Page 106 of Tailored for You

“Come on. Let’s go home and see if we can feed Harper something that isn’t mac and cheese,” I said, grabbing Serena’s hand.

“Have fun, lovebirds. My ride is here,” Adrienne said as a motorcycle roared around the receiving building.

I rolled my eyes as Marcello pulled up and handed Adrienne a helmet. He saluted me, and I knew I’d be hearing some nonsense about bothering his wife with my problems soon enough.

Serena and I walked back to the car and headed home.

We’d play the long game, but I wasn’t going to let Apple get away with harming my girls.

I’d make sure they paid for every second of torment they inflicted on Serena and Harper.

CHAPTER 32

Serena

An chorus of cheering echoed through the house as I came inside.

I spent the day creating a mood board for a client. It was almost perfect, and I couldn’t wait to send it out. It was for an actress who had seen my designs on a director at a premiere.

The work was creatively draining but also exciting. I hadn’t even realized the afternoon had slipped away entirely.

That had been happening more lately. I was a workaholic by necessity—bills didn’t pay themselves. I crammed work into Harper’s school hours and after her bedtime, with client pickups and orders filling the gaps in between.

All that to say, I rarely had a chance to get lost in my work because I was never able to zone out in a way that allowed me to be creative.

That was a thing of the past now that we were living at Enzo’s. His men dropped off the garments and took payment. Food magically appeared on my worktable at one o’clock on the dot.

It was amazing. I didn’t know that life could be like this. As much as I loved what I did, tailoring was draining and could be monotonous. The tedious tasks wore me down.

Enzo had strong-armed me into letting his men step in, but if I was being honest, I didn’t put up much of a fight.

I took off my slippers near the back door and followed the noise.

It led me to the big living room.

I stopped in my tracks, jaw on the floor at what I found.

Enzo wore a white soccer jersey, with a thick black stripe under each eye. Donovan and Angelo were similarly dressed, with Donovan’s hair painted green and Angelo’s red. Angelo bounced a soccer ball like it was a basketball on the ground.

Four Pizza boxes littered the table, along with cups, soda, and a few beers.

None of that was what had me staring in shock.

What did was my daughter. Her face was painted in red, white, and green stripes. Her pigtails were uneven, some hair completely falling out, like someone had pulled the strands out in a fight. She wore an identical jersey to Enzo, whose shoulders she sat atop.

She raised her fists and screamed and screamed, “Viva Italia.” like she was rallying an army into battle.

The three men stood, yelling words in Italian that I had no hope of understanding.

Harper saw me and pointed. “Mommy!” she shrieked, then she pointed at the massive 70-inch TV, balled her fists, raised them over her head, and screamed, “Football!”

I blinked at her. Did I stumble into an alternate reality?

Tentatively, I stepped into the room and looked at the TV.

They were watching soccer. The score was 1-0, favoring what I assumed was Italy from the ITA.

“Come sit,” Harper called, motioning to the spot next to Enzo. She stayed on his shoulders, her face lit up with the biggest smile.