The Enforcer (Untamed Hearts Book 3)(74)

“One day the Borgata’s gonna be mine,” Dominic reminded him. “I’m gonna own all of it.”

“One day you will,” Tino agreed. Dominic had all the perfect qualifications to take over the Brambino Borgata, including a complete lack of conscience. God help them all when that day came. Luckily, Tino had learned not to think too far ahead. “But right now you’re getting outta my face.”

He rolled on his side, dismissing Dominic before he kicked the shit out of him instead.

“You’re my favorite kind,” Meilei mused as she grabbed his hand and caressed his leather band.

“I hear that all the time,” Tino admitted and closed his eyes tiredly. “All the time.”

“You matter,” Carla said as she rubbed his thigh. “Did you know that?”

“Yeah, I knew that,” he whispered to himself, feeling like he wanted to take a shower, because if the heat didn’t make him feel dirty, Dominic Brambino sure the f*ck did.

Screw it.

If Nova couldn’t survive one night, then they were all f*cked.

Tino marked three lines on his arm for three Lost Kids who were wasting drugs and doing it just for the f*cking roll.

’Cause it felt good.

He had exactly three glow sticks left, and those were the ones he used because they were worth it.

They f*cking mattered.

To one another, if no one else in the world.

Tino hadn’t done anything with girls before Mary fell into his life. He noticed them, sure, and he had lots of friends, but nothing past that. He’d been sort of caught up in the whole mother-dying, brother-being-wanted-by-Cosa-Nostra, losing-benefits, and social-workers-knocking-down-their-door problems that filled those years between eight and twelve.

So it wasn’t until Meilei slipped a hand under his shirt and caressed his stomach, tracing the muscles there, that he realized he didn’t know how to be touched without it being a job.

Without performing.

Without pain or death or humiliation being the punishment for failing.

Maybe Meilei understood, because she made it less about sex and more about curiosity. It wasn’t like any of them were shy about their bodies. “You wax.” She slipped one hand beneath the fly of his jeans.

“Yeah, I wax.” Tino shrugged. “I make it look good.” Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her forward. He kissed her open palm and said, “You don’t have to, sweetheart.”

“I know.” She smiled, which made her look coy and beautiful, with long, silky black hair falling over his face like a veil and hiding him from the world. “I want to.”

“I don’t know how to be normal,” he confessed.

“Me either.” Her smile grew broader, letting Tino see what she might have been if the yakuza hadn’t stolen her childhood like Cosa Nostra stole his. “We’ll wait for the roll. Maybe it’ll be nice. Everyone says it’s nice.”

Tino realized Meilei didn’t f*ck recreationally either.

“For the roll,” he agreed and turned on his side, watching his brother dance like he didn’t have a f*cking care in the world, and waited for his turn.

They had a few more buyers, and Tino started stressing over having that much f*cking cash on him and rolling on ecstasy. He didn’t take a half. He took a full one like an idiot. It had been a really stupid idea and was probably going to end with him getting robbed by an * and beaten by his father.

Maybe this time Frankie would kill Tino, even if the don had so kindly put a limit on how many times his father could hit him.

Not that Tino had a lot to complain about.

There were so many others who had it so much worse.

He leaned down and pushed Meilei’s dress up, feeling the smooth skin of her thighs. She had great skin, really soft, because like Tino, she made it look good. Meilei smelled nice, pretty and feminine. Carla did too, and he sort of wanted to know what it was like to f*ck like Nova did, to do it because he wanted to, not because he had to.

For the first time, he felt guilty when he closed his eyes and imagined it was someone else’s soft skin. A different scent of shampoo. The tease of red hair tickling his face. Other times it was survival; this time it left a hollow feeling in his chest, because neither Carla nor Meilei deserved a man who was fantasizing about someone else. But Tino was pretty good at hiding the sin that had kept him sane for a long time now.

Carla’s hand was under his shirt, pushing it up, exposing his chest, and this part Tino knew how to do. He shrugged out of his jacket and then pulled off his shirt.

He put himself on display for both of them.

And they seemed to appreciate it.

“Pretty boy,” Carla said in amusement as she caressed his chest. “The prettiest boy.”

“That’s what they say,” he agreed.

“No wonder that pendejo wants a taste of your Italian ice.” Carla laughed. “What does it taste like? Spicy. Sweet. Caramel or vanilla.”

Tino laughed with her. “Definitely not vanilla.”

“I think he likes vanilla, though,” Meilei cut into their conversation, her fingers still in Tino’s hair. “Your flesh-dealing friend. She has no band.”

“Not yet,” Carla added. “She’d be expensive. He’ll find a way. She has someone she cares about. They’ll suck her in. They get the pretty gringas all time. Especially the Italians. They like the gringas.”