Our club has grown, adding Linc, Deuce and Cobra into the mix—thank fuck for that because we need all the men we can get. And let me not forget about Stryker, that poor bastard is doing a bid in Riker’s for a possession charge. He got the shit end of the stick, finally decided to trade in his nomad patch and take a seat at my table, only to get his ass thrown in the can. After Blackie got locked up, I had to send someone inside to keep him safe and deliver my right hand his orders. I’ll make it up to him somehow.
Our brotherhood didn’t stop there though, we’ve recruited some new prospects, and they stood in the back of the room, leaning against the wall.
I’m not getting a bigger fucking table, let those fuckers stand.
“Sorry boss, but I had to take a piss and Pipe wanted to watch, been a while since he found his dick, he needed a reminder of what a real cock looks like,” Wolf explains.
“Fuck you, Wolf,” Pipe replies. “My dick is just fine.”
“If you can find it,” Wolf chuckles.
“I’m going to kill him,” Pipe vows, staring at me. “With or without your consent.”
“Enough ladies, let’s get down to business,” I begin, biting the side of my cheek so I don’t laugh as Wolf holds up his pinky finger, mocking the length of Pipe’s dick.
I glance over at Riggs, watching as he messes with his phone. I grin, tipping my head toward Blackie who leans back and peers at the screen of Riggs’ phone.
“You naughty Kitten just wait until I get home,” Blackie reads from Riggs’ phone out loud, disguising his voice to mock the Tiger.
“Hey, man! That shit is personal,” Riggs snarls. “That’s foul, especially after I kept your shit with Lacey under lock and key.”
“Calm down, Tiger. You know I’ve got nothing but love for you and your kitten,” Blackie teases.
“I bet if I pulled out your phone and did a read-a-long, Jackie boy wouldn’t be laughing,” Riggs fires back, narrowing his eyes in my direction.
“Point for Riggs,” I mutter, not needing a reminder that Blackie’s sleeping with my damn daughter.
Wolf throws his head into his hands and groans before pinning his eyes toward the other end of the table where the nomads stare at us like we are a bunch of assholes.
“Do us all a favor and don’t become pussy whipped like the rest of these assholes,” he begs. “You fuckers are all I have left to keep me from looking for a fourth wife.”
“Shouldn’t the fact you have three exes be enough to stop you from seeking a fourth?” Linc questions grinning at Wolf. “We’ll leave the ball and chains on that side of the table.”
“I wouldn’t mind a ball and chain,” Deuce drawls, flashing his smile full of southern charm.
“Been a while since you found your dick too, huh?” Wolf questions Satan’s cowboy.
“Nothing wrong with the man looking for a good woman to keep him warm at night, especially after coming back from the dark side,” I argue, glancing back at Deuce. “Boy’s looking for his heart—”
“Here we go again,” Riggs mumbles.
“Found yours didn’t you?” I fire back.
“What about you, Cobra? You’re awfully quiet,” Blackie interjects, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms against his chest.
It took a moment but Cobra finally lifted his head acknowledging that Blackie had asked him a question.
“I may have taken a chair at this table but I’m loner at heart,” he replies hoarsely.
I peer down the length of the table at the man covered in ink from his neck down to his toes and stare into his dull eyes.
Demons.
Each one of us sitting here has them. Some of us hide them better than others, then there’s Cobra who wears them on his skin. Each intricate piece of art tells his story, portraying his demons and giving us insight to the man of mystery.
“I’m almost afraid to ask, but fuck, someone has to grab their balls, why are we here, Bulldog?” Wolf asks, forcing me to peel my eyes off Cobra’s arms and the face tattooed on his forearm.
“Two reasons, but since Bianci thinks he can waste my time just like the rest of you, I’ll give you the good news first,” I grunt, knowing any kind of news coming down the pipe from Victor is bound to give me a fucking headache. “I’m getting hitched.”
“Yeah, we know, got that woman of yours wearing a rock as big as Pipe’s dick,” Wolf taunts.
