Page 87 of Pretty Lies

FIFTEEN

“DELLA, I’M NOT sure anything will make me smile right now, sweetheart. I’m just … sad. I want my son.”

“Well, give him a chance, okay?” Della asked her mother in the sitting room of the Costello family home. “And it is okay to smile, Ma. You know that’s what J loved you to do the most. You were always, always smiling at us.”

From his position, hidden in the entry hallway to the Costello home, with Mace waiting patiently at his boots, Cory cleared his throat and tried to ignore the conversation happening just a few feet away through an unfortunately thin wall. He’d always thought, and still did, that moments of grief in families should be private. He was here because of circumstance and not the fact he had actually spent any time behind the walls of this home.

He was an intruder to a private moment between Della and her mother, even if both women knew he was in the hallway. It didn’t really matter.

He wouldn’t want someone—who was essentially a stranger, if he was being real—to overhear his own mother’s pain while she grieved over the loss of her son. At the moment, it couldn’t be helped.

Frankie had greeted his daughter and Cory for just long enough to say hello before he stepped away to make a call. Probably many calls. That was the nature of things like murders, an eventual funeral, and the mafia, in general.

The first thing Della did when she arrived?

Went to her mom.

She introduced Cory, and while he wasn’t offended that the woman didn’t seem interested in visitors, the irony of it all wasn’t lost on him. The first time he ever properly met the parents of a woman he had an interest in had to be this moment.

Just his fucking luck.

Right?

Yeah.

Cory put his attention back on Mace as the conversation continued in the sitting room. Della had the bright idea, after an awkward stretch of silence, that maybe Mace would make her mom smile. He was absolutely willing to try that.

Anything to make the situation better.

“Dell—”

“Ma, I promise.” Just as fast, Della called out, “Come here, Mace.”

Cory’s pup sat a little straighter, and his head tipped up. Those big eyes of Mace’s locked on his master, and when Cory nodded, the dog didn’t hesitate to dart forward into view of the sitting room’s entry. Della called for Mace again, sending him flying all too happily into the room where hands were waiting to pet him until he acted drunk and foolish.

He was quick to follow behind the dog, and didn’t even need to see Chloe Costello’s face to know how happy the dog made her.

“Look at him—so pretty. Such a pretty, pretty boy.”

Cory came to lean in the entryway, grinning at the sight of Mace acting like a total fool on the chaise where Chloe rested with pillows, a blanket, and her daughter. The more someone petted Mace, the more he wanted.

Greedy dog.

People seemed to love it, though.

“Hey, mind,” Cory said, keeping his tone sharp but not moving an inch.

Instantly, Mace relaxed on the chaise. Stretching his muscular body out across Della’s legs and her mother’s to be loved some more.

Chloe smiled.

A real one.

Seemed her daughter had been right.

“He’s still practically a puppy,” the woman said.

Cory chuckled. “Barely over a year old.”