Page 75 of The Fixer

Eight heads bobbed their acknowledgement. Eight pairs of eyes snapped back to me.

“Edoardo, check out front.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anthony, Gianni, go check on the kids. And Alex?”

“Yes, Babbo?”

“Just… stay out of the way.”

* * *

“So, you’ve been living with my brother?” Rebecca, Jet’s youngest sister, asked after Giraldo and the other men took their leave and the girls dragged me into the kitchen for some iced tea.

“Rebecca,” Rachelle snapped, but the woman just held out her hands, palms up.

“What? I haven’t seen my baby brother in years. Am I not allowed to ask about him?”

“It’s less about you asking and more about how you’re doing it,” Silvia muttered, bumping her sister’s shoulder with hers.

Rachelle shook her head at her daughters and turned a soft smile my way. “You don’t have to answer anything that makes you uncomfortable, dear.”

The woman was a blessing. Strong yet soft. Hard when she needed to be, but you could tell how much she cared. My heart ached, knowing how much she missed her son, knowing how much I missed my own mom.

“I have been,” I told them, finger tracing the beads of water sliding down my glass. “After my apartment was trashed, I don’t think… I probably wasn’t in the best state of mind. My best friend is out of the country right now, and my family…”

Emilia reached over and put her hand on my arm. “He gave you a place to stay?”

Nodding, I lifted my glass to my lips.

“And have you, you know?” Rebecca asked, lowering her voice. “Had sex?”

Tea spit from my mouth as Rachelle snapped Rebecca’s name once more. “That’s enough.”

“What? I just wanted to make sure he’s okay. After everything that happened? It’s not like I’m asking for details.”

“I think you’re asking for more than enough.”

Rebecca turned an apologetic smile my way, but she didn’t need me to speak my answer. My cheeks were burning, my skin flushed. Even my hands looked red. I took a napkin from Marie, Alex’s wife, and dabbed at my face before wiping at the table.

“How’s my brother doing?” Silvia asked, hand reaching toward me before she stopped. “He’s not depressed, is he? Is he getting along okay?”

“He’s doing well,” I told her, dabbing the back of my hand to my cheeks. “He doesn’t seem depressed. Sad, maybe. About…” I glanced up at his mom, and the grim set to her lips had me zipping mine. “About his old job. And his friend being hurt.”

Rachelle gave a slight nod, one barely noticeable to me, and I was the only one looking her way.

“Is he keeping busy?” Silvia asked. “He told us he wasn’t coming back to the funeral home for the foreseeable future. What’s he doing with his days?”

Rebecca raised a brow, and I darted my gaze to the other side of the table.

“He’s been taking care of me.” I shrugged and took another sip of my tea. “He’s an amazing cook. He cooks for me all the time. I’m horrible at it, though it’s something I’d love to learn. So I can take care of him, too.”

“He cooks for you?” Rachelle asked, and I nodded, eager to get away from Rebecca’s suggestive words and glances.

“He does. Today for lunch, he was showing me how to serve arepas, and—” Once again, heat rushed to my cheeks. Memories raced, of Jet pressing his erection into my butt, of him telling me all those deliciously naughty things. Rebecca narrowed her eyes at me, and I tried to take cover behind my glass.

But my shaky hands had other ideas. I set my tea down and pressed my hand to my cheek.