Beau sits, but Nikolas remains standing nearby.
“Did you get Soren a gift?” Patricia asks.
“Ah, yeah, but it’s not here yet,” Nikolas replies.
“It’s from both of you?” Uncle Eivor asks, raising a brow.
Beau flushes deeper. “Um, yeah. We decided to pool our money.”
“You know you don’t have to use your own money,” Patricia scolds him with a chuckle.
I zone out for a moment or two. No one is talking to me. I think I’m referenced once or twice, but my brain is slowly growing more and more unable to process anything going on.
I finally fade back in when Rosalie asks about my gift to her.
“Go ahead,” I tell her.
She tears the paper open, opens the box, and pulls out a pale purple knit sweater.
“Wow!” she holds it up to her chest. “This is beautiful, is it handmade, Soren?” she asks, her eyes lit up with happiness.
“Yup. By a little old lady in Greece. Ordered it last year, got it a month ago,” I explain. My voice seems to drag a bit.
“It’s stunning. Thank you, Sor.” She smiles at me.
“Doesn’t she have enough clothing?” Eivor asks, not to her but me.
I shrug and avoid making eye contact with him.
“This is going to look so good for out next date,” she says, turning toward Julian.
Julian smiles sheepishly. “You look good in everything.”
Eivor agrees with a noise of approval, one that makes my stomach hurt, and I watch Rosalie shrink back slightly. Protectiveness wells up in my chest and I glare at him. He ignores it.
“For you, Julian. As the newest addition to my darling neice’s heart, and hopefully, if I may say, the last one.” Eivor allows Patricia to hand Rosalie a wrapped gift, and Rosalie hands it to Julian.
“Julian gets a fucking family hierloom...I get a giftcard for coffee,” I grumble to myself as I ascend the stairs to the top of one of the most expensive hotels in Italy. “Of course.” I roll my eyes.
It’s not like I actually care about getting some old gun that doesn’t even work safely anymore. It’s the fact that Julian and Rosalie have only been dating a few months that bothers me. Julian has been part of our family, working as a guard, for five years now. I know he’s trustworthy, I know he’s decent at his job, but he hasn’t proven himself anymore than anyone else. He hasn’t saved anyone’s life or put his own life on the line, not really. Not like me, my cousins, even Rosalie. The loyalty I feel from him hangs on a thin thread. He could up and leave anytime he wants and not have much to lose or gain.
So, why does he get the gun? If anyone should be hanging onto it, it’s not some guy that’ll probably only be around another few months until he breaks Rosalie’s heart and hops into the next crime lord lap to work.
I push the door to the rooftop open as quietly as possible. The strong wind at the top of the building helps conceal the noisealong with the building creaking and groaning every now and then.
It’s colder up here than down on the groud level. It nips at my cheeks and nose, but I don’t care.
I need to focus on why I’m here. Not my uncle, not my sister, nor her boyfriend who my uncle seems to be giving special attention to lately.
After spending most of the day sleeping, I wanted to stay in bed, but I was alerted that Carmine was on the move again. I’d say I’m surprised, but I’m not. He’s going through some shit, and clearly needs to keep himself distracted.
I can’t say I blame him, and frankly I prefer him doing some shady deal on a rooftop over getting fucked in the back corner of a club.
My groin heats at the thought, and my chest tightens. The last thing I need to think about is Carmine with...them. Using each other, drunk and drugged. Using him. I grind my teeth as I ease toward the edge of one of the water towers on top of the roof that hides my presence.
I can see Carmine there, the back of his shoulder and the side of his face. I can barely see the face of the other person. I can’t hear them.
“Son of a bitch,” I mumble. If I can’t hear and can’t see, why am I even here?
