Page 71 of Hot Momosa
“Ho-lee-shit.” Dante sat upright without taking his eyes off his phone. “Uh, Leo…I think you have a problem, man.”
“What?” My first thought was something happened to Dahlia and Gunnar.
Dante shoved his phone in my face. He’d loaded the same webpage that Julia had sent me.
My brain misfired. “What the fuck?”
“He’s yours, right?” Dante squinted.
“Yeah he’s mine.” However, the internet claimed Harrison-fucking-Meriwether was Gunnar’s biological father. The reporters had gone so far as to include a photograph of the lying SOB with my son and Dahlia.
Dante lowered his voice. “One look at the kid and I knew he was a Marchionni.”
I tore my gaze from the phone. “Why didn’t you say anything when you dropped off the tree and fish?”
He shrugged. “I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”
“Leo! A little help over here!” Gabe planted the rod against his navel. Bad move unless he wanted to lose a testicle or two when it slipped, and it would slip.
“Enzo, help Gabe. He needs a fighting belt,” I shouted, but he and Marco had disappeared, likely to find more beer.
“Christ.” I hurried behind Gabe to fasten the contraption around his waist. However, I would have had an easier time dressing Gunnar, in a vinyl suit, covered with bacon grease. “Hold still.”
“I’m trying.” He twisted at the same time the fish tugged and nearly lost his footing. “Son of a bitch.”
Dante peered at us. “What the hell is that thing?”
“It’s a gut-bucket.” I held up the belt and motioned to the cup mounted on the plastic plate. “The rod goes in the butt pad. It gives you leverage and helps with fatigue.”
Dante cracked up. “Gabe knows all about shoving his rod in padded butts.”
At some point during the commotion, Enzo and Marco had returned. My idiot brothers roared in laughter and tossed around phrases like double bubble, bedonkadonk, and cushion for the pushin’.
“Leave my wife’s ass out of it.” Gabe ground his teeth.
Normally, I’d laugh along with them, but I had more important things on my mind. Things like planning a homicide.
“Put the damned thing on me.” He made a considerable effort to remain still.
I fastened the belt around Gabe’s waist.
“It looks like a strap on.” Marco snickered.
Gabe heaved the pole back and reeled as if his life depended on it. “Thanks, Leo. The rest of you can fuck off.”
“I need to make a call.” I figured I had five, maybe ten minutes of man versus fish before he’d give up and spelled off the reel to me or one of our brothers.
Ignoring them, I walked into the cabin and dialed Dahlia. The call went straight to voice mail. I scrolled through my contacts and called Stuart next.
“Leo. Did you get my texts?” He sounded as frustrated as I felt.
“No.” Damned satellite communications. The system had cost a fortune. “What’s up? Where’s Dahlia? I need to speak to her.”
“She had me take her to Baton Rouge.” He grumbled something under his breath. “Listen. She got a package this morning. She wouldn’t let me see it, but whatever it was upset her.”
“What do you mean she wouldn’t let you—” I pinched the bridge of my nose and forced myself to calm down. “You’re right. She’s a guest, not a prisoner. Did you catch the return address?”
“There wasn’t one, and the box wasn’t postmarked. I found it outside the condo door shortly after you left.”