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“I don’t trust that man. Not at all. He’s bad news. I can smell it!” Trix leaned across the surface, slapped away mine and Mercer’s entwined hands, and peeled the dough from the table. Not a tear in sight. “That’s perfect.”
She turned her back on us, taking her dough and ours, placing them out of our way and returned with a mixing bowl loaded with eggs and sugar. The bowl pirouetted to me, and a whisk followed.
“Mix.” She waved her arm, sure that I could do this without further instructions. Mercer felt the same, his heat leaving me as my arm moved to mix.
“I don’t think you should bring him here anymore. Not with a young lady in the house. He’s got an aura I don’t like.” Her warning was for Mercer, but her attention quickly moved to Ethan, a smile on her face as she said, “I much preferred your step-brother helping out. How is Gio doing?”
Mercer’s glare was like a bullet, shooting at his grandmother from the other side of the room.
“Do not ask of him while I’m in this house,” he warned with the keyboard back in hand.
“Mercer, hush. At one point, he was your best friend. He was here every day. I’m allowed to miss him.”
Fast fingers stabbed the touchscreen letters. “Not even his name is welcome here.”
“And yet you forgave Chandelle, welcomed her back into your bed after jumping into his.”
Another word. A final word. “Enough.”
The front door opened, revealing a heavy fall of rain. Goosebumps lined my body, creating a prickly exterior that wouldn’t protect me. It wasn’t the sudden turn of weather bringing them forth but the person who let the cold in. Cold Stare, or Damiano, as everyone else knew him.
Boots padded across the floor, and loud squelching sounds followed. Trix rolled her eyes, knowing she’d likely have to mop it.
“Hey, hey, look who’s out of the cell.” Damiano’s giant hand landed on my shoulder, stealing my balance. “And at the breakfast table.”
I clutched the table edge, desperate not to fall. Mercer and Ethan both moved in on me, but neither man put their hands on me. I shrugged off Damiano, hating the feel of his calluses snagging on my shirt and the sight of his dirty nails close to my face.
“Hey,” his heavy tone, loaded like a rifle, banged into my ear.
Stuttering breaths skated off my tongue. His hand pressed me down again, determined to have control over whatever happened between us. Mercer stepped in, acting like my hero. He clutched Damiano’s wrist, his short nails jabbing into a vein and causing pain. He used no words, but his stare was enough, and I turned just in time to witness the warning.
“Okay. Okay, man. Chill!” He pulled back, rubbing out the injury. “Fuck, talk about marking your territory. You’re one step away from pissing all over her.”
Damiano didn’t care about his choice of language, feeling no guilt for cursing in front of an old lady who was more than likely religious, judging by her clothes, jewelry, and love-all-life attitude.
“Anyway, I thought the reason she was here was to be terrorized? Was the pussy that good?”
No one answered, but I turned pink with shame, and Trix looked ready to kill.
And I wanted her to kill him. To beat this creep with her rolling pin until he couldn’t say any more vile things.
“Let’s get going, huh?” Ethan suggested, leading Damiano back out the door. “Bye, Nonna…Feebee.”
Neither of us said goodbye, too lost in our mutual hatred for Damiano.
Mercer took one look at me, a million things to say, the letters beneath his pulsing fingers ready for pushing, but all he gave me was a deep exhale and another layer of confusion before he followed Damiano’s dirty prints and slipped out the door.
Trix had left me to my own devices shortly after the boys left, and the dinner dishes were loaded into the oven. And it took me almost the entire time—twenty long minutes—to get from that barstool to my new chair. I didn’t ask for help, knowing her frail bones struggled to hold her weight, never mind mine.
And luckily, she didn’t hear the challenge it was for me, thanks to her choice of music.
I found her in an eclectic regency-style living room, snuggled on a fuchsia sofa, a soft blanket over her thin legs, listening as opera played loudly. Emotional, melodic leaps caressed the house...and me. It guided me here and pulled me in.
Pulled my attention back each time my eyes shot around to admire expensive furniture. Vast paintings covered so much of the walls, the metallic colors twinkling as twin chandeliers reflected off them, brightening up the dark wood.
They were the most beautiful designs I’d ever seen.
My gaze circled back to Trix. Her nail polish—a shade of pink so bright for a woman of her years—glowed in the autumn sunlight, once again peeping from behind pink clouds. The weather was weird today, but at least the rain had stopped.
