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Nodding my head yes, I return his grin. “The Kings have their uses.” Howard “Holy” Pelham didn’t even ask for the $50,000 I earmarked for Peter’s death. All he wanted was $20,000, and his incarceration record expunged. It was the cheapest job I’ve ever had done, and I had the best alibi: I was with Kessa the night it happened.
“Sick bastard,” Stefano mumbles again. “You’re going to hell.”
Kessa turns from the open casket and starts walking toward us. “We’re all going to hell, Stef; shut the fuck up.” When she’s within ten feet, I step forward with open arms to embrace her. “I’m so sorry for your loss, honey.”
All the while, Stefano has his arms crossed over his chest, shaking his head despairingly.
Sure, I had my best friend’s husband murdered in cold blood. I gave the best speech at his funeral. I’ll take care of his wife for the rest of our lives. Stefano isn’t wrong; I’m going straight to hell when I die. But at least while I’m alive, I’ll have the love of a good woman.
I fucked up in high school and lost the love of my life, but I won’t fuck up again. Francesca Scot is mine now, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.
1
FRANCESCA
PRESENT DAY
It was a long day. I think there’s a secret fight club at my school. Four kids were trotted into my office today with black eyes and bloody noses; none of them talked. When the newspaper gets ahold of this information, they’re going to skewer me like a shish kabob. I can see the headline now:
BLUEMONT ELEMENTARY SCHOOL PRINCIPAL OBLIVIOUS OF STUDENT FIGHT CLUB
A dozen parents will be in my office tomorrow morning demanding to know how I knew nothing about their kids setting up an illegal fight club. I can hear their questions like a live interview in my head.
“Aren’t there recess monitors on the playground?”
“Why weren’t there cameras in the hallway they were fighting in?”
“Do the teachers even care about our kids?”
“Doyoueven care about our kids?”
My stomach hurts just thinking about it. I want to go home, curl up in bed, and pretend none of this ever happened.
“Howdy.” I recognize his voice, but if I didn’t, his greeting would give me the ick.
I turn around in the cereal aisle to find my best friend standing a few feet away. Cesare has a basket filled to the brim with fruits and vegetables; he’s the healthiest guy I know. “Hey, you,” I smile. “What brings you to the aisle of carbs and added sugars?”
Cesare wrinkles his nose in disgust and looks around at the dozens of boxes of sugary breakfast cereals and pop-tarts. “I saw you come down this aisle. Trust me; I don’t need anything.”
I grab the first thing my hand touches and show it to Cesare. “You mean you don’t need eight packets of maple and brown sugar oatmeal?” Now that I say it out loud, I kind of want it. When he shakes his head no, I toss it into my cart. “It’s good for your heart, Cesare. You know, that thing in your chest that could stand to grow three or four sizes?”
“Are you calling me the Grinch?” He asks with a perfectly manicured raised eyebrow.
“All you need is a Max,” I announce with a grin. “You don’t even celebrate Christmas, do you?”
Cesare places a hand on his chest in mock offense. “I celebrate Christmas, Kessa. Have you ever been to a Las Vegas strip club on Christmas? It’s the best present a single man could get.”
I roll my eyes and keep walking. “You’re insane. You should spend it with your family.”
He wrinkles his nose again. “I think I liked it better when everyone was single and kid-free. Do you know how loud the holidays are now? Someone is always crying. Pretty sure Stefano bawled his eyes out at Easter dinner.”
“But you’re the fun uncle now. A bachelor with the disposable income to sugar up your nieces and nephews before sending them home.” My sister, Sylvia, swears that she’s never going to have kids. Attending the Valenti family gatherings is the closest I’ll ever get to being an aunt. Everyone there treats me like family.
Cesare frowns when we stop in front of the granola bars, and I put a few boxes in my cart. “Are you buying snacks for the entire school? Jesus, Kes.”
“On days like today, this is my mid-morning snack, lunch, and afternoon comfort food while I’m crying in my office closet.” I’ve said too much. Concern washes over Cesare, and he reaches out to touch my elbow in support. “It’s fine,” I rush to assure him before he can worry too much. “Some days are harder than others, and this is one of them. It’s my first year as Principal, so there’s bound to be tough days, right?”
He squeezes my elbow gently before pulling away. “Of course. Everybody has tough work days.”
