Dark Saint [Romano Brotherhood, #1]

36 | Santo

I sit in a car so tightly packed that on my right, Mantus's elbow digs into my side and on my left, Angelo's thigh is pressed to mine.

It's fucking uncomfortable.

"My touch is making you uncomfortable?" Angelo notices, of course. I scowl. Why'd he have to say it like that? "I thought we were closer than that."

I maintain my gaze fixed straight ahead. "I'll never be close enough to you that I enjoy the feeling of your thigh touching mine. Can you move over?"

"I have no room," he says gleefully.

"You must have at least an inch."

"Really don't."

"You're spreading your legs in an unnecessary way. Surely you're not so gifted that you need to be doing that."

I can practically feel his face turn down into an annoyed scowl, and it brings a satisfied smirk to my face.

"Hey man, does your girl, like, have a fucking issue with me?" Mantus nudges me. The fucker actually sounds sad. "I've apologized for what happened that day. Although, honestly man, that shit was your fault. It's fucking weird that you didn't tell her shit. I don't know about anyone else in here, but I thought you two were pretty serious—"

"I was an asshole. It was my fault." The amount of shit she puts up with from me no doubt surpasses acceptable levels, and I feel worlds behind in giving her what she actually deserves. Even with having recently had my ass kicked into gear, is someone like me too far gone? I can't think of any stretch of time that would be too long to spend with her. But a lifetime is a lifetime more than I deserve. And it's a long fucking time. The chances that I'd fuck up, colossally, are too great.

Thoughts of Nina leaving are not things that should be volleying through my brain right now. Recovering from the unexpected sting of my vulnerable thoughts, I tack on "and I would prefer you didn't reflect on my relationship. It's unnecessary."

Undeterred, Mantus gives a blissful sigh. "Never thought I'd see the day that you'd utter those words. My relationship. Shit, man."

Glowering, I shove his elbow away from my gut. Feeling a prickle, I turn to find Angelo giving me a knowing look.

"You let her decide if you're worth it. Don't jump the gun and do it yourself, because you'll always decide wrong."

My throat practically feels like it's closing up, and I awkwardly clear it. How does he always do that—speak to the crux of the issue when I've hardly revealed anything? The only possible explanation is that he's been through this himself, and I think of his dead wife and I look at him with a newfound sadness.

But a car packed with Made Men is not the place to have a fucking therapy session about my relationship, so I look away before he can read into the other things I'm not saying.

"Could we not have taken a bigger car?" Tommaso bitches from somewhere behind me. "I don't want to be listening to Santo's grumpy ass the whole way there."

"We would have," Simo cuts in calmly, "had you not—"

"If someone tells me I shouldn't have driven the other vehicle into the fountain one more fucking time—"

"Well, you shouldn't have. Why would you even—" I gape when I feel a sharp slap at the back of my head. "Did you just fucking slap me?"

Angelo chokes on laughter next to me and I can practically feel Tommaso's saccharine grin, but don't even have the room to turn around and slap the motherfucker back.