same sway and gait, too.

  “Drinking again, are you?”

  Bene tried not to scowl as his brother came to stand next to his two-person table beside the large bay windows, and failed like a fucker. He’d hoped that if he kept his head down, and focused on the plate in front of him, Marcus might pass over him and not even realize he was there. Obviously, he hoped for too much.

  Surprise, surprise.

  “No, I—”

  “There’s a shot glass in front of you, and you smell like you spent the night bathing in … what is that, Fireball?”

  Ugh.

  “Someone spilled their drink on me last night.”

  “And you didn’t grab a different jacket?” Marcus demanded. “You what, left the house wearing the same shit you wore the night before?”

  Bene sighed, set his fork down, and proceeded to pinch the bridge of his nose in an effort to calm the headache that had come back without any warning at all. All it took was the sound of someone droning on—lecturing him, again—and he didn’t want to deal at all. His body decided to revolt, and that was that.

  “Could you … I don’t know, shut up?”

  Marcus took the seat across from Bene instead. “Not particularly. Beni called me earlier; said you were fucked up this morning when he called. I didn’t mention it to him, or Dad … or Ma, but I happen to know you’ve been on a bender for a couple of weeks now, right?”

  Bene wet the corner of his mouth with his tongue, suddenly wishing he had another shot to down right about now instead of just the one sitting in front of him. Besides, he didn’t think it would be a good idea if he did pick that shot up, and down it, all things considered.

  “What about it?”

  “Am I right?” Marcus asked.

  “I wouldn’t call it a … bender.”

  But yes.

  Two weeks.

  “So, since Beni got married,” his brother urged.

  Bene let out a hard breath, and glowered at the glare of his reflection in the window. Two weeks. In the grand scheme, it might not seem like a long time. And hell, before Beni got married, he’d been staying in Chicago without Bene. Except for the longest time, he figured his twin would eventually come back.

  That’s what they did, right?

  The two of them came back together.

  He didn’t come back.

  So yeah, two weeks. That’s how long he’d been trying to distract himself from, well, everything. His life. All the shit that changed. Anything he didn’t want to deal with. The very fact he now lived alone, and his brother was gone—living in Chicago with his new wife, new life, and without Bene. It just fucked him straight up, and he didn’t know how to deal.

  So, he didn’t.

  At all.

  Was it right?

  Probably not.

  “Dad’s worried,” Marcus said. “Ma, too.”

  “Thought you didn’t tell them I was on a bender?”

  Marcus chuckled. “Thought it wasn’t a bender?”

  Fuck Marcus for being quick.

  Or shit.

  Maybe Bene was just slow today.

  “Dad doesn’t know the details,” Marcus stressed when Bene didn’t respond, “but he knows just enough to be concerned, and he tells Ma everything, anyway. At first, he figured you would work out your issues on your own, but—”

  “I am.”

  “Are you?”

  Bene’s gaze snapped back to his brother, but Marcus only arched one thick, dark brow high in reply, as if silently asking, well? Like he was daring Bene to deny the fact that he was stepping closer and closer to trouble with every drink and night he couldn’t remember.

  “I’m having a … moment,” he muttered, glancing down at the steak and potato mess on his plate. It was easier to focus on that than his brother who seemed to know every lie before it even left Bene’s lips, and already had a response to give him, too. “It’s not a problem. It’s just a spell, you know?”

  “Don’t call it that. Don’t diminish it, Bene.”

  “Well—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Marcus said in a sigh, “because that’s why I’m here.”

  Bene’s head snapped up.

  Marcus met his stare, unbothered.

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “This isn’t a tit for tat, Marcus.”

  His brother folded his arms over the blue, silk dress shirt with the matching tie and vest that he wore under his suit jacket. Seriously, the man didn’t even leave his home unless he was dressed in his standard three-piece suit, and had his shoes shined.

  Just like their dad.

  Maybe that’s why Bene always felt as though conversations with Marcus were like talking with their father, simply a slightly different version. God knew his brother could chastise him just the same way Gian did, if he felt up to the task.

  “It means,” Marcus said, leaning forward a bit to force Bene to meet his gaze once again from across the table, “that you just became my newest pet project for Papa, whether you like it or not. That doesn’t matter to me anyway, Bene, because guess what? I know you’re going through some shit, and you haven’t figured out what you want to do with your life now that Beni has got his own settled, but someone needs to keep you from killing yourself while you do get it all worked out. And that someone is going to be me.”

  Bene blinked.

  What?

  “Like a … a fucking babysitter, or something?”

  Marcus smirked a bit. “That’s a tad juvenile, yeah?”

