Pocketful of You : Book Three by Chloe Walsh

Author:Chloe Walsh [Walsh , Chloe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-08-26T18:30:00+00:00

10

Presley

Later that night, I was slumped in the corner of a makeshift bar in a warehouse located inside an abandoned quarry in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, minus Noah, who had to go home for dinner.

Apparently, the big guy was on a curfew, courtesy of his ball-busting wife, which left me alone with the pretty hitman, who seemed more interested in sexting his baby mama than talking through my feelings. Typical.

"Sweet mother of Madonna." Pushing my glasses up my nose, I gazed down at my former lover's neat handwriting and bit back a sob at the horror unfolding on the pages. "It's so much worse than I thought."

"Sure is, cowboy." With his feet resting on the table – highly unhygienic, may I add – Lucky continued to scroll through his cell while nursing a bottle of Budweiser.

"I have never, nor do I ever plan to saddle up a horse and play giddy-up around the pasture," I blurted out, having had quite enough of the aloof sex-god. "So, sir, unless you have nicknamed me cowboy as some sort of hilarious jokey reference to Brokeback Mountain because of my sexuality, which FYI, is totally shitty, not to mention homophobic, I strongly urge you to stop with the dang cowboy comments!"

He stared at me for a long moment before tossing his phone on the table. "When I call you cowboy, I'm referring to your accent," he finally said, giving me his full attention for the first time tonight. "I couldn’t give two shits what team you play for, kid."

"Good. Glad we cleared that up," I huffed, fixing my glasses. "Now, can we please get back to me?" I tapped on the journal before sliding it across the table towards him. "And the fact that I've just read some very traumatic information, not to mention exceedingly intimate confessions, regarding the affairs of the mob!"

It was all there in writing.

Everything my boyfriend had unearthed and was then murdered to keep hidden.

Chris, Romi, and Sketch were all children of criminals. And not just any criminals. Oh no, they were the baby-spawn of mobsters. Their entire lives had been a complete lie

Chris Sr. and Cal Dillon were both members of the Catalinian Mafia – one of the three oldest and most powerful mob families in Italy.

Worse, Sketch and Chris weren't twins.

They weren't even fucking brothers!

Dear Sibyl and Medusa's snake hair!

Sketch's real name was Jacob Toretto and he was the son of some mobster god or other, snatched away during an overthrow of power, and then raised by the Capaldis.

Lucky eyed me curiously. "I'm not sure if you want me to respond to that shit you just spurred or let you throw a fit…"

"Fit." Wailing loudly, I dropped my head in my hands. "Dear god, let me throw a fit."

"Then, by all means." He held up his hands. "Go right ahead."

I sniffled. "Thank you."

"No problem, cowboy."

"They killed him," I mumbled, trying to get my head around what I had learned tonight. "Because he figured it out."

"So much for loyalty," Lucky snorted, taking a drag of his smoke.

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