“She finally give you the green light?” Blackie asks.
“Yeah,” I grin. “One month from today Reina will officially become Property of Parrish.”
“Praise Jesus,” Pipe mocks, clasping his hands together as he stares up at the ceiling.
“So does that mean more of them family dinners you two like to put on?” Wolf probes.
“That means you idiots get to whip this shithole into shape because we’re having the wedding here.”
“Here?” Pipe asks incredulously.
“Where else would the Bulldog get married?” I reply.
“Clearly, this won’t be a black-tie affair,” Linc chimes in.
“Reina wants to keep it simple and I want to do whatever the fuck makes her happy,” I tell them. “Any of you have a problem with that?”
My eyes roam the table, daring one of them to speak before I settle my gaze on Blackie.
“And you, you’ll be at my side just as you are now,” I ground out.
“You asking me to be your best man?” Blackie queries, biting back a grin.
“It’s only fitting since Reina’s asking Lacey to be her maid of honor,” I mumble.
Blackie leans over, places his arm on my back and gives me a firm pat.
“I’ve got you, brother,” he says sincerely.
“I object, I mean I get it, he’s your VP and all that, but best man? Just tell me…was I even in the running?” Riggs questions.
The door opens and Bianci strolls through, leaving it open behind him.
“Well if it isn’t my favorite brother-in-law,” Riggs cheers, turning his attention to Anthony. I think the little fucker has ADD or some shit.
“Don’t recall you marrying my sister,” Bianci growls.
“Made her my Kitten, Bianci, that shit is worth more than my given name,” Riggs shoots back.
“You’re late,” I accuse, glancing over his shoulder at the open door. “Any particular reason?”
Bianci turns around as a suit comes through the door, not just any suit but Rocco Spinelli, the newest gangster wannabe to hit the streets.
For fuck’s sake, these mob folk are fucked, as Riggs would say.
And they always fucking wind up on my doorstep.
“What’s he doing here?”
“Parrish,” Rocco greets before diverting his eyes to my brothers. “Gentlemen,” he adds.
“That’s a first,” Wolf grunts. “Don’t recall the last time anyone called any of us a gentleman.”
“Your mother called me one last night when I bent her over,” Pipe retorts.
“My mother’s been dead ten years.”
“I’m not above it, man,” Pipe says matter-of-factly.
“Oh fuck, that’s wrong,” Deuce declares.
“Enough!” I shout, slamming my hand against the table, fixing Bianci with a hard stare. “Start talking,” I order.
Bianci shakes his head, blowing out a ragged breath as he runs his fingers through his hair roughly before turning back to Rocco.
“What’s the matter, Bianci? Cat got your tongue?” Blackie queries from beside me. His voice thick with agitation and suspicion.
“Apparently,” Rocco mutters, standing tall as his gaze falls onto me. “From this point forward I am the boss of the Pastore organization. I will handle all prior and future endeavors that carry my uncle’s name.”
“Your uncle?”
“Victor is my uncle,” He clarifies.
“What the fuck kind of bullshit is this?” I roar, rising from my chair. “And why am I finding this shit out now? Start
fucking explaining, Bianci.”
“I knew he was his nephew. I didn’t know shit about him taking Victor’s place,” he sneers, glaring at Rocco. “That shit is as much of a new development to me as it is to you.”
“So, Vic pulled the wool over your eyes?” Blackie questions.
“Vic did what he had to do,” Rocco argues. “Now, you’ve worked with me in the past. I don’t think I need to remind you people of the massacre you left behind on my pier after I gave you the tip on Sun Wu’s shipment.” He raises an eyebrow as he unbuttons his fancy suit jacket and slides one hand into his pocket.
This fucking guy was Victor’s clone—just a younger version of the dapper don himself.
Wolf leans across Pipe, snaps his fingers at me to get my attention, and with his face set in stone he finally speaks.
“You want me to pop a cap in this fools ass?”
