Page 28 of Sinful Bargains

Maybe he’d changed. He had to have changed. He couldn’tbe the monster they said he was. I knew Joey. I trusted Joey. I couldn’t be wrong about this. The man I spent all my free time with—playing baseball, laughing, joking—could not be a gangster. Joey was the closest thing I had to a father. He wasn’t a killer. He couldn’t be.

The Joey I knew was always dressed sharp, driving the nicest car in town, because he owned the most successful wholesale shop on the East Coast. He was loved by everyone—family, friends, even strangers. I saw the way people greeted him. They weren’t afraid of him. I watched him help Mr. Davidson carry boxes into the corner store. I saw him help Mrs. Simpson across the street. He was there when Ma’s car broke down, becoming our personal chauffeur without ever expecting a dime in return. He took me to my first Yankees game. He tapped his foot at red lights when Frank Sinatra came on the radio, turning it up just a little so he could whistle along.

This wasn’t the man who made low-level gangsters disappear without a trace. This couldn’t be the same Joey.

“You’re not like them,” I said softly, almost to myself.

He didn’t respond right away, but I thought I saw the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. “I’d like to think so,” he said.

“Were you scared?”

“Scared?” Joey repeated, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I don’t know about scared. Not much gets to me like that. But I’ll tell you one thing—it’s not a place you’d wanna be, kid.”

“You don’t still do any of that stuff, do you?” My heart thudded as I forced the words out.

His gaze was steady. “No. Sometimes life throws you a second chance, and I’m trying to make the most of mine.”

I wanted to believe him—so badly. Joey had been good to me and Ma. Better than anyone else had been in a long time. If he’d changed, it couldn’t be for some scheme. Not to hurt us, like my pops had. The papers might say all kinds of things about Joey,but that didn’t make it true. He didn’t deserve my mistrust after everything he’d done for us.

“So,” I started, “you’re kinda like a baseball player who strikes out, but comes back to hit a home run.”

Joey’s grin broke through, warm and genuine. The one I was used to. “I like the way you think, kid.” He reached over and ruffled my curls, making me laugh.

“I think it’s cool you’re trying again,” I said. I wanted to trust and believe he wouldn’t let me down.

“Thanks, kid. That means a lot.”

We both laughed, and the weight between us seemed to lift. I caught his smile as he leaned back in his seat, looking more relaxed.Like the Joey I know.

I had made a promise to myself after the night we’d escaped. I’d never let anyone hurt Ma again, no matter what. But Joey wasn’t here to hurt us—he was here to help us. A man who’d made mistakes but turned his life around. That’s the Joey I chose to see. That’s the Joey I was going to believe in.

JOEY

Inever saw myself as a liar, but I told lies to protect those around me, knowing the truth would tear them apart. There was no way in hell I could look Antonio in the eye and tell him who I was when he went to sleep. I’d never sought validation before, but I wanted it from him—a kid I was starting to think of as my own, our bond growing by the day. It felt like looking at a younger version of myself, and I wasn’t gonna tell him that I’d joined the Mafia, committed crimes without a second thought, and became so numb to it that I couldn’t even recognize myself and The Shark as the same person.

At eighteen, after a childhood full of trauma, and finally finding a family, whether they were in the Mafia or not, it was family. The only family I had. The only one I knew. They told me there was one way in and one way out. That if I wanted to become a made man, I could never go back. I still felt the Virgin Mary burn in my palms, a blood pact, an oath. I was reborn. At the time, it felt like the only thing I wanted.

Now, seventeen years later, sitting here with Antonio, I wasn’t so sure I’d make the same choice if I could go back. Butthat was okay. I was a man, and a man had to live with his choices. But I would protect Antonio. I could rewrite my wrongs with him.

When Antonio and I walked through the front door after playing baseball at the park, the sound of Elvis Presley’sJailhouse Rockgreeted us, spinning on the record player perched on the kitchen counter. Adriana stood at the stove, stirring a pot of sauce while swaying to the beat. She sang along, her voice light and carefree, twirling between stirs. The scent of simmering pasta sauce filled the air, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was beautiful like this.

Antonio caught my gaze and snickered. I leaned against the doorframe, smirking at both of them before calling out, “Didn’t know dinner came with a show.”

Adriana spun on her heels, startled, the wooden spoon clutched in her hand like a weapon. Her wide eyes met mine, and her cheeks turned pink. “Joey!” she exclaimed as Antonio stifled a laugh beside me.

I grinned, folding my arms over my chest. “Don’t stop now. I think you were just getting to the best part of the whole performance.” Truth be told, I just enjoyed watching her dance—the way she let herself go without a care in the world. How her hips swayed. My hands were nearly ready to leap forward to grab them.

“I thought I locked the door!” she said, her blush deepening.

I shrugged. “Guess you’re starting to get comfortable. Don’t worry—I don’t mind surprise performances.”

Antonio tossed his baseball glove onto the coffee table, still grinning. “Mom sings Elvis every time she cooks.”

“Antonio!” Adriana groaned, her eyes darting toward him. “You weren’t supposed to tell anyone that!”

I laughed, shaking my head. She held her hands over her beet-red cheeks, playing bashful. But I loved every second ofthis. “Don’t be too hard on the kid. I think it’s cute. And for the record, you’ve got a great voice.”

She bit her lip, too flustered to respond, which only widened my grin.

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