“I like Marcello,” I admitted. “He’s cute. Did you check out his arms? Oh, my God! They’re so big.”
“You don’t know how to handle them. And you can’t trust them. The Salvatores are criminals. Pops says they’re in the Italian Mafia.”
I gasped. “Really? The Mafia?”
He nodded. “Be careful, Lexie. That’s all I’m saying. Don’t lower your guard with them.”
“I won’t. I know better than to trust anyone but you.”
The limo stopped in the circular driveway at Wellington Manor. Aiden grabbed our bags from the floor, always such a gentleman.
The driver opened the door and offered his hand to me. “Welcome home, Miss Wellington. Your grandfather is waiting for you in his study. You too, Mr. Wellington. It’s urgent.”
“What now?” Aiden groaned, flinging our backpacks over his shoulder. “Never a dull fucking moment at this place.”
“It beats our old home,” I pointed out. “I’ll take living with Pops and Blair any day over our parents.”
“Blair,” Aiden bit out with a snarl. “That fucking bitch grinds on my nerves. I can see where Mom learned how to parent us.”
I shivered at the mention of our mother and grandmonster, as Aiden called her. You could tell Blair raised our mom with strict rules.
As we approached the house, the front doors opened. Charles emerged, smiling. He was the grandfather I wanted instead of Pops.
“Miss Alexandrea,” Charles said, practically glowing. “Master Aiden. How was school?”
Aiden liked it when he called him that. He said it reminded him of Batman and Alfred.
“It was okay, I guess,” I said, following Charles inside the house. “We’re still getting used to Devil’s Creek.”
None of these spoiled rich kids would understand my life. They didn’t know what it was like to go days without eating. We used to live for Mondays, white-knuckling it all weekend until we got our free school lunch.
We were survivors.
Charles led us to our grandfather’s office, which was decorated with leather furniture and dark wood. A bar spanned the right wall, and two nailhead couches sat between a coffee table carved from a tree trunk.
Pops sat behind an oversized desk. “How did the Salvatore boys treat you?”
“They’re kinda mean. But no worse than my mom. I can handle them.”
“She’s not telling you the truth,” Aiden interjected. “Luca made her get on her knees in the refectory. The other two put their fucking hands on her like she’s their property. I’m not okay with this, Pops.”
“Neither am I,” he snapped, reaching for the phone on his desk. He picked up the receiver and dialed a number, raising it to his ear. “Arlo, it’s Carl.” He paused. “No, everything is not okay. Your boys put their filthy hands on my granddaughter at school today. I will not allow it.”
A beat passed.
“Save your apologies, Arlo,” he hissed. “Luca is rotten to his core. So are the other two you adopted. If you don’t do something about them, the Salvatores will never get admitted into The Founders Society. Do you understand me?”
He slammed the phone, his cheeks flushed with anger.
“That should take care of the issue. I’m sorry, Alex. Those boys won’t harm you again. If they try anything, let me know. I will threaten everything the Salvatores hold dear.”
Aiden could say whatever he wanted about Pops and the Salvatore brothers, but at least they didn’t want to hurt me. Sure, their intentions were questionable. I knew better than to trust rich people.
But I needed them to want me.
My survival depended on it.
Pops rose from the chair and removed a set of keys from his pocket. “It’s time you both understood what will be required of you someday.”
