Chapter 5 Not To Mess Up

• Noah squares his shoulders and turns his head toward Hunter. Hunter squinted his eyes and smirked at the flames, something only a best friend could do, especially considering the baseball bat he referred to was sitting on the floor at his feet.
• “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
• But he does.
• Hunter knows Noah is pissed off about his lost business, but he also knows he has a thing for Stella, who also happens to be Elle’s best friend. He didn’t want the competition making a play for Stella, and he knew that she was also one of the reasons he ratted out Romano.
• Sometimes, he thinks Noah just wanted an excuse to get him out of the picture, not that he needed one since it was apparent she was interested in Noah and not his nemesis.
• “Yeah, well, if you didn’t want her to screw him way back when you should have told her how you felt. You’ve been carrying this torch for years.” Look at him, the irony of doling out relationship advice. As if he got a fucking leg to stand on.
• Noah shrugs. “I don’t care that he nailed her. It happened a long time ago. Besides, we…I mean, she’s busy with school, and I have my shit to deal with. You know how things go.”
• “Bullshit. Something happened between you guys at Thanksgiving when she was home. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
• Noah can deny it all he wants, but he can't take being knocked down a notch. It all boils down to the perception of weakness. Nobody will notice if you act as if you don't care, even when you do. Hunter, on the other hand, can see the truth even if he cannot confess it.
• When remorse eats away at your insides, chewing up your heart until it's shredded like the dreams you've long abandoned...It's difficult to pretend you don't care. He is aware. He attempted four months ago and again last night.
• It still hurts, no matter what he gets done, how hard he works, or how many women he screws to escape his reality. It never worked. It didn't take away the recollection of Elle's lips on his.
• It never replaced their delusional idea of an ordinary future together. He drank, snorted, and fucked. It had no effect. Nothing relieved the agony. Nothing could fill the hole. Nothing could calm his soul. Even though she was his salvation, he felt forced to distance himself from her.
• And he knows Noah suffers from the same affliction even though he refuses to admit it.
• It's sometimes best to suffer in silence. They all have their crosses to carry, and they play with the cards they were dealt. He has a Mercedes SK550 parked outside his house, a Rolex on his wrist, a boat off the coast of Boston, and two residences full of enough gadgets to launch his film production company. He is aware that he has a decent life.
• But it’s always missing something…the one thing he can never have because the price is too high to pay.
• Noah drums his fingertips on the black lacquered desk and snickers. “It doesn’t matter. I’m over it. Don’t worry, and I promise not to have the cops breathing all over you when Nikolov ends up at the bottom of the East River.”
• Hunter cocked an eyebrow. “You already have the drop point set, huh?”
• Noah winks at him. “You know I’m a planner.”
• “Stop acting like a deranged lunatic and tell me about the delivery.” Hunter rubbed the back of his neck and let out a deep sigh. He got next to no sleep last night, and he wants to head home for a few hours before tonight’s star-studded event kicks off.
• He can’t leave Noah on his own for too long, or shit will go sideways fast. Sometimes, it would be nice to have a business associate on staff who wouldn’t beat the ever-loving fuck out of a patron or two in a wild fit of rage over something as ridiculous as failing to acknowledge the great Noah Rossi.
• But then again, his best friend isn’t known for his even temper. He’s known for landing guys in the hospital for even looking at the female company he keeps.
• Once, he slapped some moron with a tire iron because he asked Noah’s date for a lighter. And Hunter knows for a fact that smoking wasn’t anything the guy thought about for months after they reconstructed his bashed-in face.
• “They sent everything they were supposed to…” Noah’s voice trails off, and his expression hardens.
• “But?” Hunter can see there’s a but coming. There always is.
• “But they wouldn’t give me any of the paperwork. Said they’d only deal with you.” He slams a fist on the desk and drains the rest of his beer. “It’s pissing me off, Hunt.”
• Hunter took a long breath and settled into his ergonomic yet luxe leather swivel chair. “Noah, you know it takes time.”
• “Yeah, well, I don’t have time. I’m tired of being on the outside of everything going on right now. My old man is up my ass to get into some legitimate shit, but nobody’s interested.”
• Hunter says nothing, but a million thoughts race through his mind. Bloody images, brutal confrontations, drunken, gun-wielding threats, too many shots fired too many bruised egos.
• Is it any shock that nobody wants him on their turf?
• Even though the families in our organization band together, everyone has their own separate interests. The Rossi’s interests were the Morettis’ interests until Noah’s hotheaded father tried to double cross Hunter’s dad.
• That dumb fuck had it made. All he needed to do was keep his mouth shut and follow simple instructions. But no. He needed to make the rules. He needed to make his mark with the drugs. He thought he’d become Gudechili’s golden boy. His plans backfired.
• And now, Noah and Massimo are both scrounging. They were safe until Victor died. Now they’re trying to figure out how to maintain their cushy fucking existence.
• Hunter did what he could for Noah since he needed to keep him close anyway. But Massimo dug his own grave, and there’s no way he was sticking his neck out for him.
• “You need to give it some time. This is a good place for you to be, to meet people, establish credibility, and learn the ropes. Trust me, when everything blows over, you’ll be in high demand.”
• “Yeah, but I want my shot now. I don’t want to wait. You know how things go. You either get taken out, or you stay in one place for too long, and then everyone forgets about you.”
• “Not if you’re involved with Faux. Nobody will ever forget about you. Besides, I don’t think anyone’s going to take you out. You’d already be dead if that were the case,” Hunter said, knowing full well that Noah has pissed off more than enough dangerous people to be six feet under right now.
• Noah’s only saving grace was Victor, and now that he’s gone, he’s trapped like a rat in a maze. He doesn’t know who’s rounding the corner, and even with Hunter on his side, he knows Noah is silently panicking. And he would be, too.
• He lets out a loud groan and collapses against the back of his chair. “I’m sorry, man. I know you have enough of your shit going on. You don’t need to deal with mine, too. I’m not the one paying you.”
• “Hey, you’ve just got to trust me. Hang tight for a little while. Tell your dad to get off your ass, that you’ve got a plan. You don’t want to go on a plane to Sicily, do you?” Hunter smirked and fired the football back to him after he nailed him with it.
• “Sometimes…” Noah’s head falls into his hand. “Sometimes, I think I’d like that. No pressure, the best bread and wine on the fucking planet, hot Italian pussy for days. The life, man.”
• The life. Interesting choice of words. It’s the hand they were dealt, and now they need to figure out how to play the cards to win it all.
• Hunter watched him for a moment. It’s rare for Noah to display humanistic tendencies. He’s usually swinging around a baseball bat, not in a Babe Ruth way. It’s more like a Goodfellas kind of way.
• He stands, the bottom of the chair scraping against the wood floor. “I’m getting out of here for a few hours. I need to crash for a while. I’ll be back before the party starts.”
• Noah nods and follows him out of the office. Hunter grabbed his coat from a chair by the door and turned toward him. “Don’t drink all the booze before the guests arrive.”
• He salutes Hunter. “I’ll be sure to save them some, don’t worry.”
• Hunter clicked the key remote to start his car, walked into the frigid afternoon air, and pulled the collar of his wool coat up. The tiny hairs inside his nose were frozen when he pulled open the door to his car. He slides into the plush leather seat and pulls out his iPhone.
• Stupid ass choices. He had a mile-long list himself, so who was he to throw stones?
• He has responsibilities—a lot of responsibilities. So, he must not mess it all up.
• He ran his fingers through his hair and jabbed the keyboard, ready to screw everything up with a few screen clicks.
• Why not simply add to his ever-expanding list?