Page 15 of Loathe Me (Touch of Death 1)
She spares me a hard glance. “No. Thank you.” She refocuses on Dante, and her features morph. A soft smile touches her lips, and she taps the end of his nose, making him giggle.
“He’s beautiful,” I say.
“He is my greatest joy.”
My father always said the exact same thing about Gabi and me. But he sold his “greatest joy” like a cow at market. The reminder brings a lump to my throat, and I turn away, pulling ingredients from the fridge.
I set about beating eggs and cutting peppers while Una feeds Dante. The Doberman sits at the side of the highchair, catching the bits of food that fall.
“Hey, you,” I say, petting his head, but he barely acknowledges me. I guess food takes priority. “Oh, you only wanted me for my pizza, I see.”
“You should be flattered. George is obsessed with Dante. Never leaves his side.” Una scoops another spoonful of goop into Dante’s open mouth. He spits half of it back out, and she uses his bib to wipe his chin.
The elevator pings, and Una stiffens, her hand dropping to the gun at her thigh. Her shoulders relax the second another Doberman strolls out of the metal box, confusing me. It’s followed by Nero, Gio, and a red-headed man. Jesus, everyone is always so on edge around here; it’s makes me nervous.
The dog rounds the bar, wagging his stumpy tail before licking my fingers. This one is bigger and leaner than the other. “There you are,” I say, smiling as I now recognize my one and only friend. I drop to a crouch, and he licks my cheek as I scratch his chin. When I stand again, all four adults are staring at me. “What?”
The ginger guy laughs. “Ah, Nero, he blew you off for a girl.”
Gio smirks. “Zeus doesn’t like anyone but Nero.”
I shrug one shoulder. “I gave him pizza?”
“Well, if you feed me pizza and pet me, I’ll be your friend,” the redhead says, chuckling to himself. He strolls over to Dante, stroking a hand over his downy hair.
Una swats him. “Tommy.”
“Ow!” He rubs the back of his head, flashing me an apologetic smile before walking over. “I’m Tommy.” His quick smile and mischievous eyes seem so at odds with the stark black suit he wears, and the company he keeps.
“Adelina.”
“Adelina.” He rolls my name around, as though pondering it. “Pretty.”
“Jesus Christ, make it stop,” Nero grumbles, walking over to Una and Dante. He strokes over the top of Dante’s head before wrapping one hand around the back of Una’s neck. “Morte,” he breathes over her lips.
I drop my gaze to the ground, my cheeks heating. He kisses her like he wants to eat her alive, and I can almost feel the electricity crackling through the air, charging the space between them. It’s only in my bid to look anywhere else that I spot Sasha. He leans against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest, amongst the shadows. He’s removed, but his eyes are on me, that icy intensity reaching out and making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“What are you making?” Tommy asks, and I’m grateful for his distraction.
I snatch my gaze away from Sasha and offer Tommy a friendly smile. He seems different than the rest of them. Less serious. A smattering of freckles dot his nose and cheeks, making him look young and geeky.
“An omelete. Want one?”
“Well done,” Una chimes in. “Now you’ll be feeding them all.”
“I don’t mind.”
So, for the next half an hour, I make omelettes. First Tommy, then Nero, and finally Gio. They chat and laugh as they eat, and I watch. I was wrong about them. They are absolutely a family just perhaps not a very trusting one. They all smile indulgently at Dante, and I can tell, he’ll grow up with a band of terrifying uncles at his beck and call, not to mention, having a mother like Una.
I slide an omelette onto a plate and place it at the end of the bar nearest to Sasha. He doesn’t move, simply stares at me. I should look away, but I can’t, and I don’t. I find myself wanting to dissect him, to work out why he’s so…other. It takes me a second to realize the conversation has stopped, and I can sense several sets of eyes focused on me. My cheeks flame under the scrutiny, so I turn away, making one last omelete for myself. By the time it’s done, Sasha has taken the seat at the end of the bar. His plate is empty, his knife and fork laid together. I fight a smile. It’s the equivalent of finding a stray dog and getting him to trust me enough to take food from my hand. It’s silly, but it’s an accomplishment. Of course, there’s every chance that my life has just become that boring.
