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Narrowing his eyes, André stared out the window across from him, gazing at nothing but the darkness, forcing his brain to think. At the grocery store that day, the niece had introduced herself as Daniella Brown.
With shaking fingers, André typed in Dante Brown. Surely the man got mail or had a landline, or something.
No results.
André stared out the window a bit longer before another thought struck him. Before he’d left that morning in October, Dante had said his sister had been killed, but not how. André wasn’t a U.S. Marshal with access to privileged information anymore. But he had friends who were, and they owed him.
Just as he was picking up his phone to call in that favor, there was a knock on his door. Slamming the lid of his laptop shut, he stepped across the room and opened the door, not bothering to look through the peephole. He knew exactly who was waiting on the other side.
Dante and Daniella were illuminated under the dim light thrown off by the porch bulb. Dante had a slightly apologetic expression on his face and held something in his hands. Daniella had her hands wrapped around a foil-covered bowl.
“Evening,” Dante said. “We thought we’d just come over and save the trouble of texting.”
The scent of something absolutely delicious wafted up from the tray Dante held. André’s stomach growled again, and his mouth started to water.
Dante quirked a dark eyebrow. “Can we come in?”
“As if you haven’t been in already,” André said grimly, trying to hold on to his anger as he opened the door wider and stepped back to allow them inside.
“As if you’d have said yes if I offered to make you dinner,” Dante pointed out. “This is our dinner too. We’re merely including you.”
André was too hungry to protest. He’d do that later. And Dante was infuriatingly correct. He would never have said yes to dinner.
“Let me clear off the table.”
The dining table was covered with mail André hadn’t opened, paperwork that needed filling out, and a few banker’s boxes packed with some cold cases he’d been going through at home because his office was too damn small. André usually ate sitting on the couch or standing at the kitchen counter. Quickly, he piled the boxes in a corner, promising himself he’d go through them soon.
Minutes later, the three of them were seated around the round oak table. Dante took the lid off the tray, revealing some kind of pasta dish. The bowl Daniella had brought in held a simple green salad.
“Eat,” commanded Dante as he scooped pasta onto the plates he’d brought in from the kitchen.
“Not going to argue,” André replied, picking up his fork and stabbing at the noodles.
“That’s a first,” Dante mumbled under his breath, not so quiet that Daniella didn’t hear him though. She bit her lip and shot André a small grin as she glanced between the two of them.
The pasta was incredible. Unashamed, André helped himself to seconds. Who knew when his next decent meal would be? They didn’t talk much; André was too busy shoveling food into his mouth while Dante and Daniella discussed school starting up again and what her class schedule was going to be like. Listening to them, André wondered what the two would do for Christmas. He had volunteered to cover the station seeing as how he had no relatives to visit.
“Do you like dogs, Chief Dear?”
André breathed in all wrong, coughed, and nearly choked on his last bite of pasta. Reaching over, Dante pounded him between the shoulder blades.
When he could breathe again and had wiped the tears from his eyes, André rasped, “Just André here, no need to call me chief.”
“Okay,” she said, her cheeks a little flushed. “Do you like dogs?”
“Daniella,” Dante said, his tone warning.
“Zio, I’m just asking.”
“I know exactly what you are asking,topolina.”
“I do like dogs,” André interjected, assumingtopolinawas an endearment of some kind. “But my work schedule would be very hard on a pet. It’s somewhat of a shame because there’s a big yard out back.”
“Enough about dogs or pets of any kind,” Dante said darkly. “We should get home, Daniella. The chief needs his beauty sleep. Let’s get the table cleared and dishes taken care of.”
Ten minutes later, André stood at the door, bemused as fuck. He hadn’t even remembered to tell Dante off for breaking into his house and leaving groceries. Nope. Instead, he’d wolfed down the food the small family had brought over and listened to the uncle and niece chat about their lives. It had felt homelike, something André was unfamiliar with in his adult life. And before that too, if he was being truthful.
He stood watching the red lights of Dante’s car disappear down the street.
