She stopped. “Yes?” Hope sparked in her dark eyes.
“Lay a finger on her, and you’re gone.” And with those parting words, I proceeded to fuck Silvia in the tub, swishing the water around and making a mess. Whatever. A club girl would clean it up. Might even make Yoli do it just to piss her off.
She let out a banshee scream and stormed out of my room.
“You should change the code on your door so she can’t just walk in,” Silvia told me.
“Definitely.”
“She hates me, you know.”
“Probably. But don’t let her bother you. This is how it works in my club. The chicks figure out their shit on their own. I don’t have time or patience for squabbling. If you’re sticking around, knock her off the top.”
“You know I need to get out of California.” She pecked my lips. “I’ve already stayed longer than I planned. I need to go before Miguel finds me.”
“Let’s not talk about this now. Quino is waiting for me.”
A pang spread through my heart. How could she talk so casually about leaving as if nothing was developing between us? Didn’t she feel what I was feeling?
I fucking sang to her, something I had never done in front of anyone.
Jesus, I was sounding like a pussy.
I found Quino at his spot in our meeting room, otherwise known aschurch. The sun brightened the octagon-shaped space. I’d created this room from scratch. Sketched out my ideas one night on a cocktail napkin.
When I’d saved up enough money to build it, I managed the construction crew to make sure they got it right. And they did.
Only the ranking members had a seat at the custom-made oak octagon table. It was standing room only for members and on occasion, prospects.
“Morning.” I took my seat, noticing the severe expression on my VP’s face.
“Heard about your bubble bath.” He smirked and shook his head. “Missed you yesterday.”
“No you didn’t.” I was confident none of my crew thought twice about me while they watched baseball all day and partied all night.
We were gearing up for one of our largest shipments to take up to Vancouver, BC this week. My brothers had spent this weekend relaxing and getting laid in preparation for our run. And the stuff with GQ’s hit and run, and Silvia’s brother, they needed to distress like me.
We weren’t hobbyists on Harleys. Not a Christian men’s club spreading the word or meatheads on mopeds. We dealt with some heavy hitters, like the Ferrari Mafia, whom we moved drugs and guns for.
The Ferraris were spread along the West Coast, from San Francisco up to Canada. Pietro, the head of the family, had a shit-ton of kids. Eight to be exact. The boys had been planted in major cities to grow the family business.
I mostly worked with his oldest boy, Remo and his youngest, Fabio. They were based in the Bay Area.
“You’re stirring up the henhouse with that new chick.” Quino pulled me back to the present, which I didn’t appreciate. I was spinning a lot of plates in the air and now was the first time I’d thought about everything going on with GQ, Silvia, Miguel Avila, and the Ferraris.
“You know I don’t care,” I told him bluntly. “Things have gotten dull around here. Time we spiced it up.”
“Maybe you should care, Jefe. We don’t treat our girls like gum on the bottom of our boots. They’re good to us. Loyal. Protective.” He wasn’t wrong, but…
“Yoli needed a reality check, and you know it. Her claws were deep in my flesh. And until Silvia, it was fine. The sex was good with Yoli, but I tolerated her. There’s no love there, brother.”
“And there is with Silvia? Do you love her after three days?”
I exhaled a heavy breath. “No. But I think I could.” And it hadn’t been a full three days yet. A lot could happen by the end of today.
“Damn, Jefe. Didn’t think it possible.”
“Me either. Enough about the women. What’s up?” I relaxed in my chair, clasped my hands together and rested them on my stomach.