Kiril:Damn! I miss out on everything.
Boris:You taking care of Katerina is more important.
Kiril:Yeah, yeah, it is.
Kiril:So…do we knowhowthe Italian girl knows how to hotwire?
Boris:No, but I don’t think she’s in the mood to tell.
Kiril:How pissed is boss?
Me:Pissed.
I gnashed my teeth. Every step on the short march back to my house sent shockwaves of anger blistering over my skin. Poppy made a grave mistake tonight. She thought…. She’d tried….
Fuck, I couldn’t wrap my head around the betrayal.
To make matters worse, the scent of succulent fruit taunted me. But it wasn’t coming from her.
Oh, no, not this time!
The sticky acid singed my fingertips, even though it had been a good thirty minutes since my fingers had turned the bright fruits into mush. The scent was driving me crazy!
And here I’d been, trying to be a good man. One of the bartenders at the club swore that a lemon cut in half, warmed, and soaked with bourbon and honey was the quickest way to heal a sore throat.
Now the bottle of bourbon was rolling around somewhere in my car—a miracle if it wasn’t broken. The lemons were pulp. And the honey? Fuck the honey. It didn’t matter right now.
The child in my arms yawned, the burst of sleepiness temporarily silencing his chit-chat.
As we crept into my backyard, Rayko crawling behind us in the truck, my boy’s head bobbed once. Then twice. And after a handful of seconds, he snoozed on my shoulder.
How quickly sleep came to the innocent.
I hugged my son tight to my chest. To think I’d almost lost him. Again.
I was going to ring the woman’s neck!
As if sensing the threat, Poppy turned, shooting a careful look at the boy.
He’s my son. Mine!I wanted to shout at her. But any soul that disturbed this boy right now was going to pay. He needed to sleep. I’d been researching, and I didn’t want him catching whatever bug his mother had.
She’s not his mother.
No, his mother was some party girl who died of a postpartum hemorrhage. This mafia princess was a selfish thief, and she’d nearly succeeded.
Poppy held open the storm door, watching me carry the boy through.
It didn’t quell my anger, not in the slightest. That look of resignation on her face told me that she was aware of her transgression from this evening.
“Wait here,” I hissed at her as she stepped behind me into the hall.
Poppy flinched.
I steeled my heart, refusing to feel bad for her.
Gently, I laid the sleeping boy on the twin mattress. He rolled over and clutched for something. I frowned. When I realized it was for the serpent lingering in the doorway, I ground my molars. Grabbing the second pillow, I pushed it into his arms.
He sighed around it and fell into a deeper slumber.
