“Then, sure.”
And the asshole put both his hands to his chest, made a show of fluttering his lashes.
But as we both chuckled through our reunion, Tor wasn’t feeling much like laughing. “Focus.” The pressure was getting to him. He’d been crabby all morning. Marco, spotting the strain, instantly sobered when Tor asked, “Who’s in there?”
“Arthur, Cat and Anoushka. Striker’s ride just pulled in.” Marco checked his watch. “Roam and his boys will be here in a few and Vincenza often likes to make of a show of running late.”
I sighed lightly. Of course, she did.
Sometimes I wondered whether we were truly cut from the same cloth. Our appearance said we were, but our personalities were so different that we may as well have been from Venus and Mars.
“Better to get in before he arrives.” Tor squeezed my hip and when he began to walk, he took me with him. Marco stayed behind, waiting by the limo.
The second we breached the entrance, I heard a man speak in a British accent, “Noush, if your foot touches mine again, I won’t even bother with a tool. I’ll chew the fucking thing off.” He then growled, “Keep away from me.”
When my gaze landed on the man, I blinked because of all the people I thought I would see sitting behind the chairs of the high table, it wasn’t that of a tall, lithe silver fox with freshly trimmed hair and a neatly manicured beard. He looked dapper in a bespoke suit with a chain running from the center button of his navy vest to the inside of one pocket.
And, holy shit, he wasgorgeous.
I guessed the young woman he was speaking to – Noush, he called her – was the one who responded. I tried to hide the way my brows rose when I looked at her because she didn’t look like a mob boss. She looked like the type of woman to start shit with you for looking at her boyfriend.
Her long, bleached-fried blonde hair bordered on yellow with dark roots peeking through her regrowth. Noush sat at the table with her feet resting up on the edge of it. She wore foundation a shade too light for her olive complexion, her eyes were lined heavily with kohl and her lashes were clumped with mascara. Her too-long neon orange acrylic nails tapped on the table top. On top of that, she looked to be wearing uber-casual sportswear and an attitude that said she didn’t give a fuck. All while sucking on a lollipop.
She pulled the stick out of her mouth long enough to turn to the man beside her and say, “I’d give anything for you to chew on me, daddy.” She stood fast and lowered one hand over her crotch and gave it a slow stroke. “Here. Let me show you where you can start.”
The other woman in the room, however, was the very picture of elegance. Well-dressed, she looked to be in her sixties, with dark hair pulled back into a slick chignon. She wore pressed silk and sat tall, cringing at the words of the younger woman and when she spoke, I heard the slightest Hispanic accent hiding in her voice. “Anoushka, you are the vilest sort of trash and I loathe that you and I are forced to share this space four times year.”
Anoushka sat back down. “Aw, Catalina. That silver tongue of yours is so precious,” her gaze darkened, “maybe I’ll cut it out and keep it in a box by my bed. I could use it when I’m feeling especially lonely.”
Wow. I couldn’t tell if these were threats or foreplay.
That was when Tor cleared his throat. The focus shifted and all eyes settled on us.
Arthur wasted no time looking me up and down, and a devilish grin stretched at his mouth. “Well, well. Lookie here. You’ve been holding out on us, Scala.”
Anoushka also looked me up and down, but in a very different way. “Rumor was you killed her.” She mimed a rope being pulled tightly around her neck and made a choking sound.
Catalina clicked her tongue at the two of them then stood, walking towards us. She reached out and took my hands without asking then turned to Tor and said, “I knew he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Look at her.” She lifted one hand under my chin and held my face up, inspecting it. “My dear, you are lovely. Your father always talked of you. His softly-spoken little angel. Such a shame, you know.” She let me go quickly and lifted her nose when she said, “That sister of yours…” Cat wore an expression I understood all too well.
Sheer revulsion.
I hadn’t yet been able to get a single word out. Somewhere behind us, footsteps sounded and then another man wearing jeans, gleaming white sneakers and a loose white tee walked right by Tor. My husband greeted the man with a casual, “Striker.”
Striker responded by lifting his hand, making the sign of the devil, and walking over to his seat, falling into it heavily with a sigh.
Alright then.
Tor led me to the table. There was only one seat in front of us but there was no battle for the chair. Without a single thought, he helped me sit in theMalocchioseat then took his place behind me, resting his hands on the back of my chair in a claim of ownership.
“So,” The Brit I had concluded was Arthur of The Overcoat Army shot me a naughty look and uttered an oh-so-charmingly, “Is it true, pet?” One brow rose. “Did you really shoot the poor bastard? In a church, on your wedding day too?” I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off with, “I only ask because you don’t look capable of hurting a bloody fly.” Again, I tried to respond, but he was too quick for me. “The gun in the bouquet bit…” He made an intrepid sound and looked at me with newfound admiration. “Well played, darling. They’ll be talking about that one for years to come.”
Onus began to swarm in my lower belly.
I didn’t want them to talk about me for years to come. I wanted to live a quiet life with my loving husband and sweet stepchildren. I was tired of this game. So weary of the bloodshed.
All I wanted was peace.
Thoroughly overwhelmed, I didn’t know what to say when Anoushka slurped her lollipop and stared me down. When I stared right back at her, she looked me over and said, “You look like you’ve got toxic pussy.” Um, what? “One lick and he’s tripping balls.” The lollipop stick stuck out of the side of her mouth. “Am I right, Tor?”