interrupted, dropping the instructions. I waved Dante off, moving from the floor to grab a bottle of water from the fridge.
“She’s not wrong.” Dario’s voice was low, quiet, but I could make out every word and see how he moved, standing in front of his brother, how he dusted off his jeans and tucked his cell into his pocket.
The counter was at my back as I drank, and all those thoughts I’d had the second I found the roses resting in front of my door converged. There was too much hope and stupid damn wonder wrapped up in what they could mean. But something like this? A romantic gesture? That wasn’t Smoke’s style. He was smooth. He was dominate. Dios, he was sexy as hell, but he wasn’t romantic. Not out in the open. Not when anyone could see.
“He needs to make a move,” Dario told his brother, and from the reflection of the microwave, I spotted the man standing in front of the vase, his head tilted as he looked over the flowers.
“Well that shit will never happen,” Dante said, shaking his head, and I turned, shooting him a frown.
“Why?”
Dante wasn’t as beautiful as Smoke. Neither of them was, but, at least Dario could still have any woman he wanted. There was a lot he kept to himself, but those eyes—dark and haunted, spoke volumes. And when he gave me that sad, reluctant smile, half-regret, half-pity, I realized he likely used the sad, vulnerable look to his advantage.
When I focused on his face, irritated when Dante wouldn’t answer me, Dario exhaled, rubbing his neck before he spoke. “It’s not my place,” he finally said, shrugging like he would keep whatever he thought to himself.
“Say what you’re thinking,” I told him, moving away from the counter.
That sad grin dropped to nothing, beccoming an expression that reminded me of a man analyzing his next step. Dario had spent years playing a game of natural selection. Only the strongest survived prison. Each step, each thought had to be considered. Each move had to be rationalized. He hadn’t lost that nature. I doubted he ever would.
“Senior year. Smoke dated this girl we called Miss Gimmee.”
“Christ, that bitch,” Dante said, resting back on his elbow as he looked up at his brother.
“This chick was…” Dario glanced at me, likely wondering how much he could say before I’d get offended. Working at Carelli’s, being around this family for as long as I had, I’d learned no one ever meant anything they said seriously. Not insults. Not crude compliments unless you’d done something truly offensive. I hadn’t. Nothing he told me was meant to offend me personally.
“Speak your mind,” I told him, waving a hand for him to continue.
“Alright then, Maggie. She was… stacked as fuck.” He turned moving toward the window, gesturing as he spoke, something all the Carelli’s did. Dario, I noticed, hadn’t gestured at all when he first came home. But the past few months, I suppose as he became more comfortable, more like his old self, as Toni called it, he was more animated when he spoke. “She had an incredible body. Huge…” He glanced at me and caught the head tilt I gave him, then held up his hands, interrupting his story before he sat on the window seat. “Let’s just say, Smoke was a little sprung and that was saying something, because Smoke was never sprung over anything except maybe boxing.”
“And he didn’t need to be.” Dario hopped up from the floor, moving to the sofa, kicking off the boxes that Mateo’s bed had come in. “Women were coming at him left and right.”
“Uh huh and our little brother here was getting Smoke’s leftovers.”
“Is there a point?” I asked, ignoring the wide grin that split across Dante’s face and the laugh Dario released.
“Point is,” he continued, “Miss Gimmee knew she had him. She asked for a lot of shit. Got most of it too. Smoke was a little…stupid over her.”
“And everyone knew it.” Dante nodded to his brother, dropping his smile. Something passed between them and Dante moved his chin, as though encouraging his older brother to finish the story.
“True enough. But you couldn’t tell him anything.” His gaze shot back to the roses. “He went all out for her. Flowers, dinners, trips, jewelry, shopping. Our family, we’re comfortable, and Pops, he spoiled us, but even that, Madonna, that was a bit much. But Smoke, he wouldn’t listen…not to Pops…not to any of us, of course because we were his