Page 2 of Under His Watch

I rolled my eyes. “What, that we’re all going to want to settle down since my father has?”

He furrowed his brow. “Nah, it won’t happen. Not to me. I thought about it so long ago that it feels like another lifetime has passed.” Catching a broom as he slid along the wall, he shook hishead. “Besides, this isn’t an ideal time to settle down. Or start projects.”

I stuck my hands in my pockets. “Until something happens with this war my father declared on the Giovannis and the Devil’s Brothers,Iwant something to busy myself with.” It felt like an epic waiting game, watching our rival Mafia men and those bikers who’d recently come onto the scene.

He huffed. “Eh. You just need to get laid or something. Not start a fucking renovation.”

“This is a project,” I reminded him. “Something to fill my downtime. I’m not changing careers.”

“And I’m not suggesting you are.”

I wanted to groan. He was like a damn sibling, a brother. We always bickered like this. “Then what the fuck are you suggesting?”

He ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I’ve inhaled so much dust and shit in here helping you that my brain is fucked.”

I laughed, walking toward the back to appreciate the fresher air breezing in through the open window.

“I’m suggesting,” he said, following me, “that you get laid.”

“Like that’s a solution.” It wouldn’t be. Finding an easy piece of ass might have entertained me for a few hours, but that was it. Afterward, I’d be right back to my usual brooding self.

“I’m not saying it’s a solution, but hell, maybe finding a woman to fuck could remind you that being a bachelor isn’t always that bad.”

I smirked at him, not buying it.

“Well, maybe getting laid would help you get your head out of your ass.”

I stared out the window, watching the sun set further. All my life, I’d been a serious sort of person. A brooder. An introvert. A watcher and daydreamer, more comfortable in my own head than with others. Being “moody” wasn’t just a phase I went through as a teenager. I wasn’t emo or gothic in my adolescent years for the hell of it. I was a Mafia prince, born and raised with the laws of violence and corruption reigning supreme. No one was sane and lighthearted with an upbringing like I had.

Lately, though, my guilt about not preventing those three soldiers from dying had dragged me even lower. It wasn’t depression, but deep-seated regret. It wasn’t some sort of manic pit or any other psychological nonsense. It was hating that I couldn’t have saved those good men.

“Romeo.” He sighed. “You have got to stop beating yourself up for not being able to control those men dying. For not being able to control everything.”

That was my most consistent flaw. I was a control freak, and that extended to the bedroom. Crossing my arms, I leaned against the window frame and stared at him. “Which is why giving me advice to ‘just go get laid’ is a joke.”

He rolled his eyes, setting his hands on the open window frame. I didn’t miss the slight flinch as he locked the muscles in his left arm. He was shot trying to defend Nina and Eva at a spa the night the MC men kidnapped Nina, and the muscles that the bullet pierced were still healing.

“I’m a hard lover,” I reminded him. We didn’t talk about this shit. We didn’t deal with chitchats about women, sex,or marital goals. It was common knowledge, though, that I wasn’t the ordinary man who could get off with just any easy pussy available. Franco knew. Back when we were younger and stupider, he accompanied me to the sex clubs where I acquired, then fine-tuned, my preference for the kinkier side of fucking.

“I’m sure there’s got to be a seasoned whore around here somewhere who could handle you.”

I raised my brows at him.

“For a price,” he added hastily.

Buying sex no longer appealed. After witnessing the miracle of how much my father had changed since meeting his other half and falling so swiftly and seriously in love, it seemed like a cop-out to want anything else.

Who am I kidding? I’m not in any position to go looking for someone. Someone who likely doesn’t exist.I’d need a patient and equally hard lover, and I wasn’t sure she was real.

Besides, it was dumb to try to start something with anyone when I needed to start caring about myself more. Regardless of how often I was told to get over my guilt and move on, I struggled. If and when I could open up to letting a woman in my life, I had to do so knowing I was the best version of myself as possible.

I didn’t love myself anymore. Not after failing my Mafia brothers.

In my darkest—and usually drunkest—moments, I got hooked on the idea that being loved again would make me feel whole. That finding a real match in a woman would help me accept that I was worthy of love. I wouldn’t achieve that with some random hooker. Not even a skilled escort. It wasn’t only sex that wouldmake me change, but arealconnection. A bonding experience of decent companionship. That was what I needed.

“Seriously,” Franco said. “You’re the Mafia prince of the Constella Family. Many women would be willing to entertain you. They’d volunteer to be your ‘project’ and keep you busy.”

I deadpanned at him. “What women? The ones like Vanessa Giovanni?”

---