Making the Break (Beating the Biker 2)

The defense department should contract her mother’s emotional radar. “Nothing.” Chrissy tried not to sniff.

“Christina Maria Serafini, don’t you lie to your mother.”

It was better to get it out in the open, or at least enough of the truth so her mother would back off. Otherwise, the woman would keep investigating until she got the whole truth. “I met the Rocco man.”

“Oh,” her mother said noncommittally. “And what was he like?”

“He belongs to a motorcycle club, Mama,” she burst out. Okay, apparently she wasn’t above drama to horrify her mother. Her mother despised the idiots who rode with wheels between their legs.

“And your grandfather knew this?”

“I’m going to go with yes,” replied Chrissy. “He saw us at the diner this morning.”

“The diner?” asked her mother with suspicion. Uh-oh. Now she had her mother thinking in the wrong directions. Now she’d roused her mother’s suspicion as to why she’d eat at a diner with a man first thing in the morning.

“He took me to church.” Chrissy tried to repair the damage of her earlier statement, but saw immediately she’d made things worse in another way.

“Well, that can’t be bad. What church did you go to?”

“

A church in Westfield. I forget which one.”

“Oh, and did the priest recognize him?”

Chrissy held back a groan. This next statement would be worse than the last. “Yes, he did. I guess Saks’ boss’ wife goes there regularly.”

“Oh,” said her mother brightly. “Then they’re part of the community there.”

Now, inadvertently, she’d built up Saks’ reputation.

“What?” her mother said. But she was speaking to someone else, and Chrissy heard her father’s voice. She couldn’t catch his words, but they came across in an ominous rumble. “She didn’t,” her mother said in a horrified voice.

“Christina Maria Serafini!” snapped her mother. “You dumped your breakfast on the Rocco man’s head?”

“You don’t know what he said. He was horrible.”

“And what could he say, huh, that would make you act like a punta?”

Chrissy gasped. Her mother never swore, and it shocked her that her mother called her a whore in Italian. “You take that back,” shot Chrissy angrily. “You weren’t there and didn’t hear the things he said. When he found out I was Pandolfo Serafini’s granddaughter—”

“Wait. He took you to church, and he didn’t know who you were? Just when did you meet this man, Christina?”

“I, uh, I—”

“Don’t you dare lie to your mother!”

“I wasn’t lying. He took me church, but he said awful things. He said...”

Her mother’s voice rose in distress. “You slapped the man and then struck him in the groin? Oh, my goodness, what have I done to deserve such an ungrateful child?”

Chrissy jerked the phone away from her ear. “Now, to be fair, that didn’t happen all at one time.”

“How many times, Christina? How many times did you abuse this man? Mamma Mia, Matrona—”

“Rose, calm down,” said her father in the background.

“Calm down? Calm down? My daughter beats up a man and you tell me to calm down?”