Page 91 of The Cost of Silence

“Always.”

I don’t know what we are.

I don’t know what we’re becoming.

But Thanksgiving is coming.

And somehow, in the middle of danger and desire and grief and glittering Christmas lights…

I think I might be walking straight into a future neither of us intended.

But both of us might actually want.

A few hourslater I slip away to Nico’s office, closing the door with a soft click, my stomach tightening with an entirely new kind of nerves.

Facing mafia hitmen? Researching corporate conspiracies? Questioning my sanity?

Easy.

Calling my mother to tell her I’m living with a suspected Mafia Don, and inviting her to spend Thanksgiving with us, not so much.

I brace both hands on the edge of the desk and take a deep breath before pressing her contact.

She answers on the fourth ring. Tired. Guarded.

“Bella?”

Hearing her voice loosens something in me I didn’t even know was clenched. “Hey, Mama.”

Silence stretches, five seconds, ten, weighted with unspoken things. Fear. Guilt. Anger. Love twisted around it all.

Then: “Are you still okay? You’re recovering?”

There’s a wobble there she tries to swallow. My heart pinches. “I’m okay. I’m safe.” I hesitate. “Actually… I’m more than safe.”

A pause. “You sound… different.”

“Different good or different bad?”

“Different worried-me-for-a-second-now-I’m-relieved different.”

I laugh quietly. “That sounds like me.”

But she doesn’t laugh back. She exhales, shaky. “Bella, I don’t know what’s going on, but I need you home. I need you here with me. I—”

“I’m not coming home,” I say softly but firmly. “Not yet.”

Silence again. Not angry silence, scared silence. “Bella… they burned your building down.”

I close my eyes. “I know, and it was only my floor, not the entire building.”

“They could have killed you. They would have killed you.”

“I know.”

“I’m your mother. I’m supposed to protect you. And I couldn’t. And I…”

“Mama.” My voice cracks. “It’s not your fault. And I’m protected now. I promise you that.”