I couldn’t even ask God to help me. That son of a bitch turned his back on me a long time ago. No, this circus was all me, these monkeys were mine. Fuck my life.
“The way I see it, nothing has to change where your club and our organization is concerned. We all want the same thing—to be the only people who run these streets and keep them clean. I’m here to ensure that remains intact and give you my word I will raise hell and bury any motherfucker who pollutes my city with shit.”
“Your city,” I repeat.
“My city,” he confirms. “It could be ours, Parrish. We could take this fucking town and turn it into something no one expects, have people bowing and praying at our feet but you’ve got to give me the same respect you gave Victor.”
Victor earned my respect.
This guy strode into my chapel and demanded it.
“Not looking to step on your toes man, looking for a partnership. I’m starting out small, it’s going to take a lot to get my name out there, for people to know this face but I’m determined. I want your partnership but I won’t be at your mercy,” he vows, reaching into his pocket to produce a business card. He places it on top of the table and moves it in front of me with his index finger. His green eyes examine me as he shoves his hands back into his pockets and shrugs his shoulders.
“Your call, Parrish. You can either sit back and watch me rise to the top or the Satan’s Knights can ride beside me. It’s what you people do right, ride to the death?” he turns on his heel, his gaze lingering on Bianci for a moment before he walks out the door like he didn’t just turn shit upside down.
“What the fuck was that, Bianci?” Blackie accuses.
“That,” he points his thumb toward the door, “Isn’t going away and apparently neither is the Pastore name.”
“That guy is Vic’s looney toon sister’s kid?” Riggs asks.
“No,” he says. “Look, I’ll give you whatever fucking information you want but the truth is, Vic has trained him for this since before Temptations went up in smoke. He knew Jimmy was a fucking rat bastard before any of us did. He never planned on letting that sick fuck take over anything.”
“You’re telling me that Vic knew before he turned himself in that he would have this guy running his shit?” I ask him, shaking my head as I take it all in.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. You got questions for Vic then you better drag your ass up to visit him because he’s being transferred to the G-Man within a couple of weeks.”
Blackie’s head shot up at that. We all wanted the G-Man to pay for every fucked up thing he did but nobody wanted his blood more than Blackie.
“It’s almost over,” Bianci adds. “Time’s running out.”
He runs his fingers through his hair and stares at the floor.
“I’ve gotta get out of here. I need to get to the gym,” he mutters, lifting his head and starting for the door.
“Bianci,” I call.
“No, Jack, I’m out of here,” he grounds out, taking off before I could get in another word.
“I’d hate to be the heavy bag he’s about to hit,” Wolf comments.
“He misses the life,” Riggs states.
“Ain’t that a fact,” Blackie mumbles.
Lifting the card Rocco left behind, the voices surrounding me fade and I stare at his name. Fucking Vic, man, always one step ahead of everyone. Just when you’re ready to count him out he stands tall and demands the show go on.
“Clear out boys,” Blackie orders, reaching for the gavel and slamming it against the table, knowing I had checked out and was wrapped up in my head.
Once the room empties, Blackie is the only one left. I sink back into my seat and flick the business card at him.
“What’re you thinking, Bulldog?”
“I’m thinking Victor Pastore is someone the world won’t ever forget. That motherfucker won’t let anyone forget him.” I pull out a cigarette, hastily bring it to my mouth and shake my head in wonder. “Just when you think you’re out they pull you back in,” I mutter, the cigarette dangling between my lips.
“You reciting mob movies now?” he pulls the cigarette from my mouth and takes a drag. “Shit, we’re fucked.” He takes another pull before handing me back the cigarette.
We went from passing blunts to passing Marlboros.
Times are changing.
Thank fuck for that.
“Okay, look, the way I see it, and you know I’ve given you all sorts of shit for getting in bed with Vic from the start,” he reminds me, “The way I see it,” he repeats, “Vic’s never steered us wrong. He’s been as loyal to our club as anyone who has ever worn our patch.” He shrugs his shoulders, placing the business card flat on the table. “He’s a man of his word and if he sent Rocco to us, then he did so with good intentions. I say we give the guy a shot.”
