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The following day,I stand under the piping hot spray of the shower and let it beat down on my sore muscles. I’ve never enjoyed hot showers more than I have this week. Those first few days of not being allowed to get my staples wet have made me appreciate this more than I knew possible.
It might also be the first time I’ve had more than five minutes to myself in days. I’ve never been so constantly surrounded by people, all looking for answers I don’t have yet, but I’m damn sure gonna get.
Amelia left an hour ago. She agreed to not go in at three a.m. but was out of bed and out of the house by six this morning. Waking up with her in my arms, where she belongs, has me thinking thoughts most men would be running from and wondering what she’d do if she knew.
Would she want to live here? Fuck... Do I even want to live here? I know I don’t want to leave Nonna in this house alone. A week ago, I was in a penthouse in the city, and now I’m in a compound in Kroydon Hills.
I can see why Pop moved us here. It’s easier to secure this house than my penthouse. I’ll need to talk to Amelia and see what she’s thinking.
I already hear that whip snapping in the back of my mind, and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t make me smile.
She’s the only person I’ll ever bow down to.
I come down the stairs expecting to see Dean, who’s picking me up soon for a few meetings today. Instead, I’m greeted by a quiet house. Nonna’s coffee is brewing in the kitchen, but she’s not in here. When I step back into the hall, I see my father’s bedroom door open and move quickly to see who’s inside.
I’m met with the sight of Nonna sitting on his bed, one of Pop’s shirts clutched in her hands as silent sobs wrack her small body.
The floor creaks as I step inside the room, causing her to look up and quickly wipe her face. “Ignore this old woman. I didn’t want you to see me like this, Samuel.”
“Nonna.” I sit down next to her and wrap my arm around her. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I’ve spent so much of this week behind closed doors.”
“I’ll be fine. You have enough on your plate. Please don’t worry about me.” She wraps her hand around mine, bringing it to her lips and kissing my knuckles. “Be careful, Sam. This life will take everything from you if you let it.” She studies my face before standing from the bed, still holding Pop’s shirt. Her hand lifts to cup my cheek. “Don’t let it.”
She holds the shirt close to her chest. “I love you, piccolo principe. I know you will make your parents proud. But remember, do not start a war if you can’t finish it. I heard your grandfather say that many times through the years. He had his battles, but he always won.” Her blue eyes glisten. “Win, Sam. Kill them all. Make them pay.”
I’m trying, Nonna.
* * *
Later in the day, as Dean drives the two of us over to Mike’s loft in the city, we decide to make a detour to Sweet Temptations. I haven’t set foot in here in the month since Snow and I had our argument over how I handled the Tremblays.
When we walk in, she’s standing in front of the counter with a sleepy-looking Gracie resting on her hip. Annabelle Sinclair stands next to her while Evie sucks on one of those weird cups with a pink lid.
Amelia’s eyes light up when she sees us walk in, giving me all the permission I need to move across the room and kiss her cheek before turning to look at Annabelle and Evie. “Hey, ballerina. Little ladies.”
Evie hides behind her mother’s leg. She’s Bash’s goddaughter, and Declan Sinclair is going to be screwed when these girls grow up. They’re beautiful like their mother. But this one in particular is going to be serious trouble.
“Hey, Sam. How are you feeling?” Belle asks sympathetically.
“Good. Thanks.” I watch Dean talking to Lyla while she gets our coffees.
“Do you need anything for tomorrow?” Belle asks, referring to the funeral.
I shake my head, no, then think better of it. “Actually, would you mind giving Amelia a ride, so she doesn’t have to go by herself?” I wrap my arm around Amelia’s waist, knowing she’ll be annoyed by this but not wanting her to be alone tomorrow. She can’t ride with Bash and me. There are too many unknowns and too many other things at play besides the funeral.
Amelia hip-checks me with the hip not holding a one-year-old and rolls her eyes. “I can drive myself, Sam.”
Dean moves down the counter with two coffees in one hand and a pink box in the other. “Hello, ladies.” He hands me a coffee. “You ready to go, Sam? We gotta get moving.”
I look down at Amelia and tilt her chin up to brush my lips over hers. “See you tonight, Snow.”
As Dean and I walk through the door, Annabelle’s words trail after me. “Bye, Sam.”
And so does a little girl’s voice, mimicking, “Bye, Sam.”
Then Belle whistles, followed by, “Damn, girl. That was hot.”
The door shuts behind us before I can hear more.
