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“Gino, we literally just stepped inside the door. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Yaya.” I looked at the woman who answered the door. “She isn’t fine, right?”

“Uh . . . I hadn’t really noticed⁠—”

“That’ ’cause you ain’t payin’ attention. Yara, go sit down,” I ordered.

She shook her head incredulously before she looked at Mrs. Larson. “Is it okay if I sit?”

“Of course.”

Good answer, I thought. If she had refused, I would have turned this bitch upside down and lost a client. Fuck if I cared.

We walked into the living room where a worn leather couch sat in front of a mounted TV. Yara sat down. As soon as she was comfortable, I looked at Mrs. Larson. “Where’s the kitchen?”

“I wasn’t planning on remodeling the kitchen just yet⁠—”

“I ain’t ask all that. Where’s the kitchen? She needs some water.”

“Gino, I’m fine,” Yara hissed.

I looked at her like she was crazy because why the hell was she hissing at me like that?

I ignored her and looked at Mrs. Larson, waiting for her to respond.

The woman looked flustered as her gaze bounced between me and Yara. I cleared my throat and tapped my foot impatiently. “The kitchen?” Then I realized this woman was probably hard of hearing. “Oh, my bad. Where is the kitchen?” I shouted at the top of my lungs, though I stood only two feet away from her.

Mrs. Larson jumped and covered her ears as Yara hopped off the couch. “Gino!”

I looked down at her in concern. “What? What’s wrong?”

My hand automatically went to her stomach as if my touch alone could cure her pain.

She stilled at the touch of my hand on her belly and my other hand rubbing circles around her back. When she seemed to find her voice, she said, “I-I’m fine, Gino, but why the hell are you shouting?”

I glanced at Mrs. Larson and then whispered, “I think she’s hard of hearing.”

Yara’s mouth hung open, and she shook her head. “She’s not hard of hearing, Gino.”

My brows rose. “How you know? She ain’t exactly listening when I speak.”

“You realize you’re in her home demanding things like it’s yours?”

I blinked at her, and then over my shoulder, I asked in a normal tone, “Aye, Mrs. Larson, can you hear me?”

I jumped slightly when the woman actually responded.

“Y-yes.”

“Well then why the hell you got me shouting in here? That shit kinda hurt my throat. You don’t got a kitchen or somethin’? Shit. Now I need some damn water.”

“I-I’ll go get you guys some waters.” Mrs. Larson scurried out of the room.

I shook my head. “God don’t like dummies.”

“That is not how the saying goes. It’s God don’t like ugly, and why are you terrorizing this woman? I’ve never seen you like this,” Yara whispered.

That was true. I pretty much turned the charm on when she was around and didn’t have much of a reason to act a fool around her yet. Seeing her in pain brought the crazy out of me, I supposed.