“This house is so cool,” my best friend Monique says as she wanders down the hallway. “Like everything is so tasteful and”—she runs a hand over the gold handrail of the huge marble staircase—“expensive.” She acts as though this is her first time seeing my house, but she’s been here at least a hundred times.
“Hmm.” I shrug. I barely notice any more. The house is massive, and it has everything a person might need, I guess. Huge gardens, a pool, state-of-the-art gym with a boxing ring, a home theater, game room, library. You name it. But what my best friend sees as luxury, I see as my overprotective brothers’ way of making sure I have as few reasons as possible to leave the house.
“Your house is amazing,” I remind her. I’m actually jealous of it. She lives in a beautiful four-bedroom house with a pool. But best of all, she lives with her mom, who’s hardly ever there, whereas I’m constantly surrounded by my family. Living with my two brothers and their wives makes it hard to get any privacy.
We make our way upstairs to my room, and Monique brushes her fingertips over the furniture and expensive artwork along the way, an expression of awe on her face. “Is this one new?” She stops in front of a painting of a ballerina, a Degas, in the hallway. It cost my brother a small fortune.
“Yeah. Lorenzo bought it for Anya.” I swallow the ball of sadness that lodges in my throat.
“I bet it cost a fortune. She’s so lucky.”
I don’t tell her that my wonderful, funny, kind sister-in-law isn’t lucky at all. She has terminal cancer, and we all have to watch her grow sicker and weaker by the day.
“You’re all so lucky, Jo,” she says with a wistful sigh. “I can only imagine what it’s like to be a Mafia princess.”
A Mafia princess. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I can never tell if that’s an insult or a term of endearment from her lips. She’s called me that for as long as I’ve known her. We’ve been best friends since we started high school, but even after all these years I can never quite figure out if she’s being nice or bitchy. That was probably what drew us to each other. I was just like her back then. We walked around Mercury High like we owned the goddamn school.
“You’re not exactly a peasant, Mo,” I say with a sigh. “Your dad left you and your mom with a fortune.”
“It’s not an endless pot of money though.” For a second, there’s a glimmer of something in her eyes that looks a lot like sadness. But she tosses her long blond hair over her shoulder and it’s gone.
Her mom does travel a lot. She’s always at some five-star resort in the Caribbean or somewhere exotic, and I suppose that eats into a fortune pretty quickly. Still, Monique has no idea how good she has it. She has so much freedom and independence, and I would trade this gilded cage for a little more of that any day of the week.
Monique lies on my bed, feet up against the wall as she twirls a tube of lip gloss between her fingers.
“Lex said she’ll meet us at ten. She’s bringing that douchebag, Nyx, with her too.”
Rolling my eyes, I continue to apply my makeup. Monique thinks any guy who isn’t into her is a douchebag. “He seems nice to me.”
“Ugh, he has a freaking ponytail.”
“Lex likes guys with long hair though. Besides, I’m pretty sure she’s not interested in him for his ponytail.” I grin. Lexi told me her new friend-with-benefits is amazing in bed, not that I’m going to tell Monique.
She laughs. “You think he’s got a huge dick?”
“Maybe.”
“Nah, he doesn’t,” she says, shaking her head.
I arch an eyebrow in amusement. “How would you know? You seen it?”
“No, but I know his type.”
“And that is?”
“Nice guys.” She shudders. “They’re only nice to girls because they have tiny dicks.”
I gape at her reflection in the mirror, incredulous. “You’re saying guys are only nice if they have small dicks?”
She gives a casual shrug. “Either that or they don’t know how to use them.”
“Jesus, Mo, your logic is so fucking twisted sometimes,” I snap, feeling defensive of our friend. Lexi’s happier than I’ve ever seen her, which is probably why Monique is being such a bitch.
“Oh, lighten up, Jo.” She releases a dramatic sigh. “Since when did you become such a fucking bore?”
I close my eyes and suck in a calming breath. I guess she isn’t wrong. This is the kind of shit we used to talk about all the time, but that was back in high school. We’re past that now, aren’t we? “Lex seems happy, is all. If she likes the guy, it doesn’t matter how big his dick is, right?” I say, trying to defuse the tension, because Monique and Lex are the only girlfriends I have.
