Domenico Valente
“Don’t speak,” I remind her, as we power walk to St. Peter’s. “Under no circumstances are you to say a word.”
January nods, her thick veil shifting. “I’m just glad to be saying g-goodbye.”
Her voice cracks and I shove my hand in my pocket to stop myself from reaching out to her.
A middle-aged couple is standing at the front of the church. The man nods but the woman gives me a confused look. “Sorry, this is a private funeral.”
“Si,” I say in a thick accent. “I’m Antonio’s nephew, Enzo. My wife and I are here to pay our respects to Teresa.”
The woman’s expression melts. “Of course. Please, sit anywhere you like.”
I smile and usher January inside. It’s a big church but the pews are packed. The old girl’s getting a hell of a send-off.
“That was Zia Teresa’s daughter, Anna,” January whispers. “How did you know she knows an Antonio?”
“Because she’s Italian. Stop talking.”
“Sorry.”
We find an empty pew and sit. January’s shoulders are shaking and she touches her medallion through her dress. The curve of her breasts is visible through the thick material, and I’m torn between wanting to comfort her and copping a feel. I do neither.
Pretty soon the priest sways in, accompanied by half a dozen altar girls and boys. Altar-children. The ceremony is brief. In between the bible verses and propriety, I catch glimpses of the tough old bird who was always smacking people with spoons and smoked and loved celebrity magazines and slot machines.
January shakes like a leaf the whole mass and I manage to wrap an arm around her. It’s easier to touch her when it feels clinical.
We both stand to take the Eucharist and I feel January watching me through her veil, probably wondering if I’m a big enough asshole to blaspheme the Catholic Church on top of all the other shit I’ve done.
“Don’t worry, Tits,” I murmur. “I’m a murderering shitlord, but I’m fully fucking confirmed over here.”
“Oh my gosh,” she mumbles, turning away.
The best part of the funeral is the end where there’s a picture slideshow. You see the old girl, all smooth and pretty in her wedding dress, wearing party hats at her kid’s birthdays and dancing at their weddings. Then I see tween January, arm in arm with her Zia in some park somewhere. She looks so young and pretty, it nicks at the side of my neck like a razor.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmur into the side of her veil. “Your Zia looks so proud of you.”
January lets out a sob. I hold her closer and wish I really was Enzo or whoever the fuck I’m pretending to be. That life had been different for both of us.
When the ceremony is done, I hustle January from the church. Even in a veil she’s got the body of a sex demon and I look cute as fuck in my black suit. Between the two of us, we’re attracting way too much attention.
“Sorry, can I please go to the bathroom?”
“Make it fast. And no fucking talking.”
“I won’t.”
I wander outside to wait for her. I pull off my jacket and throw it over one arm as I roll up my sleeves. I sweat like a sinner in suits, especially with the collar all done up. It’s almost enough to make me wish I was a chick. There’s a cluster of four old guys standing around an olive tree and smoking like nicotine gives life. I always enjoy watching old boys smoke but today it pisses me off. I can just imagine the first drag, the fire kick-starting my lungs.
But I won’t smoke. When I make my mind up about something, it’s done.
Seventeen years ago, I looked in Parker’s psychotic face and knew I wouldn’t sell my drug to him. Not for all the money in the world. Morelli told me not to make an enemy of such a fucked-up dude.
“You’ll create more things,” he said. “Better things. Put aside your pride and let Parker have this.”
But I didn’t want to. There were the flaws in the formula that sent Alessia to the hospital, but there was also the fact that I didn’t like Parker. Didn’t trust what he could do with a drug that turned women on.
My pride—my conscience—is what got Velvet House into this mess. I denied Parker Orchard and even Morelli couldn’t have predicted how nuclear he would go. He killed Bobby’s dad. Adri’s mom. Morelli’s dog and Alessia. He stole our adult lives and torched our futures. He took everything from all four of us and if we hadn’t run, he would have taken more.
As I watch the old men smoke, grief rises in me like a stone monolith. Ancient and unmoving and right behind it is the anger. Red hot flames, tall as a skyscraper, twisting and demanding action, violence, revenge. Anything.
My plan to fly to Vegas to kill Parker has about a million unpatchable holes. There’s every chance I’ll be killed the second I get to the hotel.
