Page 11 of One for the Money

“Mr. Bear said you’d be down soon, and I know how hungry you get,” Franzi answered, handing me a napkin to take with me to the kitchen island. “I have coffee too if you like.”

With a mouthful of omelet, I looked at her, knowing better than to speak with my mouth full and nodded. With one hand, I offered her the sign for thank you, not wanting her to defile my coffee in any way. Franzi was from Hasnad, and that meant she was a straight-shooter, no-nonsense woman who had zero issues taking a wooden spoon to a person if she felt disrespected. There weren’t many people I was intimidated by, but dear, sweet Franzi was one of them.

She placed the mug of black coffee next to my plate and busied herself cleaning up the kitchen. You’d never guess by looking at her that this woman had been part of the Hasnad military. In fact, I learned she was one of the first women to have command over a unit. She didn’t get to keep it since it fell to her when the commanding officer was killed, but that doesn’t change the facts. Now, she worked for me as a cook, keeping all my men fed and looked after. Trying to find someone who could handle the work we did and the nature of the men who wound up in this business hadn’t been easy. Yet when Franzi came for the interview, I watched her tell off a few of the guys for trashing the kitchen and thinking they could leave, and it got her the job.

“Will you be home for dinner?” Franzi asked as she wiped down the counters.

“No, Bear and I will be out… not sure when we’ll be back, but it will be late,” I answered.

She nodded and tucked some of her chin-length silver hair behind her ear. “Mr. Bear seemed rather bothered by something. Did the two of you get into a fight again?”

How did I even answer that question? Fuck, I wasn’t sure if what happened was a fight.

“Not a fight, more of a disagreement on how to handle a matter,” I admitted.

Franzi paused in her cleaning to look at me with those all-knowing blue eyes. “Is it really a disagreement, or are you just being stubborn because you don’t want to be wrong?”

My jaw dropped at the accusation. “Fran-Fran, how could you say that? When have I ever—” I threw up a hand, stopping her before she got the chance to utter a sound. “Forget I asked. By the look on your face, there’s going to be a list.”

Grabbing my coffee, I chugged half of it, letting the burn of the hot liquid clear my head.

A warm hand covered mine, drawing my attention to the older woman who, in many ways, became more of a mother to me than my own had. “Evonnia, I understand why you keep people at a distance. Did the same thing myself for most of my life. Could you imagine the outrage if there was even a hint of fraternization going on between me or any of the men? We chose the hard road, you and I, but if I had to do it all over again, there are a few things I would have changed. There was a man who saw me for who I truly was and tried desperately for me to see that loyalty brought about by love and respect was stronger than anything else. I refused to believe what he was saying. Now I’m an old woman who’s all alone in life and unable to change my ways.”

Franzi cupped my cheek and smiled, her eyes misty with emotion. This was a side of her I’d never seen before, and it was clear how lonely Franzi felt.

“I won’t tell you what to do or how to feel… no one but you can decide that. However, never have I seen two people who’d been cut from the same cloth as you and Mr. Bear. Don’t let your heart turn to stone, Evonnia. It will weigh so much heavier later in life, and you’ll be forced to deal with it alone,” Franzi said, giving my cheek an affectionate pat before turning back to the sink.

I forced myself to eat the rest of the omelet, unwilling to let the food go to waste even though it felt like lead hitting my stomach. Had I missed something? Was there a switch that had been flipped all of a sudden in my life to bring on all these changes? My life had been just fine up until now, so why couldn’t it just stay the way it was?

The moment I thought that, an image of Queenie and her men getting married popped into my head. Each of them had been so stupid in love with each other I wanted to puke. Joy and happiness radiated off them as they said, “I do,” exchanging rings. Hell, here I was freaking the fuck out over one man telling me he wanted more, and that woman had seven. Come to think of it, Poison also had two men pleading for the chance to prove themselves to her.

Could it be that I’d just never been around other women who wanted a relationship, conventional or not?

Pondering that, I realized Queenie and Poison were my only actual girlfriends. The other women I interacted with were strictly about business. Wait! Did I even have guy friends? Other than Bear and my older twin brothers, Lazzaro and Matteo, there was no one I spent time with in a casual manner.

Did I care?

I tossed that realization around for a minute and determined I didn’t give a flying fuck. But the only thing that had changed in my life over the past six months was developing a friendship with the famous Astin Caprioni, Mafia Queen. Poison and I had history—she knew how I was and how I operated, Queenie didn’t. In fact, Queenie didn’t give a shit about learning my history, telling me she was friends with who I was now, so why did it matter?

Groaning, I dropped my head into my hands and rubbed my palms against my eyes, trying to ease the headache I’d just given myself. Fuck being introspective—it was confusing as hell and only brought up more questions that led you down a rabbit hole of mind fuckery. I shoved away from the counter, grabbed my dishes, tossed them in the sink, and left to find Bear. We needed to get to the bar, find Trent, and have a chat so I could yell at my gal pals for ruining me.

Pulling out my cell, I hit the tracker app and pinged Bear’s location. The property was too big to wander, hoping you’d find the person you were looking for. My brows shot up when it showed he was in my room. Charging up the stairs, I kicked open the door to my bedroom, but he wasn’t there. The two women who cleaned the house were though, and my entrance caused one of them to shriek.

“Calm the fuck down, it’s just me,” I grumbled. “Have you seen Bear?”

While the screamer was still trying to collect herself, the other woman pointed to the door leading to my living room.

“Thanks,” I muttered, grabbing my leather jacket as I headed into the living room.

Bear was there reading and looked up at me as I entered. There was nothing in his expression or actions to even hint there was something off with him today. Then I glanced at the book he was reading, and my brows shot up—More than Two: The Guide to Ethical Polyamory.

“Ah…” I started. Not one to be thrown by much anymore, I wasn’t used to dealing with the shock that came along with it. My eyes caught another book on the coffee table, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck. Picking it up, I flipped it over to read the back.

“A dose of raw, refreshing, and honest truth,” I read aloud, then flipped through the pages. “What the hell are you reading this for? Neither of us is the type to sugarcoat something or spare the other’s feelings.”

“We do when it comes to personal things,” Bear argued.

I just blinked at him, having no response—which was a first.