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Sadie Sorento and Brandon Avenetti were destined to be together. Their families were already planning the wedding of the Italian mafia prince and princess long before the pair had even star...
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There comes a time in every man's life when he realizes he's not as young as he once was. That he can't drink like he once did. Stay out as late as he used to. Party like his reputation precedes. For me, that moment comes when I wake up face down on the floor of my brother's bar, reeking of alcohol and bad decisions, twenty-five minutes before I'm supposed to be at the office.
Holy Shit. I've had blistering hangovers before but this feels like a whole new circle of hell. I'm barely awake, and I already feel it. I blink, trying to give myself a minute to adjust to the light, but it doesn't matter. It hurts all the same when they're fully open.
Groaning, I roll over and the neck of an empty beer bottle pokes into my back.
"Fuck." I hiss, taking it out from underneath me and shoving it to the side as I drag myself up so that I'm seated. The rush almost sends me right back down, though. My head throbs like someone took a pick ax to my temple in my sleep and I'm afraid if I move too quickly, I think I might throw up. Judging by the smell in here, someone already has.
I still have my dress shirt and pants on from work yesterday, but the button-up is completely undone. I cringe when I notice the lipstick smeared kisses across my chest and vaguely recall Alex passing a few hundreds to a stripper to loosen me up and that's where things start to get hazy.
My youngest brother Eli is home on a short break from college, and it isn't often that all three Avenetti brothers are in the same place at the same time. That's why I let him and Alex convince me to come by for a few drinks. A few drinks turned into about fifteen and that turned into...well, I don't don't even know what.
If history is any indication, it got wildly out of hand, and I'm sure I did more than a few things I regret. My ego won't take quite as much of a hit if I can't remember them.
For a man that can handle his alcohol, this is a very humbling experience. Alex and I certainly abide by the mantra work-hard-play-harder, but usually I respect my limits. Apparently that didn't happen last night, though. The mess that I just woke up to is irrefutable proof of that. The bar is trashed. Bottles and cans and clothing are strewn all across the floor. There are broken stools tipped over and glass shards glisten on the floor as harsh sunlight creeps in. I don't even let myself think about all the diseases I must have contracted on this floor last night. We must have had quite a party.
It takes me a minute to realize that the ringing in my ears is, in fact, my phone and not just from this mammoth hangover. Reaching over, I shut it off before the shrill sound can make my headache even worse than it already is.
Alex is a few feet away from me curled up in the fetal position and clearly in just as much pain as I am. Eli never even made it off the stool, resting his head on his arm as he leans forward onto the bartop and snores like a goddamn bear.
"Hey!" I yell, hoping to rally my brothers. It's already 830, and Alex and I are due at the warehouse to meet our father at nine. Not to mention there will be fiery hell to pay if Dad walks in and sees how drunk we got our baby brother last night. Eli is three short weeks away from graduating college, and he was supposed to be on the road back to school by now.