  “That’s what it is!”

  His rising tone drew the attention of other patrons in the restaurant, but Bene really didn’t give a shit in that moment. Who cared if he caused a scene here? They owned the place. They owned half of Toronto, for Christ’s sake.

  And yet, Marcus still lost that smirk, his tone cooling when he murmured, “Lower your voice, and stop drawing attention, Bene. You’re not a child.”

  “Don’t treat me like one, then.”

  “But am I?”

  He stared hard at his brother.

  Marcus didn’t even flinch.

  “You
tell me.”

  “No, you tell me,” Marcus bit back, “because between the two of us sitting at this table, only one of us can’t be trusted to even pick up a phone, Bene. Only one of us is drinking his problems away, hoping to find a solution at the bottom of a bottle. There’s only one of us sitting here right now that can’t be trusted to do what he needs to do for this family, and his position. How do you expect someone to vouch for you—to get your button for this family—when you can’t even stay sober? When you can’t handle your shit?”

  Bene swallowed hard.

  He stayed silent, though.

  That was good, right?

  “Well?” Marcus demanded.

  “I can,” he returned.

  “Except you’re not right now.”

  “I told you, I’m having—”

  “A moment, yeah,” his brother replied, waving away the statement. Like it was an excuse, and nothing more. Bene realized in that moment this was that, too. Because he didn’t want to deal with his issues, so he was excusing them, and the people around him had let him do exactly that. Until, clearly, they couldn’t anymore. “What you’re really doing is distracting yourself with things that either make you feel good or allow you to feel nothing at all. That’s a dangerous game to play, little brother.”

  His defensiveness came back in a blink.

  Just like that.

  “Or you could just leave me alone.”

  Marcus shook his head. “Not likely, so here’s the deal … for the next little while, you’re on my call, Bene. And when I do call, you answer. You do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it, no excuses. You want a distraction? Great, I’ve got enough shit for you to do that you won’t even have time to think when you get home at night.”

  “But—”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask for a response.”

  God.

  Yeah.

  Just like their father.

  Marcus stood from the table, taking Bene’s shot glass and the whiskey inside with him. “Don’t look at this like I’m going to control your life, or—”

  “That’s exactly what it sounds like.”

  “Or you could see it like I’m looking out for you. Nothing more.”

  Right.

  Still pissed him off.

  “It’s time to get your shit together, little brother,” Marcus said, tipping that shot up and downing it in one go. He didn’t flinch before setting the empty shot glass to the table with a grin. “You didn’t need the drink, and after this conversation, I certainly did.”

  “Has anyone told you that you’re an asshole?”

  “Not lately.”

  “Let me be the first, then.”

  Marcus gestured between them. “By all means, as long as you straighten up, watch your step, and do what you need to do, Bene, then you can call me whatever you want.”

  “That a promise?”

  “It’s whatever you need it to be. Just get your shit together.”

  Yeah.

  All right.

  He got it.

  Bene had a good mind to head back to his penthouse, sleep off what remained of his bad day and hangover, and start tomorrow fresh. He had every intention of doing exactly that, too, but after an hour passed, and he’d barely touched the food on his plate, he eventually moved toward the bar where he made a home on one of the stools while he watched coverage of the Toronto Hitters during a practice. The pitcher, according to the woman on the screen, was looking at a hell of a year.

  He didn’t know why he was watching it. Baseball wasn’t even in his top three favorite sports, honestly, but that’s what the bartender had playing, so he didn’t complain. He also didn’t drink the three fingers of whiskey he’d ordered an hour ago, either.

  God knew, he wanted it.

  More than anything.

  A couple of drinks, and he’d go home feeling good. Not even drunk—just buzzed, light on his feet, and unbothered. He wouldn’t toss and turn all night from his lingering thoughts, or from dreams that wouldn’t leave him alone. Problem was, Bene had learned he didn’t do well with just a couple of drinks. It quickly turned into a few, and then blackout nights.

  The whiskey held little appeal.

  “He’s got one hell of an arm, but a bad coke problem on the off season. How they’re keeping him sober is a mystery.”

  “Hmm.”

  Bene wasn’t sure why, but the exchange between the patrons one stool away from his had him turning slightly to see who had come to sit at the bar. It wasn’t as though he planned to join them in conversation, but the disinterested reply of the female had him chuckling under his breath when he looked their way.

  Some women liked sports.

  Some didn’t give a shit.

  “Or is someone pissing for him to keep him popping clean, do you think?”

  “I don’t care.”