“Not that you’d know anything about that though.” She snorts a laugh, and I roll my eyes, sorry I ever confided in her that I’m still a virgin. Ever since I did, she’s made it her one-woman mission to get me laid.
I toss my makeup sponge at her, and it bounces off her forehead. “Just because you’ve been dicked down more times than you can remember …”
Monique sits up, swinging her legs off the end of the bed, a wicked grin on her face. “Jealous?”
“Uh, no.”
“We’ll get you some good dick tonight, I can feel it.”
“I’m not looking for that.” I sigh and go back to my mascara. “Well, not exclusively.”
That makes her laugh out loud. “But if a nice fat dick were to present itself?”
“Depending on who it was attached to, maybe I’d consider taking it home.” I laugh too.
Monique gasps. “Can you imagine your brothers’ faces if you brought some stray home from the bar?”
“God, no,” I say, shivering at the thought.
“You can always use my place. In fact, you could stay over?”
“I can’t tonight. I watch Gabriella on Saturdays.”
She huffs. “So, have a week off. She’s not your kid, not your responsibility.”
I actually love taking care of my niece on Saturday mornings, and I was the one who suggested the arrangement. She’s five months old and I adore the beautiful little smooch. Plus, it allows Dante and Kat to sleep in and spend some time together, and that always puts my brother in a great mood. Which is a win for me because it makes him so much easier to manipulate. “It keeps Dante off my back,” I say, if only to avoid any more accusations that I’m boring. “And if we’re going to that new club tomorrow night, I need to keep him sweet.”
“Fine,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “If we can’t get you some good dick tonight, we’ll definitely get you some tomorrow.”
“You’re obsessed with dick.”
“No.” She gets off the bed and puts an arm around my shoulder, leaning down and checking her reflection in the mirror. “I’m worried about my best friend still being a virgin at the age of twenty-two.”
“It’s not that unusual,” I say.
“It is, Joey, and if you don’t pop that cherry soon, guys are going to think you’re a freak.”
I stare at my own reflection. I’m not a freak, am I? As much as I hate to admit it, Monique is right about one thing. I need to have sex with someone soon, preferably before I spend the family fortune on batteries. I’m pretty sure I could keep Energizer in business all on my own.
“Which hotties will be accompanying us tonight? Is Max tagging along?” she asks, seductively chewing on her lip. I wish I knew how she does that—she can switch from looking sweet and innocent to looking like a goddamn porn star in less than a second.
“Henry and Ash will be with us. No Max,” I say, trying to keep my disappointment out of my voice. I can’t go anywhere without armed guards—it’s one of the conditions my brothers attached when they conceded to allowing me more freedom.
“Ash is hot though,” she says with a pop of one perfect eyebrow.
I look at her like she’s lost her mind. “He’s like forty or something.”
“Hmm. Imagine all that experience.”
Ash has worked for my brothers for as long as I can remember. With his icy blue eyes and blond buzzcut, I can see why she’d be attracted to him, but he isn’t my type. I wrinkle my nose and she rolls her eyes. “Of course, he’s not Maximo.” She rolls his name on her tongue, dramatically clutching at her chest.
“Oh, stop.” I stand up and smooth my hands over my minidress. “Do I look okay?”
She tilts her head to one side and appraises me. Monique’s leather body con dress is way more revealing than my long-sleeved one. She looks hot, but then she always does, with her huge boobs, huge lips—both of which I happen to know are gifts from the local plastic surgeon rather than anything her momma gave her—and long blond hair. She could roll out of bed in a pair of pajamas with stale morning breath and still pull any guy she wanted.
She flutters her eyelashes. “I think Max would approve.”
I give her a playful shove. “Will you stop going on about Max.”
“But you are so hot for him, girl. You practically drool when you talk to him.”
“I do not,” I insist, grabbing my heels and slipping them on. “He’s like a third big brother. It could never happen.”
“Whatever you say.” The smirk she gives me makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Max would be just Monique’s type. I mean, who wouldn’t be into him? Tall, dark, stacked. Muscles and tattoos for days and more than a hint of danger—he’s a freaking walking wet dream. And even if he isn’t her type, she’d fuck him just to get one up on me. Note to self—remind the great Max DiMarco that your friends are off-limits.
