“Is there a question in there somewhere?”
I laugh and start shredding some cheese. “How did you come to own the club? I can tell that it isn’t simply a front for you. It’s not just a way to do your nefarious business.”
“Nefarious.” He hums. “I like that.”
“You care about it,” I continue. “You care about the people there. I could tell before, but after what happened to Scarlett tonight, it’s more obvious than ever.”
The humor leaves his eyes, and I wish I could take the words back. But I want to know. I’m falling in love with him, and I need to know what makes him tick. What makes him the man that he is.
I want to know everything, not simply how good he is in bed or how protective he is of me.
“If I answer questions, you answer questions,” he says.
“That’s fair. I’m down for that. Start talking.”
“First, you’re the only person in this world who can make demands of me. I want you to be aware of that. No one elsetellsme to do anything.”
“Not even Carson, Julian, or Mateo?”
“We don’t give each other orders,” he says, shaking his head.
“Wow, I get to touch youandboss you around.”
He blinks. “No. You can make requests, firefly.”
I grin at him. “I know, I’m only kidding. Okay, please talk to me.”
He takes in a breath and watches my hand run the cheese up and down the grater.
“My mom was a sex worker,” he says at last, and that has me pausing, surprised. I don’t know where I thought Rome came from, but I guess I assumed his family had a history in organized crime, like mine. “I don’t know who my father was. Likely a john. She probably either couldn’t afford birth control, or it simply didn’t work.”
I resume shredding, not wanting him to stop. His voice is level, matter-of-fact, and I can see he’s not looking for pity. But I can also see this is a difficult conversation for him by the way he fists his hands on the counter.
“So she was a single mom,” I say, reaching for another block of cheese.
“She was. And she was really good at it. I never wanted for much. Don’t get me wrong, we were fucking poor. I wore a lot of secondhand shit. But I never missed school or a meal, and I knew she loved me. We had fun together. She wasn’t a junkie or into drinking, but she was young. Only fifteen when she had me. She ran away from home because her father was an abusive piece of shit. I never met them.”
“Doesn’t sound like the kind of people you’d want in your life anyway.” I turn to find the water at arolling boil, and I pour the macaroni in, give it a stir, and turn back to the cheese.
“No. I never really knew what she did for a living. She worked mostly at night and had a neighbor stay with me while I slept.”
“So she could have worked any kind of night job, as far as you were concerned.”
“Exactly.” He nods, and his shoulders relax as if he just now realizes I’m not judging his mother for her choices.
“Do you look a lot like her?” I ask.
He stands and walks to an end table in the living room. He opens a drawer and pulls out a framed photo, then brings it to me.
The woman smiling out at me isgorgeous.And yes, Rome looks so much like her. Those ice-blue eyes and dark hair. The skin tone. The smile that sets my soul on fire.
“She’s beautiful,” I say softly with a smile. “And you definitely favor her.”
He nods and looks down at the photo, kisses it—my ovaries explode—then puts it away.
“She was murdered,” he says, his voice gone cold, “when I was sixteen. Sex got too rough, and they fucking strangled her.”
I set the cheese down and grip the edge of the counter, watching him.
