Eternal Temptations (The Tempted Series Book 6) (11 page)

“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.

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.

I grab the pads from behind the counter and fit them snuggly to my hands before making my way toward him. Anthony is a man who always makes sure he’s aware of his surroundings, a force of habit for someone who has spent most of his life looking over his shoulder. Yet, he didn’t know I was there watching him, completely in the zone which confirmed he was off.

Stepping around the bag, I make my presence known as he goes for a right cross. His blue eyes peer up at me and his face glistens with a fresh sheen of sweat as he reaches for the chain used to suspend the bag and stops it from swinging toward me.

“Let’s go, Bianci,” I urge, holding my hands up as I step to the side.

He takes a deep breath, pinning his eyes to mine as he contemplates my offer, giving a slight shake of the head.

The leather makes a slapping noise as I smack the pads together, holding them up to him again.

“I said, let’s go, Bianci. Now, let’s go. Give me your best shot,” I taunt.

His eyes narrow into tiny slits as he taps my pads lightly with his gloves.

“You call that a jab?” I hiss, rolling my eyes.

“Adrianna,” he grits.

“And here I thought you knew how to work a pair of gloves,” I bait, holding my hands higher as the jab finally comes.

Right cross, uppercut, hook.

He releases a series of short breaths as he works those jabs against the pads before switching the combo.

Uppercut, cross, jab
.

“That’s it, give me your aggression, babe,” I demand, moving my hands just as he taught me.

“Goddamn it, A,” he hisses, before holding his stance and stilling his hands.

Lifting one hand to his mouth, I watch him bow his head and tear the glove from his hand with his teeth. He takes a deep breath before removing the other one, using his free hand this time. I drop my hands to my sides and follow him to the bench. He unravels the tape from his hands as he straddles the bench.

“What’re you doing here?” He says.

“Looking for you,” I admit. I started to remove the pads from my hands but he stops me, grabbing my hands he pries them off himself.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he rasps.

“Yeah, you want to tell me what’s got you twisted?” I ask, cocking my head to the side as he examines my hands. “Did something happen with my father?”

“It’s nothing,” he insists, bringing one of my hands to his lips then the other.

“Bullshit, Bianci.” I call, pulling my hands back. I lift them to his face, forcing his eyes to mine as I straddle the bench and inch closer to him.

“When I went to visit your old man, I figured he was just giving me another message to deliver to Jack, but he had another visitor, your cousin, Rocco,” he explains.

I squint in confusion. Rocco and Gina are my first cousins on my mother’s side, and to be honest we don’t have much of a relationship with them. We did when we were younger but then their father was deported and they moved back to Italy. Gina is off killing it as some big shot investment banker and the last I heard, Rocco was living in Florida.

“Apparently, your father’s been grooming him for a long time to take his place within the organization,” Anthony mutters.

“What? Wait a minute, you’re telling me Rocco is going to be taking my father’s place?” I shake my head in confusion, I drop my hands from his face and place them over my knees, processing what my husband was telling me. I lift my head and look at him as I piece it together.

“Yeah,” he confirms.

“And that bothers you,” I state, sliding back an inch to better assess him. “Because a part of you wishes it was you taking over, am I right?”

He reaches behind me, grabbing a towel and wiping his face.

“I don’t know,” he admits, wrapping the towel around his shoulders. “I spent most of my life doing all sorts of fucked up shit, thinking one day I’d be the one Victor handed his empire over to. I sold my fucking soul to the devil and have to live every day with the sins I’ve committed. This guy comes out of nowhere, spends a year or so under Vic’s thumb and suddenly he’s in charge.”

He twists the ends of the towel in his hands as he stares back at me.

“You want the truth? I’ll give you the truth, Reese’s. I should be the one in charge, not your cousin,” he confesses.

My eyes widen as I stare back at him.

“What are you saying?” I question, taken aback by his confession, trying to understand him and control my own feelings at the same time. Was he telling me he regrets our life? Did he regret choosing me and Luca over the lifestyle he grew accustomed to?

“Don’t look at me like that, Reese’s,” he says, reaching for me and pulling me between his legs. “This is why I didn’t come home, I needed to make sense of what I was feeling so I could better explain myself.”

“I never asked you to choose,” I blurt. “I accepted you for who you were. You were the one who insisted you couldn’t be with me, you insisted Luca shouldn’t grow up the same way I did, and while I agreed, it was never me who made you choose.”

“You want to let me explain?” He argues calmly, brushing away the strands of hair that had fallen from my ponytail.

“It was my choice, and it was the best decision I ever made in my life. If given the chance, I’d always choose you and our kids over that life. But, that life was a part of me for so long, A. It’s all I knew, all I know. Until now, since your father turned himself in, there has been one situation after another pulling me back in—keeping me in the game even if it’s just sitting on the sidelines waiting for Jack to call me and tell me he needs information or for me to rough someone up for him. I thought your father’s organization was being phased out, I didn’t know the whole time he was preparing Rocco to take the reins. There is no place for me in that world anymore and it got me thinking about how I don’t know life without the mob. I’ve always had my hand in something and now there isn’t anything left.”

He pauses, letting his hands travel down my arms, lacing our fingers together as he continues to stare at me.

“Even Jack’s been reminding me I don’t have a place within that life anymore. The only reason I made a move when the Red Dragons attacked the MC was because that shit was personal. They shot my sister and forced my nephew to be born before his time, if it wasn’t for Riggs coming to me, well, I wouldn’t have been involved in taking them down either.”

Lifting my fingers to my temple, my head pounds from all he has laid out for me and I begin to knead my fingers against my skin.

“Are you telling me you want a patch now? That you’re going to buy a Harley? Because I’m telling you right now I will not be called an old woman. I am not okay with that,” I insist, dropping my fingers from my head. “That’s Lauren’s gig, not mine.”

He grins at me.