Page 40 of Sinful Bargains

I forced a tight smile, suddenly very aware of how I must look right now. “Nothing. Joey was just leaving.” My hand nudged Joey’s arm, signaling for him to leave. The last thing I needed was for Antonio to know that his father was alive and coming for us.

Antonio didn’t look convinced, his brown eyes darting between us. “Leaving? You two looked like you were in the middle of something. Did I interrupt?”

Joey chuckled. “Nah, kid. Just talking. You didn’t interrupt anything. Your Ma was just upset about the day.”

“Since you’re here, why don’t you stay for dinner?”

“Antonio—” I started, but he cut me off.

“C’mon, Joey. You’ve gotta eat, don’t you?”

Joey smirked, glancing at me. Neither one of us knew what to do. “I don’t know, kid. Your mom might not want me sticking around for dinner. I didn’t bring dessert like I promised I would.”

What a smooth talker.

“She doesn’t care about dessert,” Antonio said.

I sighed, shooting Joey a warning look. “Antonio, it’s late. Joey probably has other plans. Don’t you?” I said, nudging his arm again.

But Antonio was relentless, turning back to Joey with the stubbornness only an innocent teenage boy could muster. “Then he can take care of themafterdinner. Right, Joey?”

Joey shrugged, his grin smug. “If your mom’s good with it, I don’t mind staying.”

“Fine,” I sighed, moving towards the stove. “Let's just sit down and eat dinner.”

Antonio grinned, plopping down at the table as Joey took his seat. “Paul says we’re family now,” Antonio declared. “And family eats dinner together. Might as well get used to Ma’s cooking, Joey.”

Joey ruffled Antonio’s dark curls, his smirk softening. “Family, huh?” He glanced at me before turning back to Antonio with a nod. “Alright, kid. You’re right about that. Let’s eat.”

The three of us sat around the kitchen table, the only sound the clink of forks against plates as we ate the homemade carbonara I’d prepared. The tension between Joey and me hung thick in the air. No one said a word—until Antonio broke the silence, his voice cutting through the quiet like a knife.

“Hey Joey, is the mafia real?”

The question hit me like a slap. My eyes widened in horror, and I nearly choked on my food. Joey froze mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air, his eyes flickering from me to Antonio.

“Antonio!” I snapped, lightly smacking his shoulder to get his attention. I was horrified at the wordmafialeaving his lips.

He shrugged at me. “What? I saw it in the papers. They were talking about ‘The Shark,’ saying he’s in the mafia.”

Joey let out a low chuckle, the corners of his mouth quirking up as he twirled pasta onto his fork. “The Shark, huh? Soundslike a comic book villain. Guess the papers are getting creative these days.”

Antonio wasn’t laughing. His expression was dead serious as he leaned forward, staring at Joey. “Well, they made it sound serious. Said you were dangerous. Said you’re involved in a lot of bad stuff. One article said you were a glorified serial killer.”

I coughed on my food. “Antonio, that’s enough! Please drop it and don’t read any more of that crap.”

I knew I was lying to him. But how could I explain the truth to him? It was too complicated, too dangerous. How could I tell him that, yes, the mafia was real? That, yes, Joey was involved? And yes, I was aware of it—and somehow, I’d let Joey into our lives despite knowing. And felt safer with Joey in our lives.

But Joey wasn’t the monster the papers made him out to be. He wasn’t some ruthless killer, running wild through Staten Island. He was respected, even admired, by the people around here. He was good-looking, charming, and kind. He’d done nothing but help us since we met him. I believed that Joey wasn’t a threat to me or Antonio. We were safer with him than without him.

“But Joey, why do they call you ‘The Shark’?” Antonio asked. “It’s hard to ignore when I’m a paperboy, Ma.”

Joey leaned back in his chair, a grin tugging at his lips. “Great question, kid. Do I look like I swim around, eating people for a living?”

But Antonio wasn’t amused. “I’m not joking. They said you’re some kind of big-deal gangster,” he insisted. “Ma, did you know that?”

“Antonio, drop it,” I pleaded. “Cut it out.”

“I’m just asking!” Antonio shot back.

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