Page 22 of Pocketful of You

"She's an innocent!" my father blurted out then, causing my mouth to fall open in sheer, unadulterated horror. "Never been touched. Made damn sure of that."

Raffaele arched a brow. "A virgin?"

"Yes." My father nodded eagerly. "Two years ago, when I learned of your release, I knew you would seek vengeance so I made alternative plans for her. Kept her clean. Had her date a goddamn gay just to keep her out of trouble! What I did to your fam – and when I learned you knew of their whereabouts –" He stopped short and shook his head. "Listen, you can make a new heir with my daughter." His voice took on a pleading tone. "She is of pure Catalinia bloodline. You know this. Ramona is a great, great-granddaughter of one of the original families. You cannot discredit her worth in our world."

"I know all about her bloodline, Calisto," Raffaele drawled in a bored tone. "It is why I agreed to her betrothal to my son eighteen years ago!"

"When I was ababy?" I demanded, tears stinging my eyes. "You gave me away to his son when I was a fucking baby, Dad? What are you guys, some sick sort of perverts?"

"Ah," Raffaele chuckled. "There is fire buried deep inside the ice that surrounds you, Ramona. You are not the delicate flower you appear – more like a hard-boiled egg. That is good to know. It will keep you strong."

"Fuck off," I sobbed. "The both of you can go to hell."

"Are we not already there, sweet girl?"

Yeah, I was beginning to think we might be.

"Please," I begged, heart plummeting. "Don’t do this." Tears blinding me, I swung around to grasp at my father's shirt. "Daddy, don’t give me away –"

My words were cut off when the door swung inwards and a liege of black-suited, armed men marched inside with a young man and an older woman in chains stumbling after them.

"Ah, just in time for the show, gentlemen." With a clap of his hands, he reached for another cigar and sparked up. "Calisto, may I take this opportunity to reacquaint you with your loving wife, Arabella, and, lest we forget, your long-lost son, Seth."

10

Presley

Later that night, I was slumped in the corner of a makeshift bar in a warehouse located inside an abandoned quarry in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, minus Noah, who had to go home for dinner.

Apparently, the big guy was on a curfew, courtesy of his ball-busting wife, which left me alone with the pretty hitman, who seemed more interested in sexting his baby mama than talking through my feelings.Typical.

"Sweet mother of Madonna." Pushing my glasses up my nose, I gazed down at my former lover's neat handwriting and bit back a sob at the horror unfolding on the pages. "It's so much worse than I thought."

"Sure is, cowboy." With his feet resting on the table – highly unhygienic, may I add – Lucky continued to scroll through his cell while nursing a bottle of Budweiser.

"I have never, nor do I ever plan to saddle up a horse and play giddy-up around the pasture," I blurted out, having had quite enough of the aloof sex-god. "So, sir, unless you have nicknamed mecowboyas some sort of hilarious jokey reference toBrokeback Mountainbecause of my sexuality, which FYI, is totally shitty, not to mention homophobic, I strongly urge you to stop with the dang cowboy comments!"

He stared at me for a long moment before tossing his phone on the table. "When I call you cowboy, I'm referring to your accent," he finally said, giving me his full attention for the first time tonight. "I couldn’t give two shits what team you play for, kid."

"Good. Glad we cleared that up," I huffed, fixing my glasses. "Now, can we please get back tome?" I tapped on the journal before sliding it across the table towards him. "And the fact that I've just read some very traumatic information, not to mention exceedingly intimate confessions, regarding the affairs of themob!"

It was all there in writing.

Everything my boyfriend had unearthed and was then murdered to keep hidden.

Chris, Romi, and Sketch were all children ofcriminals. And not just any criminals. Oh no, they were the baby-spawn ofmobsters. Their entire lives had been a complete lie

Chris Sr. and Cal Dillon were both members of the Catalinian Mafia – one of the three oldest and most powerful mob families in Italy.

Worse, Sketch and Chris weren't twins.

They weren't even fucking brothers!

Dear Sibyl and Medusa's snake hair!

Sketch's real name was Jacob Toretto and he was the son of some mobster god or other, snatched away during an overthrow of power, and then raised by the Capaldis.

Lucky eyed me curiously. "I'm not sure if you want me to respond to that shit you just spurred or let you throw a fit…"

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