Page 89 of Auctioned to the Mafia Don
“The Don ordered that you sleep.”
I stare at him.
Omar stares back.
“You let him order that?”
“I enjoyed it.”
“You enjoyed denying me information about a sick child?”
“No. I enjoyed not being the one you were angry with.”
I step into the hall. “That can be corrected.”
His mouth almost moves. “Heath asked for you when he woke.”
That stops me.
The annoyance goes out of me so quickly it leaves a hollow space behind.
“He did?”
“Yes.”
“Those exact words?”
“He asked if you came back.”
Something in my chest pulls tight.
I look away first because Omar is the last man in this house I want seeing what that does to me. “And?”
“I told him you had.”
I swallow once. “Thank you.”
Omar’s expression shifts into deep suspicion. “You are welcome.”
“Don’t look so disturbed.”
“I dislike unfamiliar situations.”
“Gratitude?”
“From you, yes.”
I almost smile.
That is worse than the gratitude, so I walk past him before either of us can examine it too closely.
The children’s floor smells like toast, medicine, and something sweet that doesn't belong to the usual sterile order of this house. Not perfume exactly. Vanilla, maybe. Cinnamon. Coffee. Warm things. Human things. The kind of smell that belongs in a kitchen with too much noise and someone yelling lovingly at people to eat more.
I slow near the sitting room door.
There is laughter inside.
Erin’s.
