The Underboss

"All I hear about his boss is shit."

"Language, Anton!"

I slumped further against the couch as my mother's shrill warning drifted across the kitchen and into the living room. My fingers fumbled across the sleek remote, a sign of my suppressed anxiety.

My older brother was bringing his boss over for dinner. Despite the fact that I had never met Nick's boss, I heard plenty about him. Well, that wasn't all true. Nick only praised his boss and never divulged anything personal. But I remembered all those Christmases and holidays when Nick had to stay after-hours for his boss as well as those late nights when he'd come home looking like shit.

I guess the real reason I despised his boss was because he took my brother away from me. Ever since Nick started working for the man, he'd distanced himself from me-from our family. Our friendship had weakened and stretched thin the exact day Nick came home, sharing the news that he worked for Luciano Romano.

Luciano Romano.

The man was an asshole.

His name even sounded like he'd be an arrogant prick.

I clenched my jaw. "Do I really have to be here? I have homework to do for tomorrow."

My father stood in front of the television as he adjusted his tie. His height was impressive. Being around him and my brother gave me the constant reminder that I was the smallest of the family and not likely to grow anytime soon, if at all. I gazed up at him casually, feigning boredom at his daunting, looming presence.

"You've never taken such an interest in homework before. You should have done it earlier when you got home." He knotted the black tie around his neck. "You'll do well to behave in front of Mr. Romano, Anton. Do you understand me?"

His dark, brown gaze drilled into mine, and while I tried to challenge his stare, I found myself powerless. Reluctantly, I dropped my gaze, knowing when to push and when to heel. Though, to be honest, it was always submission with him.

"Yes, father," I responded dully.

Through lowered lashes, I watched him walk away, taking his tall, dark, and handsome looks with him. My family were all tall and beautiful with dark hair and eyes. I, on the other hand, was gifted with messy dark-blond hair and green eyes. My height also left much to be desired. I stood exactly two inches shorter than my own mother.

It-I-was an anomaly.

My mother proclaimed I took after my grandmother.

My paternal grandfather moved from Italy to America. Here, in New Jersey, my grandfather and father had built a name for the Contis. I don't know much about my heritage, hell, I didn't really care about the family name. I was only half-interested when I learned my grandmother was a British woman with blonde hair and green eyes.

She was a good woman, and not one who should have met the end that she had.

She, along with my grandfather, had been murdered a few years prior.

A commercial for cheap airfares caught my attention, reminding me that I was leaving the house this summer. I was currently seventeen and attending my last year at high school. I had been offered a full scholarship to the University of California Los Angeles for my grade point average and entrance exam scores, as well as my speed on the track team.

Before I could get lost in the world of realty tv, the doorbell rang.

In the kitchen, I heard my mother hurriedly finishing off her lemon bars. Her heels clicked across the marble floor and toward the entryway. We were all dressed up for this meaningless dinner. My ratty jeans had been thrown in the trash by my father when I first attempted to wear them tonight. I would have to remember to salvage them before they went out to the bin.

My fingers tugged irritably at my dress shirt and ironed trousers. When my stomach growled with anticipation, I was reminded of the only reason I was looking forward to this evening. My mother didn't cook often, especially not Italian food, usually leaving the cooking up to a personal chief we hired occasionally or boxed Mac 'n' Cheese and frozen vegetables.

I had to savor this as much as possible.

"Anton!" my mother called in a sing-song voice.

I could hear the warning in her sugary tone. Of course she would pull me away from the background and into the uncomfortable spotlight. Hell, if it were up to me, I would ask for a plate of dinner and sneak upstairs. It wasn't like I had anything insightful or meaningful to add to the conversation tonight.

Rubbing my sweaty palms on my pants, I stood up and slowly made my way up to the entrance way. The crystal chandelier sparkled in the dim atmosphere, casting dizzying shadows across the small foyer.

I faltered.

In my imagination, Mr. Romano was an old guy with balding hair and a big belly hanging over his pant line. But he stood before me, appearing just a bit older than my brother, who just turned twenty-years-old. What kind of job did my brother have that would involve heeding orders from someone so young? I wasn't told much about Nick's job, only that it paid decent and involved accounting and law.