The Slayer (Untamed Hearts #2)(76)

Tino blinked at him as he fought to stay awake. “Do you—”

Chuito shook his head before he could finish. “I haven’t done blow for three years.”

“Fuck.” Tino shoved his hand away and then pushed him once more for good measure. “I should just eat my Beretta.”

“Do you have a Beretta?” Chuito asked in concern.

“Fuck, yes, I have a Beretta. It’s in the Ferrari.”

“You need to separate yourself from it,” Chuito said with a bitter laugh. “It’s gonna get worse before it gets better. You’re gonna have to tell Romeo you’re crashing.”

“No. He doesn’t even drink. He would go outta his friggin’ mind if he knew I’ve been on coke.”

“You could still go back to New York.”

Tino sat there for a long moment, and Chuito got the impression he was witnessing a very deep and intense private battle. Chuito had good reasons to get off the blow. A part of him had wanted to suffer through the crash. It helped cleanse his soul from the guilt of knowing Marcos had gone to prison for Chuito’s sins.

He wasn’t certain what sort of motivation Tino had to put himself through that much misery when he was as connected as he was and could probably swim in pools of coke until it killed him. It wasn’t as if guys like them had any sort of long-term goals. They started young and died young. Everything about life was on fast-forward, and the coke just made the ride a lot easier.

Though, Chuito supposed, there were a lot of old mafia guys in the world.

It was just Chuito’s crew that was practically senior citizens by twenty-five.

Maybe it was brain cells and survival that had Tino wanting to get clean.

“I can’t keep letting Nova slit his wrists over this,” Tino whispered, and there were tears in his voice. “He’s got enough problems. Shit’s been getting deep at home.”

Or it was guilt and family loyalty.

Chuito could speak that language.

“Then you’re gonna have to suck it up, chica,” Chuito told him harshly. “You can’t cry in a gym in front of everyone.”

“Vaffanculo.” Tino flipped his hand under his chin, giving Chuito the middle finger as he did it. Then he fell back against the bench and covered his eyes. “I’ll cry wherever the hell I feel like it.”

Chuito stared at him, because this motherf*cker was actually going to cry. He had zero interest in a pep talk like Marcos would’ve needed if he was this close to cracking in public.

“For real?” Chuito asked.

“Yup.” Tino dropped his hand and looked at Chuito, his dark eyes swimming. “What the f*ck are you gonna do about it?”

“You just cry?” Chuito asked in disbelief.

“If I’m f*cking sad, I do.”

“Wow,” Chuito said as he considered that. There was absolutely no apology about it. No worry about being soft. It was as if Tino had such a firm hold on being badass, he didn’t even bother to think of anyone questioning it. “Is this unique to you? Or do all your people cry?”

“All my people cry. We’re passionate. We feel things, motherf*cker.”

“So if you’re at the top of the food chain, you get to cry?”

Tino nodded without an ounce of shame. “Yes, we do.”

“It’s nice to be you.” Chuito laughed. He couldn’t imagine being so connected he could sit in a gym and cry in front of another gangster without even being embarrassed about it. “You’re spoiled, Tino.”

“Man, I grew up poor as f*ck.” Tino put his hand over his eyes again. “My ma died broke.”

“If you cry in the middle of a gym and take naps in public while you’re crashing, then you’re spoiled. I did all this shit in private.”

Tino flipped him off again, making it clear what he thought about Chuito’s opinions. Then he turned on his side, showing off his bare back. His shorts had ridden low, and Chuito saw the tattoo over his hip, right above his left ass cheek.

100% Grade A Italian.

More than that, Chuito noticed faint scars across the entire expanse of his back, white against his tanned skin. There were a lot of them; some were lighter than others, as if he had suffered from the same type of injury for several years.

Chuito frowned at it, realizing someone must have beaten him when he was younger, and it churned up a strange protectiveness he wasn’t expecting.

In an unusual way, Tino sort of reminded him of Marcos. It was the first time he had someone in Garnet who understood his life. It made Chuito very homesick.

“I miss my brother,” Tino whispered, the tears still heavy in his voice, as if he was voicing Chuito’s loss out loud.

“It’s been three days.”

“Yup,” Tino agreed.

“Come stay at my place. You’re sad because of the crash.” Chuito couldn’t keep the warmth out of his voice even if Tino was a spoiled brat. Tino missed his brother in crime just like Chuito missed his. “Tell Romeo you’re gonna hang for a few days.”





Chapter Twenty-Eight


Chuito spoke to Nova Moretti for the first time thirty-six hours into Tino’s crash. He had made sure Tino kept feeding bullshit to Romeo via texts, but he had forgotten the all-important connected presence in Tino’s life.