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“What else have you been teaching her while I’ve been gone?”
Buckling Violet into her car seat, I give her a kiss on her forehead and climb into the driver’s seat. “Maybe to have better aim than you.”
She pretends to be offended. “This again? I shot you in the ass. Would you prefer if I’d circled around to the front?”
I glance in the backseat, making sure Violet is asleep. “Dick threats are not funny, rook.”
She just smirks and tucksa lock of her short blonde hair behind her ear.
Five years later, and I’m still not used to her being a blonde. I don’t like it, but it’s a necessary evil. Just like the long hair that’s currently tied at my nape and driving me batshit is necessary. Like the contact lenses that turn her eyes blue and my eyes brown are necessary evils.
With death comes sacrifice.
As we make our way back to our villa in Sorrento, Angel tells me all about her trip to Los Angeles. I just shake my head. I don’t know why she feels the need to do this every year. To me, it’s tempting fate a little too much, but she claims it’s something she just has to do.
Who am I to question that?
Each time, she always takes the Infamous Hollywood Murders Bus Tour and strikes up random conversations with other ticket holders, especially when the tour stops outside the gates of the Romanov estate. Twenty years after the original murders, it’s still a hotspot and source of heated controversy.
People are free to think what they want. Only two people know the details of what happened that night, and as far as the world is concerned, both of them took it to the grave.
By the time we make it to the villa, Violet is wide awake. Once inside, she grabs her newest treasure, a pink teddy bear, and holds it high above her head while skipping around.
Shit.
I meant to intercept that before Angel got back, but with all the excitement, it slipped my mind. An oversight which has come back to bite me in the ass.
Angel folds her arms across her chest. “Where did she get that?”
I scratch the back of my head, trying to come up with an answer that doesn’t sound pulled out of my ass, when my sweet, angelic-faced daughter sells me the fuck out.
“It’s from Nonny Moose!”
Traitor.
Angel shifts a narrowed gaze toward me and cocks an eyebrow. “Nonny Moose, again, huh?”
Of all the times for my kid to not throw out some weird English-Italian hybrid shit, she chooses now.
Angel smiles at Violet, her voice gentle. “Go set up a tea party, Vi. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Violet’s pale blue eyes brighten. “Okay, Mama.”
As soon as Violet is out of earshot, Angel purses her lips. “Another ‘anonymous’ delivery?” Shaking her head, she chuckles and turns to face the glass door where she stares out at the Mediterranean. “Luciano is spoiling her.”
She’s not wrong. Violet looks forward to her monthly surprises from the man she’s called “Nonny Moose” ever since hearing Angel and I refer to the sender as anonymous.
I have no idea how he found us, or how he knows Violet even exists. But I’m not surprised. He has always been our protector. Not even death could break a habit like that.
Apparently, death can’t break the chains of a lost love, either. According to news reports, a shell corporation purchased the Romanov estate shortly after Rubio had Alexandra declared dead.
However, no one has ever moved in or claimed ownership. The corporation simply maintains the property and provides for the staff.
But Angel and I know it was never the lure of owning a piece of Hollywood history that prompted the purchase. It was the memorial bench tucked away near the back of the estate.
After thirty-seven years, Luciano finally found his deli girl. He’d never let anyone keep him from her again.
Walking up behind Angel, I slip my arms around her waist and tug her against me. “Of course, he’s spoiling her. She’s his granddaughter.”
