“How could I have? You probably wouldn’t have believed me anyway.”
“I know, but, Mom, the mob?”
She frowned at me. “It’s not what you think.”
“It’s exactly what I think.”
“It’s stressful for Arturo, you know. They lost some important shipment recently.”
“I heard something about that, I think,” I said, cocking my head. “Shipment of what, though?”
She laughed sweetly. “Who knows? Cocaine, heroine, probably something like that.”
I sighed. “And that’s okay with you?”
“It’s a business, honey. There’s a demand, so they supply it.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. Truthfully, I wasn’t exactly morally against everything the mob did. I knew they probably did some pretty awful things and broke some laws, but they were businessmen at the very core of things. But what really bothered me was the danger we were in just being in their family.
Camille had a knack for ignoring anything that was bad or wrong. She was incredibly single-minded when she wanted to be and would follow any path to achieve her goals.
And as I looked around, I knew that her goals had been pretty much achieved. She wanted wealth and power, and now she had some.
“Please try and get along with everyone,” she said. “I hear you’ve been close with Lucas.”
My head snapped over at her. “Who said that?”
She laughed again. “Calm down. It’s okay. You’re allowed to be friends with a mobster.”
I took a deep breath. She didn’t know anything, clearly. She thought I was freaked out because he was a mobster, not because I was married to him. And because of some very wrong and very exciting flirtation.
“I know that,” I said. “He’s just my stepbrother.”
“Good. And did you meet your stepsister?”
I nodded. “Briefly, yes.”
She frowned. “Well, good. I haven’t yet.”
“You will soon enough.”
“I hear she’s very strange.” She leaned in to speak quietly, conspiratorially. “I hear she’s crazy. Doesn’t leave her room, talks to herself all day. Attacks the staff sometimes.”
I frowned at her, annoyed. My typical mother, gossiping already. Fortunately I had already met Louisa, and I knew that most of that wasn’t true. Sure, she never left her room, and she probably did attack the staff, but she wasn’t crazy.
“She’s a nice girl,” I said. “Just a little misunderstood.”
Mom nodding knowingly, which only annoyed me more. “Well, I look forward to meeting her.”
“I’m sure.”
Mom stood up. “Okay, I’m off to do some work. Don’t exert yourself too much today.”
“Okay. See you.”
She waved, oblivious to how annoyed I was, and headed back up toward the house.
I watched her disappear inside. Suddenly the pool didn’t seem like a comfortable, relaxing place anymore. I was agitated and annoyed, and the last thing I wanted to do was sit around and stare at the stupid water.
I stood up, pulling on a T-shirt and a pair of jean shorts over my bathing suit. I tossed my magazine, phone, and headphones into my bag. I slipped my feet into my sandals.
My mind kept going back to Lucas and the mob. How did I feel about that? Camille had mentioned a shipment of some sort, and she even thought it was of drugs.
What did I think about that? Was I okay with being a part of a family that sold drugs?
I genuinely wasn’t sure. It was all so complicated, so complex. I doubted Lucas was actually out there selling drugs to people, but his family did likely have dealings in it.
Upset, I decided to just go for a walk and try to calm myself down.
I headed toward the barns, my mind still on the mafia, drugs, shipments, and violence.
Chapter Twenty: Lucas
“We must smoke the rat fuck out and kill him soon.”
I leaned back in my padded chair, listening to the other captains bicker and argue about the shipment issue. Arturo had called a meeting of the head of the family to discuss our potential moves.
Which only annoyed me. It was supposedly my operation and my problem, and Arturo had called the meeting anyway. The captains were mainly a bunch of old men, though there were a few sharp and young guys in the mix, men that I respected.
Still, it was my job, and my call. I didn’t appreciate hearing idiotic and obvious suggestions from the other captains.
“How though?” asked Ernesto, an older, balding man.
“We can offer money,” suggested Alfonse. He was sitting across from me, wearing an expensive suit and idly chewing on a cigar like the biggest cliché in the world.