Page 8 of Heaven Help Me

My eyes roll so far back in my head I see my thoughts. “Seriously. You didn’t use to sound like that. Your voice is so hoarse you’d make Macy Gray jealous.”

She scoffs, crossing her leg over her knee, stiletto swinging in the air just like Bettina. “Some motherfuckface tried to strangle me about ten years ago. I knifed him—no surprise there—but then had my men take out his whole crew that same night. One guy slipped past our cleanup and ended up on the news. Surprised you didn’t hear about it.”

A pang of…something…hits my chest. The guy must have gotten quite a drop on her if it changed her voice like this. “I don’t really keep up with that stuff.”

Valentina sits forward, pinning me with her intent stare. “What do you mean? You own a boutique in a little town. One I assume that launders a lot of money?”

My jaw hits the floor. “Excuse me?”

She mocks me, her voice pitched super high. “Excuse me?” Her voice drops back to normal. “What are you? Some kind of Southern lady having the vapors? This is me you’re talking to. I don’t narc.”

“Neither. Do. I,” I manage to grit out between my clenched teeth. “And my boutique is not part of a money-laundering scheme. It’s a legit business.”

Valentina stares at me for a few seconds, evaluating if what I said is true. “Well, that’s disappointing. I don’t see why you don’t use that storefront to your advantage.”

I scoff, hands immediately pulling at my cuffs like I always do when I’m disturbed and trying not to show it. “I don’t need to engage in illegal activity to be a success. I do just fine selling suits to those with deep pockets and good taste.” I give her a once-over. “Which, by the way, those clothes aren’t going to work here.”

Now it’s Valentina’s turn to gasp in outrage. “Excuse me?”

I mock her right back, though I dare say my impression of her is way more spot on than hers was of me. She cuts me a scathing look. I stick my tongue out at her.

We really are children. I have no idea what my mother was thinking putting us together alone in the same house for any length of time.

The doorbell rings, jolting us both from our hatred staredown. I stand, buttoning my suit jacket again. I’m not expecting company, but this is the South. Neighbors stop by uninvited all the time. Except this neighbor is now banging on the door.

“We’ll go shopping tomorrow for something more appropriate. My girl Maggie will fix you up.” With that tossed over my shoulder, I head for the front door, only for a male voice to announce himself before I even get there.

“Dude, it’s me. Open up!”

Valentina jumps to her feet behind me. “Shit,” she hisses.

I, for one, am relieved. This is the perfect time to practice our new roles. I swing the door open to find Silas, my best friend, and his wife standing on my doorstep.

“Is the house on fire? Dog fall down a well?” I drawl.

Silas ignores my very funny attempt at humor and simply pushes his way into my house, Betsy following behind. “Why were you looking for me all over town this morning? Is everything okay?”

He skids to a halt when he sees Valentina, causing Betsy to slam into his back.

“What the actual fuck, frat boy?” she grouses, rubbing her second-trimester baby belly.

I walk right past them both to Valentina, sling my arm around her waist, and pull her in tight to my side. The woman is stiff as a board, and she fucking growls under her breath over my manhandling, but so far, I don’t feel any knives piercing my skin.

“Silas. Betsy. I’d like you to meet Landry. My girlfriend.”

Valentina pinches the shit out of my thigh where her hand is wedged between us. To my credit, I barely flinch.

I guess I just expect pain wherever Valentina is concerned.

CHAPTER FOUR

Valentina

I’m not sure what I expected Deuce to be, but this Southern gentleman with a beautiful rambling house and actual friends is not it. Granted, I only knew Deuce as a kid. Last I saw him he was bleeding outside my bedroom, and even though I’d harbored a secret crush on him for years which made that night of sex the height of exhilarating, I always saw him as the spoiled playboy type.

He and Bettina would fight constantly when we were growing up, but she always gave him whatever he wanted. Unlike me, who knew she was adopted and therefore better follow Bettina’s orders to a tee or get kicked out of the tribe, or worse. This was a crime family after all. My circumstances forced me to walk a tightrope, performing constantly for continued inclusion. Deuce pissed on the tightrope with a lazy smirk, knowing he’d be forgiven. We were not the same.

“Girlfriend?” The blond man with the bright yellow polo shirt looks like his eyes might pop out of his head.