But what am I supposed to do? Let Parker live? Spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder for him, praying he’s not coming for January. Whatever Morelli might think, I know better—no contract will ever stop Parker. He’ll hunt the girl until the day he dies.
The old men are still chattering in Italian, lighting their second cigarettes, and taking covert swigs from a silver flask. Their tone is energetic but there’s something relaxed about them. The way they gesture at one another, like they have all the time in the world to explain their points. I imagine it’s us, Adriano, Bobby, Morelli and I. All in our seventies, our fighting days behind us. Enjoying the sunshine as we commiserate an old friend passing.
As I watch an older woman approaches the men. Her grey hair is short and her face, though lined, is small and pretty. One of the old boys says something and she swats his arm, chiding him in a Neapolitan dialect I know all too well. My heart lurches in my chest like a fish.
I can’t go to Vegas.
I can’t kill Parker.
I need to protect my brothers.
I need to protect January.
The anger inside me twists higher, howling in protest but it might as well be the wind. My mind has locked and bolted.
I can’t go to Vegas.
I can’t kill Parker.
I can’t have my revenge.
I need to protect January.
“Nico?” a voice whispers. “Can we go?”
I turn and see a veiled January hesitating on the steps and all of my anger redirects itself, locking in on her. I grip her upper arm. “Oh, we can fucking go alright. Follow me.”
I practically drag her past the old guys, all of whom turn to stare at her ass.
Take a good fucking look, boys I think, my teeth gritted tight. That’s all you’ll ever do.
January seems dazed as we head back to the car. Out of it. I don’t fucking care. I’m giving up everything for her. My whole fucking world.
I unlock the BMW and practically shove her into the back seat. She doesn’t protest, if anything she goes easily. I climb in after her yanking off her hat and veil. After an hour of looking at black material, the sight of her perfect face makes my heart ache. I ignore it and I reach for the chain around her neck and pull it over her head. I don’t need Zia Teresa judging what I’m about to do. January blinks up at me, mute and perfect. Perfect enough that I have to fight to keep my anger in place. I toss the necklace into the driver’s seat and grab her chin. “Here’s what’s about to happen, Tesorina. I have to give up something important for you. So you’re gonna give up something important to me.”
She stares at me. Her dress has ridden up, exposing her creamy thighs to the afternoon sun. “I don’t… what is it?”
“I think you can figure it out from context cues. Pull down your panties.”
Her eyes go glassy as she complies, shimmying her pink thong down her legs. But the few seconds it takes her is enough for me to lose all my remaining control. I grip a fistful of her hair and pull her face close to mine. “Kiss me. And make it good, not like the high school bullshit you’ve done so far.”
I expect her to slap me. Instead, she launches herself at me like a horny demon. When she presses her lips on mine, I’m so surprised, I don’t kiss her back. “Tits…”
She grips my hair and goes in again, sliding her sweet little tongue into my mouth. She’s all over me, tugging up her long skirt and grinding her hips. I can’t fucking believe it. I was going to take whatever I could from her, but this is wild. It feels like she’s gonna sit on my cock and ride me to hell.
Her fingers fumble at my tie and she practically tears my shirt open. She runs her hands across my chest, scratching at my tattoos. “You have such an amazing body.”
She’s humping up against me and her pussy is soaking, I can feel it through my suit pants. I make an animalistic noise, something that sounds crazy even to my own ears and she licks the side of my neck. “Nico…”
What the fuck is going on? Did I leave some Orchard lying around or something? I grip her face and stare into her eyes. They’re full of unshed tears. This isn’t passion. This is the need to think and feel anything but what she’s thinking and feeling, and that’s fine with me. I let go of her cheeks and press a hand to her throat. “You’re gonna give me whatever I want or I’m gonna hurt you. You got that you little nymph?”
She nods and I force her back onto the car seat. As I unbutton my pants I glance through the windshield. There’s no one around but that’s no guarantee people couldn’t come past. And the windows are tinted but not so tinted you couldn’t see through them up close. But fuck it, let them watch. Let everyone fucking watch me make January mine.
I slide two fingers into her willing cunt and January gives a yelp that turns into a moan. She contracts around me, her pussy as desperate as the rest of her. “Doc. Nico.”
“Domenico,” I correct, pistoning inside her. “That’s the only thing you call me when I’m in your cunt, you got that.”