  The guy to the woman’s right held no interest to Bene at all. Standard suit, by the looks of him, and the briefcase under his stool. The woman, however, was a whole other story. Dressed in a light gray pencil skirt, and matching crop top, with black leather peep toe heels that showed off all kinds of tanned legs, she looked about ready to hit up a club. The black choker at her throat, simple studs in her ears, and understated makeup had him doing a double take.

  Not because she was average.

  Quite the opposite.

  She looked like a fucking angel. Her dark brown hair had been pulled into a sleek, high pony with not a single strand out of place, and the ends flowed all the way down her back. It showed off her angular jaw, and the smoothness of her olive-toned skin. Heart-shaped lips pursed when the guy beside her continued to chatter on as though she was listening to him. Her brown eyes were accentuated further by, the starkest piece of her mostly neutral makeup, an inky wing that was made more dramatic by the curve of long, black eyelashes.

  Yeah, shit.

  Girl was beautiful.

  How had he missed her?

  It certainly spoke to Bene’s distraction, and his mood when he didn’t notice a woman like that coming to sit right beside him. The restaurant certainly wasn’t high class. The Guzzis owned more than enough of those types of places, and this joint was laid-back, and most were welcome which was why Bene liked it as much as he did. One could meet all sorts of people from all different walks of life just by coming to have a drink at the bar.

  This chick, though?

  He’d never seen someone like her walk through the doors.

  And damn …

  That was a shame.

  “Are you here with—”

  “Me,” Bene spoke up before he could really think it through, making the woman glance up from the drink in front of her, and then over at him. “She’s here with me.”

  The guy beside her—Mr. Fucking Suit—narrowed his gaze at Bene. “Sorry, but weren’t you here before me?”

  The woman, to her benefit, kept staring at Bene, never dropping his gaze even as he lied for her again so that she wouldn’t be bothered further by the asshole to her right. “People can’t meet up for a drink, or do they always need to come together?”

  “Well—”

  “I’m here with him.”

  God.

  Yeah.

  Her voice.

  Before, she sounded bored and just fucking over it. As though she regretted sitting down, and one more word from the asshole beside her was going to send her straight over the edge. Now, though, staring at Bene while her soft pink lips curved in a sensual smile … her voice came out musical, and intriguing.

  Just a hint of air.

  Curiosity.

  He smirked and pointed at her mostly empty glass. “Another one of those?”

  Mr. Fucking Suit had just enough decency to roll his eyes and stand from the stool before tossing a few bills to the bar. He made himself scarce, and neither Bene, nor the woman, watched him leave, either.

  “Depends,” she returned.

  Bene grinned. “On what?”
/>
  “Are you going to finish yours? I can’t imagine drinking with someone who doesn’t seem very interested in being good company. And you’ve been staring at that drink of yours for at least an hour now, right?”

  Damn.

  How long had she been beside him?

  Watching him?

  On another evening, that might have bothered him. Right then, he found it interesting, and her … even more so because of it. Still, he glanced down at his drink, considering her offer.

  “I really shouldn’t,” he said, “because lately, this shit has caused me nothing but problems.”

  “Ah.”

  He shrugged and watched a new highlight reel play through on the television. “I don’t need to let it become a bigger problem, that’s all.”

  What was he doing?

  Why was he spilling his guts to some random woman? At a bar?

  She didn’t seem to mind. “The joy of adulting. I used to think turning twenty-one would be the best thing ever, and really …”

  Bene laughed, peering over at her. “Not that great, huh?”

  “All I learned about growing up was that with adulthood comes adult problems.”

  “Fuck, don’t I know that?”

  “And to think, I thought getting older would just mean looking older.”

  “You look fine.”

  He hadn’t meant for it to come out as sly and deep as it did—that huskiness colored up his tone, and he wondered where in the fuck it even came from. Not that it mattered, because it was out there now, and her dark brown eyes—pools of glimmering russet—glittered from his suggestive statement.

  “Thank you.”

  “No thanks needed. I’m sure you know how you look.”

  Her smile deepened, showing off perfect white teeth, and making her almond-shaped eyes lower a bit as color tinted her cheeks. Was that … shyness? Shit, this woman was quickly working on making Bene lose any and all control he had. There was something about a beautiful woman—as sexy as her, dressed like she was, looking like she fucking did beside him—who also managed to be humble when paid a compliment that just did it for him.

  “Do I?” she asked, leaning forward a bit.

  Closer, he noticed.

  And Bene, who didn’t hold an ounce of shame, leaned closer to her, too. He was more than willing to feed into whatever this woman wanted as long as she kept smiling like that … not to mention, at him.