Outside the Lines by Lisa Desrochers Page A

different than anyone else. A decent line, a cocky smile, a drink or two had them dropping their panties for me whenever and wherever I wanted. For a year and a half, I was living large—sex, drugs, a party every night. But then Mom died and everything changed.
    The Delgado family mission became all about revenge. Pop dropped me headfirst into the bloody pool of the family business and I never looked back. Having my so-called personal life splashed across the society pages of the
Chicago Tribune
got old. I started pulling back from the social scene. Not that I didn’t indulge, I just kept it more low key.
    When I met Sophie, she was different. She seemed to have more self-respect than most, which made me respect her enough to take her out a second time, and then a third. She’s the only long-term relationship I’ve ever had, if six months counts as long term.
    As my eyes flick over the
People
magazine article under the picture, I hear shuffling behind me and turn to find Lee ushering Sherm through the door.
    When she sees me at the laptop, her eyes widen and she pales visibly. “I was just—”
    I give her a shake of my head, gesture with a subtle tilt of my head to Sherm, because I suddenly get it. She’s doing the same thing I am—pretending that this is our gig now, the whole time plotting her revenge. It’s not going to happen. This battle is mine alone. “Take him upstairs.”
    I’m not going to let my sister fall into the vengeance trap that ate our father alive. She’s perfectly capable of exacting revenge. She could probably get to the younger Savoca easier than any of the rest of us because they went to school together at Northwestern, but I wouldn’t survive if I ever saw Sherm look at her the way he looks at me. He can’t lose Lee too.
    If anyone’s going to rain hell down on the Savocas for what they’ve done to this family, it’s going to be me.
    She lowers her gaze and shuttles him up the stairs.
    After a minute, I follow and hear her talking to him softly behind her door. I open the door across the hall and find Grant still in bed.
    He lifts his head, gives me a sleepy squint. “Get the fuck out.”
    I go to his suitcase on the floor, which he still hasn’t unpacked, and find the last clean pair of boxers. I toss them at him, then dig for a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt. “Get dressed.”
    â€œBlow me,” he says, burying his face in his pillow.
    I rip the pillow out from under him, yank him up by the hair. “I said, get dressed.” I keep my voice low, because the last thing I want to do is upset Sherm more than I already have, but the look in my eye tells Grant I’m dead serious.
    His face pulls into a mask of pure hate. “And I said, blow me.”
    â€œSherm needs your help,” I say, letting him go.
    He cocks his head at me in suspicion. “What do you mean?”
    I turn for the door. “Get dressed and meet me downstairs.”
    Being born into the Life is like being born into royalty in some ways. There are privileges. Entitlements. That part of the Life suits Grant. In that world,
borgata
and
famiglia
are one and the same. The entire crew, from the consigliere all the way down to the muscle are your family. Before Mom died, our house was never quiet. The kitchen was always full of aromatic food and lively conversation, and there were never less than twelve at our dinner table. We stuffed ourselves on pasta and sauces Mom had simmered on the stove all day long as the aunts made matches for all us kids and the uncles talked White Sox. Business was never discussed until after, over cigars and cognac in Pop’s office. There’s no greater sense of belonging than when you’re part of an old Sicilian Mafia family.
    But the more I grew to understand the business, the more I realized I needed to protect my younger siblings from it. The only way I could protect Grant was