She nods, pushing against my fingers, a look of pure ecstasy on her face.
“Oh my God, I’m so full. I’m so full.”
My fingers are drenched to the palm, my dick aching like it’s never been touched before. I could fuck her, ram my cock inside her and make her grind up against the base until she creamed all over me… Instead, I slip a thumb onto her clit and watch her face light up. “You like that, you slutty little virgin? You like getting finger fucked outside a church?”
Her look of tortured misery combines with a flood of girl-juice. I laugh and pump her harder, faster. “You’re so twisted. I fucking love it. Now come. Show me what a whore you are.”
She closes her eyes to concentrate but at the last second I change my mind, pulling my fingers away. She’s not allowed to come. This isn’t about her. “You’re gonna get dick now, okay?”
She nods, still adorable despite the inferno she’s thrown me into. “I want to feel it, Domenico. Pleaaaase?”
She purrs the word like it’s got nine extra syllables, her eyes are narrowed, her cheeks and forehead flushed.
Some part of me is aware I shouldn’t do this, take her coveted virginity in the back seat of a probably stolen car, but I’m already shoving down my briefs and pulling out my cock. She wraps her hand around me and my eyes roll back in my head. Her sloppy tugs reignite the anger boiling in my gut and I lean down and sink my teeth into the side of her neck.
Again, I expect a slap, again all I get is a gasping cry.
“I’m gonna eat you alive,” I snarl, hardly aware of what I’m saying. “I’ll kill you, then myself and everyone else in the whole fucking world.”
She pumps me, sending every blood cell in my body to my shaft. “Why don’t you just… instead?”
I can’t. She can’t even say what she wants me to do to her. It’s wrong. It’s so fucking wrong, but then she’s settling over me, sliding her slippery pussy across everything. My cock is toying with her unfucked entrance. One good shove and I’d be in her, ending it all.
Why can’t I do it? Why haven’t I already done it?
But I know. The others will forgive me for taking January to the funeral. They’d forgive me for shooting Parker before the contract’s signed. They’d forgive me for running Velvet House into the ground with Nick Cage level spending, but if I jack this girl’s virginity in a stolen car in Brooklyn, they’ll never look at me again. Not Bobby. Not Morelli. Especially not Adriano.
With monumental effort, I wrap my hands around January’s hips and lift her off me. “No.”
Her face contorts. “Doc!”
I slap her ass. “Domenico, and if you wanna fuck the pain away, that’s fine, but your first time won’t be like this.”
“But—”
I slap her again. “Keep pushing me and I’ll spank your ass purple. I won’t stop until you bleed.”
Her mouth twists. “I’m sorry, I just want to feel bad.”
I examine her, so light and lush she might be a dream, and a filthy, putrid idea occurs to me. “You really wanna get fucked?”
She nods frantically, the pain inside her held back by a thread.
“You don’t mind if it hurts?”
“I want it to hurt. I want to feel bad.”
And that’s all the answer I need. I lower her onto my lap. “Hold still.”
She makes a soft mewling noise and screws her eyes shut.
I spit on my fingers then pause. Am I really going to do this? It would easily make the top five worst things I’ve ever done; banging a virgin’s asshole after her Zia’s funeral…
But it wouldn’t be the worst thing that I’ve ever done. And surely, that’s what counts?
I rub my slippery fingers against January’s asshole and she lets out a yelp. “What are you—”
“Shut your mouth.” I grip her hair in my free hand. “I call the shots from here on out. You got that?”
“Yes, Domenico.”
I groan, my throat vibrating with satisfaction. “Except that. You’ve got permission to say that as much as you like, Tits.”
I shift her into my lap, lining up my cock with her tiny rosebud. January whimpers, but there’s no hesitation on her face. I draw a quick breath then push. The tip slides into her tight ass. She’s hot and wet, resistant and willing at the same time. She gasps as I withdraw, taking it easy, listening for any sign that she’s in pain.
“More,” she pants.
I ignore her. She’s so fuck drunk she doesn’t know what she’s saying. I press forward even slower this time and the whole head of my dick glides into her. I clamp my hands on her ass to stop myself from ramming the rest of the way in. “Motherfucker…”
It’s like warm velvet wrapped around my cock and as I struggle to hold still and give her time to adjust, the little bitch rocks against me. I slide in another silken inch and stars pop in front of my eyes. “January! For fuck’s sake!”
