Badly Behaved

My mind begins to race, an anxiousness building behind my ribs, not knowing what the day will bring, but it settles a little when Arsen realizes I’m awake and smiles down at me.

I reach up, pushing his hair from his head, and he closes his eyes, kissing my hand as it falls back into place.

“Do you always wake up first?” I whisper.

He pops a brow and then Ransom is squeezing my hip.

A low laugh leaves me. “So, what, you guys are prone to stalking and watching me sleep?”

Arsen nods with a grin, and I shove at his chest.

I don’t realize he’s so close to the edge of the bed and he falls over, tumbling to the floor. Laughing, I lean over to look at him, but he darts forward and tugs me down with him.

I smile, but it fades as a loud pounding carries through the house.

The boys hear it too, darting up as I do, and our little bubble pops, everything rushing back.

We look to each other, and then quickly open the door.

Ransom grabs my hand, and Monti is slipping from her room as we pass.

“What’s going on?” she yawns, following us forward, but nobody answers.

My stomach swirls, my nerves prickling as I prepare to round the corner. As we do, all five of us come to a full stop.

The sight is overwhelming, and my pulse begins to pound heavy at my temples.

Men and women with dark blue jackets are scattered around the room, flipping cushions and yanking open drawers.

They take the art pieces from the wall and flip the entertainment center on its ass, quickly moving to the next piece of furniture and doing their worst with it.

Our stepdad stands off to the side, glaring at the man who stands in front of him, while three others in matching navy suits surround my mother.

She’s sort of terrifying, caged in the center of three massive men, yet she remains the picture of composure, as if she’s the lion and they’re the hens locked in her very own den.

They’re searching the property, keeping her and my dad separated, and I swallow.

This is really happening.

I step forward, and several people in the room finally realize we’re standing here. “Mom—”

“Not a word, Jameson,” she says calmly as she turns, placing her hands behind her back.

“What the hell is going on?” Monti nearly cries, biting at her nails.

Our dad tries to get to us, but the man in front of him blocks his path.

One of the detectives begins to read our mom her rights.

That’s when I step from the hall, slowly walking toward her, and instantly, her eyes lock with mine.

I knew my mom wasn’t a saint, and to be honest, I’m not sure any defense attorney can truly call themselves one. They’re all, from my experience, quite detached from morality as a whole, but a liar and a cheat?

A fraud, trading her daughters’ lives to save her own? For greed and God knows what else?

I hadn’t the slightest idea.

But I know everything now.

The thing about my mother, what Anthony failed to realize, is she has always worked with the highest tier criminals. The worst of the worst, the filthiest the world has to offer. We’re talking dangerous, deadly, and of course, the highest paying.

So, after twenty years in the business of helping keep criminals on the streets rather than off, my mother has made many, many friends in the lowest of places.

She’ll be just fine.

She’s the one who said we Filanos fight to the end, and in the end, we refuse to lose.

I couldn’t lose, not this time.

Not him.

Never him.

My mother wanted me strong, and she built me that way.

But somewhere along the way, and without me realizing, my strength outgrew hers.

I have no doubt in my mind my mother could sense it, even if it took her some time to admit it to herself.

She knows it well now.

I walk up to her, and while the detectives dart their hands out at first, they lower them when they see I’m not a threat.

I reach over my mother’s shoulders as if to hug her, but I don’t. I carefully unclip the pearl necklace from her neck and step back.

While her eyes narrow at first, her chin lifts next, and a small smile blooms on her lips. A real one, and my slow smirk follows.

She nods, her words barely above a whisper, “By any means necessary.”

Yes, Mother.

Check.

Mate.

My mom trained her daughters well.

We know when to speak and when to keep quiet, so for the last four hours, we sat still, silently watching as a half dozen men and women ripped our home apart, carting box after box out the door, possible ‘evidence’ tucked inside each one, the contents of the lockbox included.

When the last man leaves, our stepdad follows, and the second the door closes, Beretta locks us on the inside.