Page 38 of The Mafia Bachelor

“Yes.” Am I pretending, or pretending to pretend? I stuff that question into a cupboard as quickly as my mind allows.

“Well. Not a real job then, is it?” She huffs and shakes her head. “A bit of notice would have been nice. Do the drinks, please. On a tray. The good glasses.”

And I’m left not knowing if I’m profoundly grateful or totally destroyed.

My dad and Kill’s dad are talking about cars when I get back to the lounge with the tray.

My gaze meets Kill’s as I pass across his glass of water. His green eyes gleam, and there’s something so confident and reassuring in them that I can finally pull air into my lungs. A bit, anyway.

The dads continue to talk, and my dad gets out a magazine on motorhomes to give to Kill’s dad, who fishes his reading glasses from his pocket after much drama about whether he brought them, which Kill’s parents seem to understand the joke about, and begins leafing through the glossy pages.

And by the time we’re all seated around our dining room table, I’m half on my way to thinking that this… Isn’t going terribly?

But the tension is liquid steel in my spine.

Something touches my foot, and I stifle a gasp and jerk back. I bring my feet together and try to focus on the conversation going on without me. I feel bad, my pulse pounding, because I must have been spreading. I don’t want anyone to think I was being inappropriate.

But after a second, there’s a touch to my ankle again, and I stifle a gasp.

This is no accident. I flick my gaze to the side where Kill is sitting next to me as we pass around the roast chicken slices, cut by my dad, and everyone helps themselves to roast potatoes, boiled vegetables, and gravy.

He doesn’t look at me, just complimenting my mum on her cooking. But the solid pressure increases.

And it’s that feeling of Kill’s foot pressed against mine that keeps me alive as we dodge and shift through the conversation and begin to eat.

And then my dad, who seems to have bonded with Kill’s dad, asks, “What business did you say you were in?”

“Death,” says Kill’s dad.

The blood drains from my face.

“Comes for us all eventually!” I say chirpily. “It’s a certainty.”

“And good business,” Kill interrupts. “Services related to undertaking are part of our portfolio.”

“A portfolio.” My parents glance at each other, and my mum gives a little laugh. “That sounds terribly important and complicated.”

“Not at all.” Kill smiles like a predator. “It’s just a way of saying a group. We have investments in several businesses, and manage them. I’ve been lucky enough to take over a successful business that my parents built.”

His mother smiles tightly.

“But they weren’t as lucky as you, as they got me rather than a clever and charming daughter like Avery.” Kill raises a challenging eyebrow.

My mum shifts, like she doesn’t know what to do with that comment. “I suppose that makes all that money she spent on university worthwhile. She’s in debt. Everyone is these days, isn’t that the case?”

“Debt is an issue we understand well,” Sue replies, a bit darkly.

“We were so glad when Avery got this job with you, Mr Farrell,” my dad says. I freeze. “Begin to pay those loans off. And she’s paying rent!”

“What job is that?” asks Sue, with a tone like a shard of glass. She takes a sip of her wine and then seems to regret it. Again.

Oh no. No no no.

I glare at my dad, his face falls as he realises what he just did.

“The freelance legal work,” Kill cuts in smoothly. “Didn’t I tell you about that?”

“No.” Sue’s eyes narrow. “I don’t believe you did.”