“I’m sorry,” she pants, bouncing up and down. “Can you do more? Can you do it faster?”
Jesus fucking Christ, I’m dying. I only planned on giving her the tip, but this perfect slut of a girl is so dripping, so fuck starved, so ‘letters to Penthouse’ horny, she’s trying to jam more of my dick into her asshole. I close my eyes and offer God the second genuine prayer I’ve thought this week. Dear Lord, I don’t deserve for this to be happening, but since it is, I have to thank someone.
I’m not really fucking her, just rolling a little, but as we move together, it all slides in. I’m no Adriano Rossi, but my cock isn’t a small thing, yet it’s all inside January Whitehall.
Her fingers limply clutch my shoulders. “Domenico…”
She sounds drunk. Drugged. Utterly taken over.
Her virgin walls squeeze my shaft and I can’t remember the last time I felt this alive. When I accidentally made Orchard maybe, or never. I shift my hips, setting a slow, rocking pace. I wait for her to tell me to stop, that it hurts, or that she hates me, but she just keeps pushing down on my cock. She’s fucking into it.
I tighten my grip on her hips. “That’s it, let me fuck your cute little asshole in public.”
“Yes, Domenico.”
I press my hand to her slender neck and squeeze so tight, her eyes fly open. “Those sweet slutty noises are gonna make me blow in your ass.”
January makes a garbled sound, but her eyes say, ‘do it, you dirty bastard.’
“…but you’re gonna go first.”
I angle her backward. Her pussy is dark pink, as flushed as her cheeks.
“Soon,” I tell it as I lay a thumb on her clit. “Very soon, I’m going to fuck you.”
She grabs at me. “I don’t think I can come like this.”
I grip her wrists, pinning her tiny hands in my free one. “You’re just not used to anal orgasms. You’re barely used to any orgasms, so why would I listen to you?”
“But—”
“But you don’t get to decide what happens to your body anymore, Tits. You gave that up when we stole you, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
I thrust upward, bouncing her as I rub small circles around her clit. “You belong to us now. And if you think you like it in the asshole, you’ve got no idea. Me and the boys are gonna split you open, three on one. Bobby in your cunt, Morelli in your mouth, and me right where I am now, balls-deep in your ass.”
She lets out a desperate moan, contracting around my cock. I should still be going slow, but I’m pounding into her and I can’t fucking stop. January’s empty cunt is gushing all over my cock. The dirty talk is sending her into orbit and I’ve never been above cheap tricks.
“Oh, you like the sound of that, don’t you?” I pant. “You wanna get railed by all three of us? Or do you want us to make it four? Adriano likes going last. He’ll fuck you in all your holes and try to breed you when he’s done. Push his cum inside you and knock you up.”
January’s limbs shake as her walls milk my cock. “Oh God, Nico!”
I clench my jaw to keep from nutting and pray she doesn’t need any more to tip her over because I’m done. She screws her face up and goes still, her whole body locking with pleasure.
Swearing with relief, I let go too and as she closes around me, part of my mind pushes out of my head and explodes, never to return.
“Oh, fuck!”
I’ve never heard her swear before. Something about that realization coupled with what we just did makes me want to wrap my arms around her. Instead, I pull out as slowly as I can. There aren’t baby wipes, but there’s a handkerchief in my pants pocket. I grab it and help January clean herself up.
My head spins like a fairground ride. I was the first man to come in January Whitehall. Well, unless you count her mouth… Whatever, I was still the first to fuck her. And the first to kiss her. What more could a man want?
“I’m sorry,” she pants, and I know she means for making this all happen.
“Don’t be. That was fucking life-affirming.”
I lift her into the passenger seat and help her clean up. Once she’s done, we collapse against the leather. It’s the same afternoon in the same lonely side street. The world is probably the same, even though I just fucked January Whitehall in the ass. That doesn’t seem right. There should be a parade. Or at least a blimp.
“You didn’t make love to me,” January says. “Even though I asked you to.”
“I know,” I say, still mildly amazed at my self control. “Good for me.”
“It just keeps happening. First Adriano and now you.”
The miffed note in her voice makes me grin. “Maybe we’re just trying to do right by you.”
She gives me a look. “By doing what you just did to my…”
“Asshole,” I finish. “You’ve gotta start saying it, Tits. I fucked your asshole, and it was unbelievable. Like… I literally can’t believe you let me do that.”
