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“Like cleaning?”
She bit her lip. “Sometimes. He…cleans houses.”
My lips curved as I served her breakfast. After we finished eating, we headed to the park. Apprehension marked Violet’s face as we stepped outside. She was probably still pissed. But when someone passed us on the sidewalk, she tensed. She glanced over her shoulder.
“Who is that guy?” she hissed.
I looked behind me. “No clue. Why?”
“He seemed familiar. I thought…never mind.”
I raised a brow. “You okay?”
She sighed. “Walkin’ in the city doesn’t feel the same anymore. It’s like shadows are lurkin’ everywhere.”
“That’s normal. It’ll get easier.”
“I used to be so open, you know? Mama always said, ‘Violet, the world’s full of stories waiting to be heard.’ Now, I can’t help but see danger in every unfamiliar face.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She gave me a vicious side-eye. “Yeah? Is that why you barged into my room?”
I smiled, saying nothing.
“You saw everything,” she whispered as though it was the scandal of the century. “And then you stood there.”
I waved a hand. “I was surprised. Walking in on you naked wasn’t on my morning agenda.”
“You kept staring at me.”
I shrugged. “What do you want? An apology for looking at what’s mine?”
“My body doesn’t belong to you.”
I beg to differ. “The ring on your finger says otherwise.”
Her nostrils flared. “That doesn’t make me your possession. We’re not livin’ in the Stone Age.”
“And yet, you’d hate it if I didn’t look at you.”
She burned a brighter shade of red, and my smile broadened.
“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve seen more revealing views from rooftops where I clean.”
Her eyes widened, and then she snorted.
Jack tugged on her hand, pulling her forward. I strolled behind them, the memory of Violet’s perfect, golden body taunting me. A primal claim stirred within me. This game of possession felt more dangerous than the turf war gripping Boston.
SIXTEEN
ACHILLE
Friday rolled in, and Mom stormed inside like she owned the place. I’d asked her to watch Jack for the weekend. I figured I ought to invite her before she broke down my door. Santino had to practically duct tape Mom to a chair to keep her from her grandchild. She’d spoil him rotten, but the poor kid needed it.
Jack played in the backyard with Mom, dipping a plastic hoop into a dish with soap.
“Does he have any allergies?” she asked.
