Stepping up onto the porch, Leyton smiled when he noticed a jack-o’-lantern sitting off in the corner. Max sure had come a long way if he was carving pumpkins to celebrate Halloween. And considering that particular holiday was now behind them, he wondered why it was still there.
“You ready for this, boss?” Rock asked with a smirk.
“No, but I’m here, ain’t I?”
“You might wanna keep that smile on that pretty-boy face of yours or Max’s woman’s gonna start askin’ questions.”
Rock was right. Leyton had learned if he wanted to avoid endless questions, he had to smile. Although he was certain Courtney saw right through his façade, a smile did keep her questions at bay. Most of the time, anyway.
“Don’t be a smartass,” Leyton offered with a grin.
“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have nothin’ to say,” Rock joked, his straight white teeth flashing back at Leyton as he grinned.
Rock—whose birth name was Taye Smith, though only his parents called him that—was Leyton’s right hand these days. They’d given the massive black man the nickname when they’d first met him after he applied for a bouncer job at Devil’s Playground six years ago. At six foot seven inches, two hundred eighty-five pounds, the guy had earned the moniker because when he wasn’t willing to move, there was no way of getting him to. Not only was he a beast due to his overwhelming size, he was also cocky and smart as hell. A triple threat, Dane—another of Max’s main enforcers—called him.
Ever since Leyton had been promoted within the ranks of the Southern Boy Mafia, becoming second-in-command—the underboss—he’d been required to give up his old job of security to the big boss, Max, and in turn had found himself with a bodyguard or two of his own. Rock was always at his side; his one and only job was to ensure Leyton didn’t get his head blown off. Or that was the way Leyton figured it, anyway. Not that he’d let anything happen to Rock, because, after all, over the last two and a half months, the two of them had become close friends.
It’d taken Leyton a few weeks to make the decision regarding which of their employees he wanted at his side, but Leyton had known all along who he would’ve preferred to watch his back. Rock was his first and only choice. Honest, loyal, but most importantly, he minded his own business.
No, choosing hadn’t been the issue. The problem he’d had was taking one of Max’s main enforcers away from him. They all knew that Max was the one who needed someone to watch his back these days. Being that Max was the official boss of the Adorite family—dubbed the Southern Boy Mafia by the news-hungry press known for glamorizing the dark underworld—he was always a target. Then again, the attempt on Leyton’s life last month had proven that he’d definitely taken to his job quickly. People were beginning to see him as a force to be reckoned with. As they should.
But now, as Leyton made his way up to the door of Max’s house, ready to have dinner, Leyton didn’t feel like anything more than part of the family. He felt at home. His best friend since the seventh grade, Max Adorite was more like a brother to Leyton than a mere friend or an employer. He respected Max more than anyone he’d ever met and owed his life to the man.
The door opened, allowing them entry, and Leyton nodded at Dane. Until recently, Leyton had lived in the same house with Max. In fact, Leyton had been living in the same house as Max since he was sixteen years old and Max had taken him in. Once Max had moved out of his parents’ house, Leyton had followed, moving into the official role as Max’s right hand and never looking back.
He would’ve been content with that position, too, but the Adorites had had other plans for him. Once Leyton had become underboss, Max had insisted he get his own place, and Leyton hadn’t argued.
Though, as he gazed around the bright foyer, he had to admit, he missed the place. The downfall of living on his own was that the loneliness ate at him more often than not, but he figured he’d get used to it over time.
When he stepped inside, Dane, the man who’d taken Leyton’s previous post as Max’s right hand, greeted him with a grunt. The guy looked far scarier than he actually was. After an attack a few months ago, Dane was left with a nasty scar that ran the length of his face. Odd though it was, the man was still attractive, despite the gruesome disfigurement. Though it had healed, it’d done some serious damage, leaving his face partially paralyzed, but Dane acted as though it didn’t bother him. At least when he knew people were watching. As for how he truly felt about the whole thing, Leyton didn’t know, because, although they’d worked together for years, the two of them weren’t that close. It was no secret that Leyton kept his personal life to himself, but the same could be said about Dane—only multiply that tenfold. Hell, having known the man for at least ten years, Leyton didn’t even know if Dane had any siblings or not.
With a couple of grunts of acknowledgment, Leyton and Rock made their way into the dimly lit dining room, where the others were already seated, fancy place settings lining the impressive table—handmade from aged Mexican kiln-dried pinewood—in front of each of them. Walter Smythe, the elderly man who managed the house and did most of the cooking, waltzed by after placing a platter of food—salsa chicken from what he could tell—in the center of the table.
“Sorry I’m late,” Leyton said, forcing a smile as sixteen pairs of eyes all regarded him.
His gaze instantly homed in on one Adorite in particular. Ashlynn.
The first thing he noticed was that she’d lightened her usually dark hair; the ends were now a shimmering gold while the roots remained dark. As though the woman could get any more beautiful than she already was, she still caused his heart to miss a beat every time he looked at her. The seductive grin she shot him had his blood pressure spiking and his dick taking immediate notice. As usual, he ignored his dick, pulling his attention back to the others.
“Problems?” Max inquired from his position at the head of the table.
“No,” Leyton answered simply. Not yet, anyway.
“Good.”
Dinner with the Adorites had become a weekly ritual, one enthusiastically enforced by Max’s wife, Courtney, and backed by her husband. As it turned out, the newest member of the Adorite clan was as much about family as Max was. Despite the fact Courtney had married Max and put a slight rift between her and her own family—the owners of the elite security company, Sniper 1 Security—she still spent one night a week at her parents’ house, with Max in tow, and one night a week making sure the Adorites gathered together.
It was working out well.
Sort of.
As long as Leyton didn’t look at Ashlynn or find himself in close quarters with her or Jase Malone, Ashlynn’s right hand, he was fine. That was getting more and more difficult, because Ashlynn and Jase were taunting him. Or so it seemed.
“Where’s Mom?” Brent asked, his elbows resting on the table, Stetson dangling from the chair post behind him.
“She’s comin’,” Max replied easily. “When Dane went to get her, she was on the phone with the realtor.”
“Did she get a contract on the house?” Brent inquired.
Max nodded.
“Thank God,” Madison, the youngest Adorite, said. “I thought it would never sell. Did she get asking price?”
“More,” Genevieve Adorite said as she stepped into the room. “The offer is for almost double.”
Genevieve—known to most people as Genny—was an attractive woman. At fifty-five, the hard years she’d spent with a ruthless, brutal man were evident on her face. Far thinner than she should’ve been, Genny seemed to be battling her way back from a deep, painful depression. She rarely joined them for the family dinners, but Leyton knew Max had been encouraging her. And when Max asked for something, most people couldn’t tell him no, not even his own mother.
“Holy fuck,” Brent said with a whistle.
“I’m tellin’ you,” Aidan’s gravel-laced voice filled the space, “someone’s gonna turn that place into a mob museum.”
“More power to ’em,” Genevieve added with a strained chuckle. Leyton noticed she never did look anyone directly in the eye.
Since Samuel Adorite’s death a couple of months ago, Genevieve had moved out of the house where all five of her children had been raised—not necessarily by her—and had bought a place of her own. Oddly, the woman who’d spent years drowning her pain in booze and sex, ignoring the life she hadn’t wanted in the first place, was recovering nicely. Turned out, Samuel hadn’t been particular about who he had abused. His wife, his children, the hired help, the family dog … they’d all been fair game. Now that he was gone, things had actually gotten better. Considering.