“Isn’t it normal?”
“Maybe for porn stars, not Park Avenue virgins.”
She giggles, I can tell she’s proud of herself. My heart does the weird flipping thing again. I touch a hand to my sternum, trying to get it to stop.
“Nico?”
I look into the side mirror. What the fuck is happening to me? I suck in air and the ache in my chest eases a little. I turn back to January. “We need to get home.”
“Okay,” she says lightly.
We climb into the front seat and I start the car and pull away, my body still pulsing with pleasure, paranoia, and nicotine withdrawal.
“Are we going back to the clothes store?” January asks.
“No way can I give this suit back to the old guy after what we just did. I’ll drop you off at Velvet House then circle back for the Dodge.”
January shifts around until she finds her necklace. “That’s a long drive.”
“I like driving, Tits. Driving and swimming. It relaxes me. You can put more music on, by the way.”
She fiddles around with the radio and settles on some alternative station. A female voice comes through the speakers, gritty and soulful. She sings about love healing you from the ground up and my skin feels too tight. My heart feels too big. I keep my gaze away from January. I think I know what’s happening, but Christ I’m not ready to admit it.
You’re a sulky bitch, Dom.
The ache in my chest rips wider. It’s still so easy to imagine her. My dead big sister, the psychotic blonde. I imagine taking January to Alessia’s house for dinner. Chinese takeout or maybe fish sticks. Alessia’d make fun of me for dating someone so young. She’d be divorced a million times by now. Or maybe she and Beckett would have made it. Had a bunch of kids and a house by the water.
“What should I tell the others we’ve been doing?” January asks.
I snort. “You can tell them I fucked you in the ass and you loved it.”
“Not that. About where we’ve been today.”
“Oh. Say whatever you want. Tell the truth.”
“It wouldn’t matter?”
“We’ve gone now, so no.”
“Is that how it works at Velvet House?”
“Basically.”
She frowns. “Is that why Adriano took me to the hospital to see Zia Teresa? Because you’re allowed to get away with things if you get away with them?”
It’s a good way of putting it, but I don’t want to talk about Adriano. “Do you think I’ll get away with doing you from the back again when we get home?”
January presses her hand to her lips and I’m sure it’s to cover a smile.
A decent song comes on the radio, and I turn it up. We drive along, not talking for a bit. Is this how other people feel when they’re with their girlfriends? If so, I get the whole relationship thing a lot more. It’s… nice.
“Doc,” January says in a fluttery voice. “Is Adriano okay?”
I say nothing.
“I wouldn’t bring it up, but I know he’s been your friend ever since high school—”
“Elementary.”
“Wow.” She blinks. “It’s so hard to imagine Adriano as a kid.”
“Lose the beard and it’s about the same.”
She doesn’t smile. “Where is he, Nico? This morning I heard Harvey telling Sal that he’s not in the house. Has he… run away?”
I grin at the thought of Adriano loping down the street with a red handkerchief bundle on a stick. “No.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I know.”
She looks up at me through her thick black lashes. “Nico, please?”
“You can’t just look at me like that and whisper my name every time you want something, Tits.”
She gives me a couple of slow, cutesy blinks and I sigh. “He hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s out living in the woods like a yeti.”
“What?”
“He built a cabin out in the forest near Velvet House,” I explain. “Whenever he gets sad, he stays out there. But he’s less than three miles away. Fishing in the stream.”
“Oh.” January toys with her gold medallion. “He made a cabin? Like he built it himself?”
She sounds way too impressed.
“It’s a shithole. And by that I mean he’s literally dug a hole to shit in.”
She wrinkles her nose. “But how does he eat and drink and stuff?”
I shrug, because the truth—he shoots deer and drinks out of the stream—will only play into whatever shirtless ‘man of the woods’ thing she’s imagining.
January sighs. “I wish you’d all forgive him for taking me to the hospital. I thought your friendship was bigger than that.”
“Hey, you don’t get to go putting that on me. He went out there on his own.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a nutjob.”
“I don’t think Adriano’s a nutjob.” She rubs her St. Christopher, polishing the surface with her thumb. “Has he really strangled any women to death?”
I burst out laughing.
“Nico!”
“I’m sorry, you just make shit way too easy.”
