Page 17 of Tarnished Hands

My apartment is small and homey. I enjoy it. I’m not one to have company over often, and to be honest, I prefer it that way. I didn’t grow up as an only child, but it sure did feel that way. My brother was younger than I and always expected to go into the family business, and sometimes, I don’t think he even wanted it.

I did, though.

I loved it.

Usually it’s the firstborn, if you are a man, that is. And I, clearly, have the wrong parts for that. So I spent a year with my father in Italy, and without him knowing it, I learned as much as possible. He assumed that a woman would never be interested in this life. But I was always better than my brother. I was a better shot, faster, and I sure as shit could knock him down.

None of that mattered, though.

He was a man, and I was not.

And when I finally got the courage to return after being in Italy, I realized I didn’t want to leave and would fight for my right to have this position.

I did, and I got it.

All because I wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Even if my brother—and most of my male cousins—hated me for being there. I was that annoying female family member.

But now, they get that I would give them my life if it were required of me.

And my brother, Roberto. I do think about him often. No matter how bad it was between us, he was still my brother. He chose wrong and assumed he was in love. When, in reality, she was using him. In the end, love and betrayal got him killed.

It’s another reason I keep to myself and maintain purely sexual relationships with men. Nothing more. But the older I get, the more I dream about a different future.

Not the kids’ part, though.

I’m not sure I’ll ever want that.

But the part where I wake up with someone next to me who wants to be there, who is happy to see me every day, and is fine with the type of work I do.

Because no man would have the pull to make me quit. Not that I could, anyway. Once you’re in, you’re in for life. I knew that from the start.

Walking to my refrigerator, I look at the picture of my father and brother, which I have stuck under a magnet. And I smile at the memory. It was a good one. There weren’t many of them, but that one was great.

Chapter Ten

EZRA

Me: Piper. Answer.

It’s a simple text. I’ve tried calling Piper several times, and she hasn’t picked up once. I have a feeling she knows it’s me and is refusing to admit it.

Me: I’ll see you soon.

I wait to see if she replies. Again, nothing.

I’m locking up the shop when Joey pulls up. He gets out of the car, which is an old Mustang, and throws the keys to me.

“She’s a beauty,” I say. I like to call my old tough, pretty cars ladies.

“Yep. Think you can make her even prettier?” he asks, tapping the hood. “I got her for the wife, but she’s a little broken now.”

“Of course.” I step back and open the bay doors to roll it in for the night. “How’s Piper?” I ask. When he doesn’t answer, I glance back at him, and he’s watching me.

“Why are you asking me that?” His face is serious, and I wonder if I shouldn’t have asked. These men are scary. But what’s more terrifying is not getting to see that little vixen again.

“She’s ignoring me.”

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