I stare back at him, noticing for the first time his hair wasn’t hanging in his face. The son of a bitch even trimmed the scruff on his face. Leaning forward, I inspect my brother, seeing the whites of his eyes. Gone were the beady, blood-shot eyes of an addict. The pain he hung onto for dear life was gone too. And I know if he sheds his jacket I won’t find a track mark either.
Blackie was reborn.
Maybe he was right.
Maybe everyone deserved a shot.
At least one.
“I’ll make arrangements to visit Vic and give Rocco a call,” I say finally.
“Good.”
“What’s good is seeing you like this,” I reply. “Been a long time since I saw you happy.”
“Yeah, well, without mentioning her name, she’s the one responsible for the man I am.”
“You can mention her name,” I grunt.
Blackie laughs.
Fuck.
He laughed.
My little girl is the woman responsible for bringing that laugh back to the world.
“I’m heading home,” he declares, rising from his seat. “Lacey’s waiting for me.”
Yeah, that shit is going to take some getting used to.
A whole motherfucking lifetime.
Chapter Ten
I was fifteen years old when I realized I was born to love Anthony Bianci. He was twenty years old and at the crossroads of his life—stuck between the streets and the man he was at heart. He didn’t have a father figure growing up and thought that to be a man he had to follow in the footsteps of the men in the neighborhood—men like my father. Anthony knew the consequences of the mob; knew he’d break his mother’s heart when he dropped out of school to become my father’s lackey—fulfilling what he thought was his destiny. It didn’t matter how pure his heart was, he was jaded by the empty promises my father bestowed upon him. A young man desperate for the mob boss’ approval.
Back in the day, Anthony’s quest for the mob was the only thing that mattered to him. Power, money and respect were the things he craved most in the world. They were his forbidden temptation—until I came along and our love then became the forbidden temptation.
I knew our love was everything before it was something.
He did too.
; That’s why he fought against it for as long as he did. Realizing there was no use fighting—when loving was worth more than any order sent down the chain of the mob—Anthony gave in to love. He gave me his love, took mine in return and promised me the world. He promised me the good life.
Our love was bigger than the mob—it would withstand the most trying circumstances and prevail each time someone tried to destroy us. Most of the time it was us doing the damage, but when it wasn’t us ripping one another’s hearts out, it was my father trying to destroy us.
I never made Anthony chose me over the mob, it was something he did of his own accord. He chose our family over the only life he’s ever known, and as much as I love him for it, I also understand the struggle behind his decision.
Men like my father, like my husband, are often pulled from the streets but those streets, the lifestyle, it will always be one with the man. My husband wakes up every morning and goes to work like every other blue-collar guy. He owns a gym and when he’s not training himself he’s taking the time to teach underprivileged kids how to box, hoping they’ll never be one with the streets.
Because Anthony knows firsthand that once you’re a street guy—that doesn’t end. It doesn’t matter how good life is, or how much he loves his family, the streets will always be ingrained in his soul.
As much as Anthony wants to think he’s out of the mob, a part of him always will be stuck. It’s the reason he is the first to help Jack Parrish and his club. It’s the reason he goes to visit my dad without me.
Like today.
Today he went up to visit my father, only he never came home afterward. He didn’t call like he usually does when he’s on his way back, and when I tried calling him he didn’t answer. Knowing something must have transpired, I asked my sister and Mike to watch my kids and took off for the gym.
The gym was locked, most of the lights were off but peering through the glass door I spot him. I stare at him momentarily, watch as he pummels the heavy bag in the dimly lit corner of the gym. Boxing was something he picked up in prison and mastered, making it look like an art form. He’s light on his feet, moving them expertly as he dances around the bag. Grabbing my keys, I unlock the gym and continue to stare at him. I watch the cords of every sinewy muscle in his back flex as he throws jab after jab. It ignites a fire within me. I try to focus on the reason I came here but my body is out of control, like a frayed live wire.
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