Colten: I think we’ve entered kidnapping territory now.
Colten: But in my defense, it’s not safe for her outside the apartment right now.
Cruz: Bro, you don’t have to defend yourself to me. You know I’d have no issue locking Riley’s ass up if her safety were at stake.
Colten: I think I might have to bring out the big guns to bring her on side.
Cruz: That’s brave of you…
Colten: You and I both know Mama De Luca can talk anyone into anything. Hopefully she can talk Lexi into falling in love with me.
Cruz: If anyone can do it, it’s definitely her.
TWENTY
LEXI
“Lexi Marie De Luca.” My mother’s voice carries through the closed door, and my entire body tenses.
That motherfucker.
He called my mom?
I don’t get a chance to steel myself before she pushes her way into the room, as meticulously dressed as always. I thought once Dad was gone that she would ease up a little, but it never happened, and honestly, I’ve always found her commitment to her personal style impressive.
“You’re still in bed?” she asks, dropping her bag onto the chest at the end of the bed.
“I didn’t get much sleep last night, or did you miss the memo about the home invasion and change of address?” I snap back.
She rolls her eyes at my sass, and I can’t help but smile. I know a lot of women have issues with their mothers, especially in Mafia families, but when I tell you there is no one kinder than Mary De Luca, I mean it.
She’s the backbone of this family, and I would be lost without her constant love and guidance, even if she can be a little overbearing.
“Plus, I’m not allowed to leave. Colten has been working out there all morning, and it’s a one-bedroom apartment. Where do you propose I spend my time?” I challenge.
“That’s enough of your sass, young lady.”
She loves my sass because it’s a carbon copy of hers.
I shake my head and climb out of the bed, only wincing slightly as the sheets brush over the burns on my legs.
Mom’s eyes drop to my knees immediately, worry crossing her features as she takes in the angry red marks.
Now I’m really glad I changed out of Colten’s shirt into my own lounge set, because I don’t want her getting too excited about this match.
Like you’re not losing your mind that you matched with the man you’ve been crushing on for the last decade,the voice in the back of my mind reminds me helpfully.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her eyes finally dragging up to meet mine.
I swallow around the tears that threaten.
Am I okay?
Not really.
But the part of me so desperate to take care of everyone else’s feelings before my own won’t let me admit that.
This is what a dysfunctional childhood does to a kid.
