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Brooklyn steps gracefully over the glass in her high-waisted white pants, her red heels crunching on the shattered remnants. She’s dressed in a matching blazer, and for the first time, she looks every bit the mafia queen. Her posture exudes power, but her expression is seething with anger.
As her blazer moves, I glimpse multiple guns strapped to her chest. She appears foreboding and furious, a formidable force to be reckoned with.
“They didn’t hit anyone?” she asks, her voice calm and controlled.
“No,” Matty answers, crossing his arms, his demeanor equally as composed. Dante walks in, taking one look at me and nodding before placing the bullets in forensic bags. Outside, I hear the other brothers talking and moving around, a symphony of organized chaos.
“Good.” Mama Black turns her sharp eyes to me, her gaze unwavering. “You and Milo are moving out tonight.”
This time, I don’t argue. I merely nod.
Someone aimed this entire attack at us. The intention, the motive, remains unclear, and I struggle to determine who the actual target was—was it me or Milo? The uncertainty gnaws at me, adding to the darkness and danger already lingering in the air.
Chapter Fifteen
Flashbacks swaywithin the depths of my consciousness, merging similar nights. Time rushes by, an elusive river too swift for me to fully grasp. It’s as if an invisible force wields the remote control to our lives, fast-forwarding the world’s chaos. Images and faces blur together, leaving me disoriented as Desmond and Matty guide me hurriedly out of the house and into a waiting car, where Milo sits.
Lyric is still missing, and according to Desmond, it’s just part of his nature.
I must hold on to faith and cling to the belief that he will return home—a concept that feels foreign to me. Home is a sanctuary that shields you, nourishes you with bread, wine, and meat, and offers a place to rest your weary body. It’s where people gather by the fire to chase away the cold and savor pie when hunger strikes.
As we pull up to the mansion, I’m uncertain if I’m prepared to label this place as home, however, the men dwelling within these walls? I’m more than ready to call themhome.
The notion strikes me as we pour out of the car, and Desmond sweeps Milo into his arms, carrying him inside. Holding the cat carrier in one hand, Matty places his palm on the base of my spine and guides me forward. The woods surrounding the mansion aren’t just quiet, they are eerie, their silence casting a shroud over the grand estate. Lights are on, and the doors stand open, as if the mere sound of Desmond’s call prompted everyone to drop everything and rush to our aid.
It’s a peculiar thought, one that lingers in the recesses of my mind as Matty leads me into Desmond’s wing and into the corridor of bedrooms that now belong to us.
As we round the corner, Desmond pauses before a door adorned with a small blackboard hanging against the grainy wood. It reads, “Milo.”
“I’m going to get him to sleep,” Desmond says, carrying Milo into the room. My throat feels raw from the earlier screaming, so I can only respond with a soft nod. Matty guides me to another room farther down the hall, the second door on the right, whereas Milo’s room is the first.
“This one is yours,” Matty informs me, pushing the door open. “It’s almost ready.”
The room is sparse, still in the process of being furnished. Floor to ceiling curtains in a soothing sage green drape gracefully over the windows, contrasting with the dark gray walls, and plants hang from every available corner. There’s no bed yet, but I can envision where it will go along the left wall. A small seating area features two chairs still wrapped in plastic and a coffee table that resembles a waterfall.
“It’s perfect,” I murmur, longing to step inside and collapse onto a bed that doesn’t exist yet. It feels as though they have incorporated pieces of my personality into this room—my comfort colors and preferences. Even the scent of the room seems to reflect me.
It’s almost overwhelming to process. I turn away from the room, leaving it behind me, and walk down the hall to peek into Milo’s room.
His room reminds me of the one I had put together. It has dark blue walls and ceilings adorned with tiny stars. We couldn’t paint the walls in our apartment, but Desmond did here, creating a captivating space theme. The ceiling features lighting fixtures shaped like planets, each emitting a soft, gentle glow.
Desmond sits on the side of Milo’s bed, whispering to him, the two of them sharing an intimate moment amidst the cosmic ambiance.
“Here.” Matty gently releases the cat from his carrier and tucks him inside before softly closing the door to avoid disturbing Desmond and Milo. “Albert has his own kitty condo on the other side of the room.”
It’s all too much—their generosity, their sacrifices, all done for us.
“Can you take me to your room?” I ask softly, sliding my hand into Matty’s.
He silently leads me down the hall to the next door on the left and opens it. He flips on the light and rubs the back of his neck nervously. “It’s not much. I wanted to focus on getting your room put together. I told Desmond he didn’t need designers.” He rolls his eyes, letting me know just how he feels about that.
I step inside, instantly enamored with the room. Yes, it’s simple, with few decorations, but it’s quintessentially Matty.
The room exudes a rustic charm, with dark wood paneling below the chair rail that reminds me of shiplap. Above it is a faux brick wall that I touch, surprised by its texture.
“It’s, uh, not real,” Matty stammers, his face flushing. “Real brick would have been too heavy.”
“I love it,” I tell him earnestly, meaning every word. To the far left is his bed, with an industrial frame adorned with lights hanging over two vintage wooden cedar chests turned into end tables. The white comforter looks inviting and cozy, while the burnt orange and gray pillows add a touch of Matty that I adore. Above the bed, a large canvas displays the woods in black and white, except for the autumn leaves painted in that same burnt orange. “It’s beautiful.”
