Page 2 of The Worst Pucking Deal

While I’m busy panicking, another text pops in.

Remus: You know I can see you’ve read my message. I want to see you, so make yourself available next Friday.

I bite down on my bottom lip as I stare at the texts in horror. I knew my time was running out, so I should have expected for my cousin to contact me sooner rather than later. But fuck. I’ve kind of been in denial, my brain holding on to the fact that I have one month left of my freedom. If I’m honest, a miniscule part of me even considered that Remus might have decided not to hold me to the deal I made with my uncle. Obviously, that’s not the case.

Me: When?

My hands are so slippery with sweat I almost dropped my phone three times while writing those four letters.

Remus: Lunch works for me. I can’t wait to see you again, Lucia.

Instead of returning the sentiment that I don’t feel at all, I stay on topic.

Me: Where? You’re not expecting me to fly to Rome for lunch, right?

Remus: I’ll come to you. Minneapolis, Minnesota, is where you share an apartment with your friend Abigail Wilson, correct?

Oh, fuck me. Trust my cousin to take this small interaction as an opportunity to remind me that he knows everything about my life.

Me: Just text me the details and I’ll see you then!

I know I should be nicer, maybe even groveling. But I can’t make myself type out anything but the barest of words. I’m not ready. I don’t want to meet with him, and I most definitely don’t want to leave the place I consider home and move back to Rome.

“Why so serious?” Gail asks when she comes back into the living room, clutching a bottle of wine in each hand.

I gulp and reach for one of them, not hesitating before I put it to my lips and greedily down half the bottle. “Just some family stuff,” I mutter, not wanting to get into it.

Gail sits down on the floor next to me, pulling me to her side. “You never talk about your family, Luce. And from the look on your face, I’m guessing it’s not happy news?”

Unable to answer, I shake my head. My throat feels clogged, like I’m about to cry. But what I feel isn’t sadness, it’s pure unadulterated fear of being forced out of the cozy life I’ve built for myself far, far away from Rome.

I let Gail hold me until my heart no longer gallops in my chest, and breathing becomes easier. “My cousin is coming to visit next week,” I say, my voice monotone. “He wants… no, demands we meet for lunch.”

When I look up at her, her brows are sitting high on her forehead, and her eyes are as wide as saucers. “He’s demanding you have lunch with him?” she asks incredulously. “Can’t you just tell him to fuck off or something?”

I laugh bitterly. “No one tells Remus to fuck off,” I reply. I know I should keep my mouth shut, but the unexpected text has completely obliterated the walls I’ve mentally erected around anything to do with my family, and now that they’re down, I can’t seem to stop talking. “Remus is the… for lack of a better word, he’s the head of our family. If he wants me home, there’s really nothing I can do about it.”

No one says no to the Mafia and lives to tell the tale.

“So you’re leaving?” Gail asks, her voice hoarse and her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“No!” I shout, startling both of us.

“But you just said—”

I wave her off. “I’ll find a way, Gail. I made the deal with my uncle before he died and every deal has a loophole. There are ways around it.”

“But what about—”

Again, I interrupt her. “I’ll figure it out.” Then I force a smile I don’t really feel. “I promise you I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, Abigail.”

She blows out a breath. “You better not be fucking with me, Lucia.”

I want to promise her that everything will be okay. Fuck, I want to believe that myself. And I need to get into that headspace, if for no other reason than because Gail can never know the truth about my family.

Gail and I spend another few hours drinking and talking, but it’s not the same. I can feel her nervous and concerned glances when she thinks I’m not looking, and I know she feels how tense I am. In the end, I give up and get up from the floor. “I’m going to get some sleep,” I say, forcing a yawn. “How about we go for brunch tomorrow? My treat.”

“Yeah,” Gail easily agrees. “Sweet dreams, Luce.”

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