and great-grandfather also adorned that eye roll worthy of a title once upon a time. It sounds stupid to me; though I’ve been told my great-grandfather loved seeing it next to his name in newspapers back in the day.
My dad usually goes by Tony or Boss, nothing too formal, but Don Caputo isn’t a term unheard of in my house from time to time by associates of his. He reigns over the Northeast and Midwest region of the United States, after all—a rank he doesn’t take lightly. Soon he’ll own the southern region and then only the West remains left to be claimed.
My gaze roams to my left, catching the bartender’s head as it snaps up at seeing my presence. Bennett’s eyes meet mine for all of two seconds before I hear a curse slip from his lips. Glancing down, I witness the draft beer he’s dispensing into a pint glass overflowing, the amber liquid running over the top of his hand about the same time Matteo and Vin see me approaching their table. The dumb-fuck in front of Matteo is oblivious to my approach, and continues to run his mouth when the other two at the table have stopped talking, their gazes tracking me.
I don’t bother asking if I can take a seat before I wrap my left hand around the top of the chair to Levi’s right, snatching it backward, the legs making a scraping sound as I drag it against the dirty concrete ground. Vin’s hazel eyes narrow when they reach my irritated dark gaze. It could be the dim lighting in this bar, but they appear light brown today, like muddy water.
“What’s up, Sienna?” Vin asks, a cautious undertone evident in his question while his eyes are silently saying, what the fuck are you doing here?
I sit my jean-clad behind down, placing both of my elbows on the table, ignoring the way the top tips toward my side at the unevenness of either the floor or the table legs. My eyes never veer from Vin, both of us silent for at least ten seconds before his mouth goes to open again.
“Don’t,” falls from my lips. “I told you, Vin. I told you on four different occasions not to bring Levi into your business, and four times you said, ‘fuck you, Sienna.’”
“Stop right there,” he spits out, his face heating. Vin has blond hair with a touch of red—or maybe it’s strawberry-blond—with fair skin. The tiniest amount of irritation always makes his face flush, his skin reddening like the snap of fingers. “I never said—”
“Your actions say otherwise,” I fire back, cutting him off. “You may have not verbally said the words, but how else should I take it when I explicitly told you that he was going to fuck you over, and you disregard my warning?”
“What the fuck, you little bitch? If you have a problem—” The sound of King’s voice amplifies my rage, but to the naked eye he wouldn’t realize that; none of them would. I’m good at hiding what I’m feeling. It’s a skill I’ve perfected over the years; training that my father personally taught me from a young age.
My eyes can’t help themselves as they flick to Matteo at that very thought. Our gazes briefly meet before I turn my head, my dark irises hardening when they land on the lowlife sitting next to me.
“Don’t speak to me,” I warn Levi with a quick shake of my head, cutting him off before he finishes a sentence that’s bound to spike my temper even more than he already has.
Before I can open my mouth to continue my conversation with Vin, Levi decides to say ‘fuck your warning’ by opening his trap again. “Look, cunt—”
My left elbow lifts off the table, connecting with his mouth, physically not allowing him to finish his sentence. The impact sends a jolt of pain through my upper arm and over my shoulder. My ass is out of the chair the next second, my fingers plunging into his mop of dirty-blond hair as my nails claw at his scalp. I tighten my grip, fisting my hand around a chunk of his greasy strands. With force, I slam his forehead down on the hard surface of the table, making their pint glasses tip over and crash to the ground.
“I said, don’t speak to me. That wasn’t a request. It was an order, you stupid fuck,” I seethe, inches from his ear.