Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
“Hey, Mom,” Daniel says, tossing his cell aside and getting up. His dark hair is wildly overgrown, and adorable on him. My lip wobbles, and I quickly get it under control.
“Hey, baby.” My arms lift of their own volition, beckoning him to me, and it’s as if he appreciates in his selfish, teenager head that I need a moment. Just a moment. He comes to me and hugs me and, God, he’s gotten even taller in the time I’ve not seen him. A week. That’s all. But after all the years I missed out on, a week feels like so much longer.
“You okay?” I stick my nose in his hair and smell St. Lucia. The sea, the air, the salt and sand. I miss being there. But more so, I’ve missed this boy. I hate that the only connection we’ve had is via technology that he barely uses for me. But I get it. I just miss him.
“What’s going on?” he asks. “Who were all those women?”
I freeze, my smile falling. I’m so glad he can’t see my face because it’s currently twisted. “Just a few friends who needed help.”
“Oh, please, Mom.” He breaks away and looks at me with eyes too knowing and earnest for a thirteen-year-old kid. And now he can see my face, and since my son isn’t blind or stupid, he can see the sheer shock and awkwardness I’m feeling. I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide this life from him forever, but I was banking on a few more years and a little more maturity so that when I give him my story—our story, Daniel’s and mine from the moment he was born—he might comprehend that this life we’re in, Danny’s job, our family, is a blessing, and how me meeting Danny was what saved me. Saved me and reunited me with my son. “I know what Mister does,” he goes on in a matter-of-fact, almost nonchalant tone.
Shit. I am not prepared for this. It’s been an emotionally draining day at best. “You mean jet skis.” Please say yes.
“He’s mafia, Mom. Everyone knows it.”
“Everyone?” I squeak, rather than laughing at the absurdity of his suggestion, or even denying it.
“Yes, everyone. Even Barney’s dad knows.”
“Oh.” Someone help me.
Daniel rolls his eyes at me and goes back to the bed, collecting his phone and showing me the screen. An article about James and Danny fills it. “Who showed you that?” I ask, swiping it from his hand.
“Barney.”
I suddenly don’t like Barney. “Well, just so you know, this journalist is a bad, bad person.”
“Has this got anything to do with Mom and Da—I mean Hilary and Derek separating?”
My God. “How do you know about that?” I practically screech.
“She called me. Said she’d moved out of town. But Derek is still in Miami.”
What the hell do I tell him? That the people he knew as his parents for ten years bought him on the black market? That because of that, Derek got caught up in a whole other fucking mess trying to get Danny killed? “I don’t know anything about that.”
Daniel claims back his cell. “Next you’ll be telling me Tank and Fury are my nannies.”
“When did you get such a smart mouth?” I ask as he drops to his back and resumes whatever he was doing before I arrived. I don’t care what, so long as he avoids stories about mafia crime lords. How do I assure that? How? Oh Rose. You get your husband to kill the journalist who dared pen the article. Perfectly reasonable.
“Where is Tank, anyway?” I ask, with a lack of anything else to say. I need to regroup. And talk to Danny.
“Having Pizza with Fury. Then we’re catching up on COD.”
“What’s COD?”
He drops his head to the side, looking at me tiredly.
“Never mind,” I say. “Have you eaten?”
“Pizza.”
“Is Esther in the kitchen?”
“Yes.”
Back in her element, I expect. “Where’s your luggage?”
His hand drops and points to the corner. So we’re back to one-word answers or no answers at all? Right now, I’m thankful. I take his luggage and open the case, pulling out his dirty laundry and dropping everything else on the chair in the corner. “And tidy your room,” I say, carrying it out.
“Yes, Mom,” he drones.
I start to pull the door closed but stop when I hear him call me. I push my way back in, bracing myself for more deflecting. “What?”
“I think Otto’s in love with Grandma.”
I press my lips together, restraining my amusement. I know I should have given my son a bit more credit. I can’t say I’ve underestimated his intelligence, but perhaps hoped he was too caught up in video games, jet skis, and soccer to notice the stark reality of the world around him. A world that’s too close. “Do not tell Mister.”
He smirks and returns to his phone, and I make my way downstairs on constant groans to drop his dirty clothes off in the laundry room. When I make it to the kitchen, everyone is crowded around the island, and Esther is in full swing. It’s a sight to behold, as is watching Otto watching her.