“So you lied to me?”
The wounded look on her face makes me feel like an asshole. I reach across the center console and grab her hand. Touching her still feels like touching dry ice, but I force myself to keep going. “I’m sorry, Tits. After that gold star fuck, I should be worshiping your little body, not making you sad.”
Her mouth lifts. “Thank you.”
I hold her for a second longer and then pull away, resisting the urge to shake out my fingers like when you have a sprain. How? How is it so easy to fuck her in the ass and so hard to touch her gently?
January loops her St. Christopher chain over her neck and holds the tiny medallion in her hand. “I know you love him.”
“Huh?”
“Adriano. Even if you won’t admit it and you’re always rude to each other, I know you love each other. Eli and Bobby, too.”
I open my mouth to say something but decide not to bother. Let the girl have her ideas. A lively bluegrass song comes on the radio, and I turn it up again.
“Nap if you want to, Tits. I’ll wake you up when we get home.”
* * *
There’s a welcoming committee back at Velvet House. Bobby and Morelli, standing on the front steps glaring at us.
“Oh no,” January mumbles. “What do we do?”
“Test how strong our brotherly love is,” I tell her. “You make a break for it. I’ve got this.”
But she stays and gets out of the car when I do, her head bowed like the pretty little schoolgirl she is. Bobby takes her arm and checks her over like the mother hen he is. Morelli’s face is like thunder. “You took her to her Zia’s funeral.”
“I did.”
I could tell Morelli I fucked January in the asshole, too. But why make the guy’s head explode? Besides, telling him would be tacky. And nothing about what January and I did in that BMW was tacky.
“You.” Morelli rounds on January. “Upstairs. Now.”
This time she doesn’t protest, just nods meekly and skips away. I watch her go, glad what we did doesn’t seem to have hurt her. A half-smile curls my lips.
“Don’t you fucking smirk, you pezzo di merda.” Morelli points a finger in my face. “Did you ever, in your pestilent, rotting brain, consider I might have agreed to let you take her to the funeral if you’d discussed it with me?”
I rub my forehead, suddenly as tired as I was this morning. “Do you ever think that maybe it’s none of your business what I do?”
Morelli glares at me and I sense he’s not going to let up until I admit I was wrong.
“Fine, I fucked up. Send me to the gulag. Do whatever you want.”
His nostrils flare. “And the money?”
“What money?”
“The money you gave Teresa Calderoli’s daughters. A hundred thousand dollars each. Bobby found them raving about it in some email. It came from Velvet House.”
A small gasp makes me look up. January is hiding behind one of the marble pillars, a hand pressed to her mouth. That brat.
I return my gaze to Morelli. “I didn’t give the daughters shit. January and I went to the funeral and left. That’s all.”
“Then who…?”
The answer occurs to him at the same time it hits me. We turn to look at the forest edging the grounds of Velvet House.
“Adriano,” Bobby says. “Holed up by the river like the fucking Unabomber. Does he have power out there yet?”
“Nope, but he’ll have his phone.” I scratch my head. “It makes sense he’d pay out. He feels responsible for getting the old girl killed.”
“That’s on Parker.” Morelli sighs. “Do you think he’ll ever come back to the house?”
“I don’t know. And after what happened when his mom died, I wouldn’t risk going out there to ask.”
“He needs to be here for the contract signing. Parker won’t go along with it unless we’re all present.”
The front door slams and Morelli swears. “The girl was still here, wasn’t she?”
“Yup,” I say. “Wanna bet she’s changing into comfortable shoes?”
“She can’t go after Adriano,” Bobby says. “She’ll get lost. Eli, should I stop her?”
Morelli grimaces. “Dealing with you people will make me lose my hair, then where will we be?”
“In the same place,” I suggest. “But you’ll be less vain?”
He gives me a hard look. “I need you both in the dining room in fifteen. We have a thousand things to discuss. Leave the girl. She won’t be able to find Adriano, anyway.”
He turns on his heels and Bobby trails after him, leaving me staring at the forest. I gnaw at one of my fingernails. I sort of told January where to find Adriano. Three miles from the house by the stream. She’s not a girl scout, but I’ve underestimated her before. Christ knows what Adriano will do if she finds him. I pull out my phone and type.
January knows you gave her Zia’s kids money. Ready or not, here she comes, big guy.