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“This is the job, Renzo,” I reminded him. “He’s going to kick me out if I don’t do the tasks he tells me to.”
“The job is for me,” he reminded me. “I am the only reason you are in that house,” he added.
That was… true.
And it was only a matter of time before the facade of my house manager position came crumbling down around me.
I tried to pretend the thought of that didn’t feel like a kick to the stomach, hard enough that I actually pressed my hand there, like I could ease the ache.
Because, well, Renzo wasn’t wrong in thinking that I was playing house. And enjoying it.
God, I hadn’t been so at ease in years. Ever? Maybe ever. It was crazy how I went from just a bottomless pit of uncertainty and stress and worry to just… floating around.
I was having so much fun setting up the house. Making design boards to show Emilio over dinner I’d made, taking his opinions, then going shopping to make them happen.
I’d even been improving on the cooking part.
I mean, not everything was a winner.
But I was learning.
And I’d come a long way considering I’d never really cooked much before.
“What do you want, Renzo?” I asked in a hushed voice even though I knew Emilio was out, likely for most of the day.
“Progress, Avery,” he said, sounding… tired.
I knew I was supposed to feel pity for him. That was where my loyalty should lie. But what can I say? I’d seen more kindness with the Costas in just a week of working for them than I’d seen in a lifetime of the Lombardis.
I’d always understood why the Lombardi Crime Family got the reputation it did. They were hard, harsh, and uncompromising. Unforgiving.
There was no getting away from them.
Not when they wanted something from you.
“What, exactly, do you want me to do? He’s never home. I’m trying to get the place more… homey, so he spends more time here. Maybe has meetings or something here.” That was a stretch. I was getting it homey because I was loving doing it, because it was such a good feeling to watch him come in, see something new, and approve of it. “But with all this shit with the murder…” I said.
“That was bad timing,” Renzo admitted, exhaling hard. “Get me something, Avery. Or I’m going to have to make you bug the place.”
Ugh.
I was dreading that.
Not only because it was a major invasion of privacy.
But because if he found bugs, he would know exactly who had access to the whole house and placed them.
I knew it was incredibly naive of me to start getting lost in this job, in this little dream life, when I knew it was only ever going to end badly.
But I couldn’t help it.
I liked it here.
I loved this job.
And, I was admitting more and more each day, I liked my boss, damnit.
Especially because he seemed to be loosening up a bit. He’d been kind of tense and quiet right at first, but over time, I guess as he got used to my being around, he was settling in, being more himself. Even his clothes had changed a bit.
He started wearing this array of statement belt buckles that kept drawing my attention to an area of his body I was trying really, really hard not to focus on too much. Because, ya know, I was on the struggle bus about trying to keep my feelings professional.
It was going so poorly that I was pretty sure my struggle bus had broken down, and now I was going to need to bring in a tow truck to keep me going in the right direction.
Which was, you know, away from Emilio Costa.
Because I would not, could not go to bed with him.
God, that was very Dr. Seussy of me.
“Are you crying?” Renzo asked, sounding even more frustrated.
Actually, I’d been laughing at my own stupid brain. But I couldn’t tell him that. I was supposed to be focusing, paying attention to him, taking this whole thing very seriously.
“No,” I said, putting a little whine in it for good measure, letting him think I was, in fact, upset. He’d believe it. I was known for it.
“Christ. Get it together, Av. This is not a hard job. Get the information and get the fuck out.”
He ended with that.
And my entire damn day felt shot.
I’d been feeling so good, too. I’d been debating starting to paint the dining room since the table and chairs were coming at the end of the week.
One phone call felt like it had simultaneously sapped all my energy and set every nerve ending on edge.
Painting wasn’t going to happen, that was for sure. I barely trusted myself on a good day on a ladder. I damn sure wasn’t going to fuck-around-and-find-out what happened when I wasn’t on my game.
