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My brother frowns. “I don’t know what that is.”
“Mm. You better hope your wife doesn’t, either.”
Easy silence swirls us, a backdrop of laughter and Christmas classics vibrating against our backs.
“What’s the deal with Leo and Vivi?” I ask, passing him back the cigar. “I’m surprised they turned up. You know, considering you shot their father in the head and all.”
He smirks at the memory, then wipes it off with the back of his hand. “Think they hated Big Al more than we did. Dante too.”
“You letting them move in?”
He shrugs. “They’re family. I’ll interrogate them tomorrow, but they seem pretty genuine.”
“Bet Dante hasn’t even put up a tree, the fucking Scrooge.”
We both laugh. “Leo said the Cove mansion felt like North Korea, but it’s slowly become a ghost town.” Angelo turns to me, expression turning serious. “Dante’s the last man standing.”
I take this information in with a puff of tobacco. The burn at the back of my throat is as satisfying as the news. “Yeah?”
“Gabe will be pleased. He’s been climbing the fucking walls.”
I keep my mouth shut, my mind wandering to his sadistic cave. I think Gabe has been just fine.
The wind whistles over the shells of my ears. Behind us, Tayce calls someone a dickhead—probably Benny—and a loud laugh permeates the brickwork and squeezes my shoulders. Warms my fucking chest.
I’d know that laugh anywhere. I slide the cigar inside my bittersweet smile. It’s a hollow feeling, loving the sound of something and knowing that one day soon I’ll never hear it again.
I glance at my brother’s amused expression and nod to the cigar.
“Just doesn’t taste the same with vodka. It’s true what they say about Russians having no taste.”
He ignores me, takes the smoke from my hand, and takes the two steps into the yellow glow leaking from the living room window. He puffs, watching the scene beyond it.
“You’re good together.”
“What?”
He cuts me dry look that suggests I fucking know what. Reluctantly, my legs carry me over so we’re standing shoulder to shoulder, looking in the window.
Benny’s holding Rory’s dog up like Rafiki does Simba inThe Lion King,and Tayce is jumping to rescue her.
I frown. “What’s that on Tayce’s arm? Thought she doesn’t have any tattoos.”
Angelo huffs out a laugh. “It’s a dick.”
I turn. “What?”
“A massive veiny dick. Your girl drew it. Lucky for Tayce, it’s temporary. I think. It’s fucking awful.”
Your girl.The words come out of my brother's mouth like melted butter. Slide down my spine as easily, too. It sounds so natural, but so foreign at the same time. No girl has ever been mine for longer than a night.
Finally, I let my gaze go to her, and as usual, a hand squeezes around my heart. She’s sitting by the fire with Nico, balls-deep in a card game with him. She’s got that stern expression she gets when we play Mario Kart and she’s on the cusp of losing. She’s the only one wearing the ugly Christmas sweater handed to us as we crossed the threshold. It’s almost as big as her and just as loud.
I shake my head, melancholic humor filling me. Last night on the bow, I laid everything out in the cold gap between us. I don’t really know why. Part of me wanted her to make it easier on me by running away; the other part wanted her tofix it.
She did neither, and so we’re still here, balancing on the tightrope between the flames.
I almost wish I hadn’t demanded she come today, because every moment with her has been perfect. After dinner, we moved to the drawing room to play games. We teamed up, and fuck, I’d never thought I’d enjoy playing games with her as much as I do against her. Maybe it’s because we obliterated everyone. After two rounds of Charades and a whole lot of Pictionary, everyone else was mildly resentful of our triumph and got bored with playing.
