I gasp, my wide eyes jumping to his in horror. My hands fly to his wrists as his fingers tighten uncomfortably, but not painfully. My throat feels strangely fragile beneath just the strength of his fingers.
“My father, like most of the men in my family, uses fear to motivate people to do his bidding. Violence. Threats. Personally, it doesn’t do much for me to terrify a woman. Not usually,” he amends, his fingers tightening ever so slightly. “I have to admit, I haven’t hated you watching over your shoulder for me since that night. Could be I’m a sick fuck just like the rest of them. Latent gene, maybe. But I’m also your fucking angel of mercy right now. If you watched any other member of my family walk out of that house the other night, you’d be dead already.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling the burn of tears threatening to seep out.
“But it was me. And I don’t want to hurt you, but my ass comes before yours,” he states, one eyebrow shooting up even as his eyes drop pointedly to where my ass is pressed against the counter, “no matter how nice that ass is.”
Before I can attempt a response, the sound of someone trying to twist the door knob open startles us both.
Vince drops his hands, his gaze jerking to the door.
Turning back to me, eyes full of threats, he says, “Your room.”
I grab his wrist, running down the hall as my mom pushes her key into the lock.
We make it inside, but sometimes Mom comes to my room to check in. My room’s tiny, barely enough space to get around the full-sized bed, and my closet is minuscule—and shared, since the room my siblings share doesn’t have one.
“Will she come in here?” he asks, his gaze lingering on the door.
“She might,” I whisper back. “I guess…the floor on that side.” I point to the other side of my bed.
Shooting me a dark look, he says, “If you try to signal her or say a goddamn word, Mia…”
“I wouldn’t.” Mainly because that wouldn’t reassure the nice gangster that I wouldn’t rat him out, but I don’t add that.
Keeping the light off, I climb into bed, yanking my covers up over me. I watch, transfixed, as Vince Morelli lowers himself to the floor, like a real-life monster beneath my bed.
Chapter Four
The door creaks open and light spills in. “You up?”
I debate faking her out, but she flips on the light.
I force a squint, pushing up on my elbows. “Well, I was trying to sleep.”
My mom’s a tall lady with dirty blonde hair and a weakness for insensible shoes. She falls on the pretty side of average, but years of putting through one disaster after the next have left their mark.
She holds onto the doorjamb as she yanks her purple heels off and shakes her head. “Men are such assholes.”
Oh good, she wants to vent.
“I agree, but could we maybe talk about this tomorrow? I was just about—”
“I have to work in the morning,” she interrupts, shaking her head. “Jen called off, of course. I’m gonna need you to drop off the kids before school.”
I fail to stifle a sigh of annoyance. We’re down to sharing a car, which is a real headache. “Well, in that case I definitely need to get to sleep.”
She rolls her eyes, exaggerating her disappointment. “Fine, I guess girl talk can wait.”
“Goodnight.”
“One last thing. I’m definitely not going to be working Mondays after the next schedule. I was thinking, since now I have set hours Saturday mornings and Mondays off, maybe you could start looking into getting something part-time like we talked about? Save up for another car.”
“Fine,” I say, admittedly a little shortly. “I’ll see if I can find something.”
Apparently, I’m not psyched enough, so she tries to sell me on it. “It would be your car.”
It would be a family car, not mine, but I don’t argue. I can’t even get an hour to myself, let alone a car.
“Brax got suspended from work or he wouldn’t even be able to pick me up tomorrow; we’d be really screwed then.”
“He’s picking you up?” Also, what did she expect from a guy named Brax?
“We’re going out.”
“So I’m babysitting.”
It wasn’t a question, but she answers anyway. “If you don’t mind. We really need to spend some time together.”
I nod, lips pressed firmly together.
“If things keep going the way they have been, we might not need to re-up this lease,” she said, as if it’s a tempting possibility.
Literally the only thing I want to do less than move in with Brax is have this conversation with Vince Morelli hunched on the floor beside my bed.
Since I’m not being cooperative, she huffs and turns off the light. “You’re no fun. Goodnight.”
As soon as she’s gone, I pull the blanket up to cover my face. I consider, just for a moment, how ridiculous my life is. A minute ago, some criminal mobster I go to school with had his hands around my neck, threatening strangulation, and now my mom wants me to find a job with no experience that would be cool with very specific availability—but don’t worry, if things keep going well (despite men apparently being assholes?) we can move in with my new “daddy”—who is seven years older than me.