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Nevertheless, I reluctantly sat down and savored each bite.
During that initial week, the guys took turns keeping me company, but as time passed, a routine emerged, a routine that marked the first half of the month, and with each passing day, they chipped away at my resolve. In the quiet moments, when their presence enveloped me, my thoughts swirled like a tempestuous storm. I couldn’t help but wonder if the space I had so desperately craved had been a terrible mistake.
Matty, the perpetual morning person, always graced us at seven with that infectious, lazy smile and a cup of coffee that could make even the snobbiest coffee connoisseur reevaluate their choices. I was convinced he brewed it wherever he stayed, because no local coffee shop could conjure up a brew so delectable…or perhaps it was the fact that it came from him that infused it with an extra dose of magic. His ocean blue eyes transformed into my morning addiction, a sight I eagerly looked forward to each day.
He would saunter in, gently rouse Milo, and proceed to conjure up a genuine breakfast, not just the standard fare of Lucky Charms or other cereal. No, he would whip up eggs, bacon, and toast, filling the air with the comforting aroma of sizzling delights, and then he would take it a step further, experimenting with little quiches in my cupcake pan, triggering an unhealthy addiction that I secretly reveled in.
Beyond the breakfast rituals, I unraveled Matty’s layers, the man concealed beneath the façade of an FBI agent. Matty loves card games, with his favorite being Cards Against Humanity. This revelation came one morning when he arrived with the junior version for Milo, and they engaged in a game before Milo’s school day commenced. Although they need more than two people to play their game, itmostly just consisted of them reading the cards and giggling.
His favorite food is simple, revolving around the ubiquitous burger. This made his eyes light up, particularly when he spoke of a cheddar bacon burger. The mere mention of it caused his face to take on an endearing, almost childlike expression that never failed to make my heart flutter.
Matty also has an odd fondness for sweetened tea, a blend harmoniously split with lemonade. To indulge this proclivity, I began keeping it stocked in the fridge, along with those tiny, chocolate-covered pretzels that he seemed to savor with an almost indecent pleasure, but I loved seeing his joy and hearing his contented moans.
In the early hours, he would accompany me as I escorted Milo to school, our morning banter a comforting routine, and then he would escort me to the diner, leaving me in the capable hands of Tatum and the new cook, Vito. Visibly enamored by Vito’s presence, Tatum could barely manage a coherent sentence in his vicinity.
Their slow, tantalizing seduction didn’t cease there though. Oh no. These three mastered the art of defining space, teasing its boundaries, and keeping me in a delightful state of anticipation. It was a dance of desires and unspoken words, and I was the captive audience, yearning for each note they played.
At the end of my shift, Desmond waited to walk me to the school and then back home. It was an interesting juxtaposition, this mafia boss working for his formidable mother yet revealing a side that few would associate with his persona—a homebody and a slight introvert, who adored the culinary arts.
Desmond had an unmistakable love for cooking, a passion that sometimes felt like an attempt to shatter my perceptions. Out of all the characteristics that sought to challenge me, it was this facet, and this alone, that truly tried to break through my defenses. Although truth be told, there were a few other reasons.
Once back at my place, Desmond effortlessly started dinner preparations. He probably believed he was being subtle by keeping my fridge stocked while I was at work, but the truth was, his caring gestures were as transparent as glass. Every afternoon, he would have a charcuterie board set out for the three of us. Milo, a growing boy, would devour most of it with an appetite that seemed insatiable.
After dinner, Desmond and Milo would sit at the table and dive into homework. Their chemistry was astonishing, as if they had been working on assignments together for years, gliding through the tasks with flawless ease. There were no arguments or confusion over the complexities of common core math, just a seamless harmony of homework.
As I stood at the sink, washing the dishes and listening to their interaction, there were moments when tears would well in my eyes. I hoped they couldn’t perceive my silent cries, but Desmond was sharp and observant. He saw me, and now, I saw him.
Was he a cold-blooded killer? Undoubtedly, yes.
Was he one of the best things to ever happen to us? Also, yes.
Spending time with Desmond brought genuine happiness into my life. I discovered he cherishes his family deeply. On numerous occasions, Dante would show up, pleading for food. Those leftovers from Mama Black? Desmond was the mastermind behind those culinary delights. In fact, he often prepares meals for the entire Black family. More than once, Dante would pout, lamenting my theft of their beloved chef.
On wine about it Wednesday, he would take up the role of babysitter. There was a particular night when I returned home to find all three guys engrossed in board games with Milo. It moved me to tears.
Desmond typically departed after dinner when Lyric arrived. Their unspoken understanding was palpable, a silent ballet. Desmond knew when to step into the shadows, allowing another presence to fill the room. It was an intricate balance that seemed to define their unusual but mesmerizing relationship.
Lyric, the most disturbed of the trio, possesses a recklessness that matches his ruthlessness. There’s a reason he’s Desmond’s bodyguard and Dom’s nurse—a fact I could have certainly lived without knowing. However, one night, after Milo had fallen asleep and I finished reading him a bedtime story, Lyric talked. He poured out his experiences and stories that, most nights, I fall asleep listening to. His tales are endless, haunting, and vividly dark.
On that fateful day, when their family was shattered, I discovered that the man who took him was seeking a protégé. The revelation nearly made me spiral as I learned that these men often kidnapped children. Lyric’s story is not for the faint of heart. It’s a narrative filled with blood, torture, and unforgiving endings. There’s a disturbing network of individuals like his captor, and when they are ready to retire, they kidnap a child. Lyric was the one the man had set his sights on for a long time, claiming he had a look that suggested he’d kill without a second thought. Lyric fought against those words for years until he didn’t. According to him, kids are malleable, and those who are younger than ten hardly remember their parents as they grow older. It’s a cruel fate.
The day he met Desmond, he killed that man. Desmond then sent him to medical school with Dom, though Lyric struggled with the attention span required for medical studies. Nursing was more his speed. What stunned me the most was discovering he was valedictorian, all under pseudonyms supplied by the Black family.
I drew the line when he began explaining how to torture a person for months, something he seemed oddly eager to share, along with his unnerving collection of knives. Amidst his darkness, though, he was surprisingly gentle with Milo and me. He even removed my stitches with a tender touch, his words oddly soothing, despite the context.
It bewildered me how a man as ruthless as Lyric could be so gentle with us.
Eventually, I stopped obsessing over that question, especially when I witnessed how he watched over us until Matty arrived in the morning. Sometimes, he remained in the shadows, and other times, he would sleep beside me. Little by little, they all chipped away at the walls I built until I could envision myself loving them.
And maybe, I already did.
“Lottie?” Milo sighs, his breath drawn out with a hint of impatience. “Are you even listening to me?”
I blink at him as if just waking up from a distant reverie. “I’m sorry, tot. Can you say that again?” Guilt spreads through me, causing a wince to escape.
“Okay, so,” he begins again, already exasperated. Matty chuckles at him. “The market is thirty minutes away. The field trip is next Monday,” he says slowly, and I can tell this is the second time he’s told me this. “My teacher said she’s holding a chaperone position for you. Will you go? Please?” It’s the long, drawn-outpleasethat tugs at my heart.
“I’d love to.” I set my coffee down and grab the paper he waves before my face. Is it a coincidence or fate that they are going on a field trip to the market where Matty learned of his brother—the one Sal snuck away to so he could call home—or the one that has my all-time favorite pretzels? Either way, he’s not going alone, that’s for damn sure. I sign on the dotted line.
