Dante chuckles, and so do I. “Your kid has your appetite,” he jokes.
“She’s technically not my kid,” I correct him.
His eyebrows pinch together as his gaze moves to me. “She’s yours in every sense of the word, don’t ever doubt that. In my eyes, fatherhood is measured by devotion, andyou’ve given that little girl everything a father should. Time, care, guidance, and more love than most people could ever manage. Blood doesn’t make you a parent, Dom, your heart does, and it takes a special kind of person to raise a kid that’s not theirs.”
His words have something squeezing in my chest. I can’t even bring myself to imagine what Peach’s life would’ve been like if my sister had been allowed to take her home from the hospital that day.
It’s been over three years, and Peach still hasn’t met her parents. Occasionally, Violet will pass one of the drug tests, and my hopes start to lift, but then she fails the next few. And as much as I still love her, there’s a point where you have to admit the drugs have won. She can’t be helped if she refuses to realise she has a problem. I’d pay for the best rehab if she’d take it.
Mary told me a few days ago that Violet is currently out on bail for throwing an old lady to the ground, stealing her handbag, and kicking her in the ribs before walking off like it was nothing.
I don’t even recognise my sister anymore. I try to imagine Peach growing up in that kind of chaos, and it makes my stomach turn. Some kids get a head start in life, but Peach unfortunately ended up with a fucking train wreck for parents.
My sister is set to return to court in a month’s time. I’m betting she won’t show. As much as I don’t like the thought of her being incarcerated, prison may be the only thing that could clean her up.
Emily moves towards the stairs, placing Peach down and holding her hand while she climbs out. She looks so cute in her pink frilly one-piece. Little floaties hug each of her arms, making them stick out at the sides like tiny wings as she toddles over to get a towel.
When Emily exits the pool, and I get a look at thebottom half of her—specifically the tiny, black bikini bottoms she’s wearing—I almost swallow my tongue. There’s a sliver of her abdomen on show, and I stifle a groan as my eyes peruse down her long, lean legs. They go on for fucking days.
I’m forced to push thoughts of them wrapped around my waist from my mind before I give myself away. This woman undoes me without even trying.
“Fuck, who’s the blonde?” Lorenzo murmurs. “Look at that tight arse.”
My head snaps towards him, and before I even realise it, I’m moving. “Why are you looking at her?” I growl, my voice eerily calm as I tower over him.
He blinks at me, confused by the shift. “What? I’m just saying?—”
“Well, don’t.” When his gaze drifts back to Emily, a cold edge cuts through me. “Why the fuck are you still looking at her?”
He swallows hard and shrinks back. “Oh shit,” he mumbles. “Does she belong to you?”
“She may not know it yet,” Dante cuts in as he steps forward, his voice carrying that quiet warning only an idiot would ignore. “But he’s claimed her, and if you looked at my woman like that, I’d gut you where you stand.”
“Lucky for me, she’s not his wife, then.”
A low growl rumbles in my throat, making Dante reach out and place a hand on my arm. “Not yet,” he replies.
My eyes flicker to him in surprise. Does he really think Emily could one day be my wife? The idea is absurd, but I can’t say I entirely hate it. “Don’t fucking look at her,” I warn Lorenzo.
“If you know what’s good for you—” Dante continues, giving him a hard stare, “—you’ll head back inside before this gets messy. I’ve only just had the deck refinished, so I won’t be impressed if it’s stained with your blood.”
Chapter 26
Emily
I’ve had the best day. I can’t remember the last time I hung out with the girls. Any girls. I had a few casual friendships back in Queensland, and Sonia from La Riviera was always trying to get me to go out with her, but Mick never allowed me.
He said I needed to make an effort to get to know the other old ladies at the club—that he didn’t trust outsiders—but those women weren’t really my people. I’m far from a snob, but I’m pretty sure most of them didn’t even like me, especially Daisy, the club president’s wife.
Don’t let her sweet name fool you; she’s more like a Venus flytrap than a pretty flower. Since he and Nathan were best friends, Mick was forever trying to pair me up with her.
The problem was that Daisy had a mouth that could make a sailor blush and a habit of getting into fistfights with the other women, as if it were her daily cardio. If I’m being completely honest, she scares the ever-loving crap out of me.
I remember the first time we met. She eyed me from head to toe, then burst out laughing.“Where the fuck did you find this one, Muzzle? Sunday school? She’s got thatsqueaky-clean-soul look, and it makes me want to smudge it.”Then she bared her teeth at me, snapped them together a few times for extra emphasis, and added,“This place is going to eat you alive, little girl. Men like Muzzle break women like you for fun.”
She turned out to be right, on the last part anyway. Maybe I should’ve heeded her warning.
Arabella and Lucia, though, are the complete opposite. They’re grounded and normal. They’re sisters, but they guard their people fiercely, and today has made me realise I’ve become part of their circle. From the first day Dominic took me to Lucia’s house, I felt like they understood me without effort.
