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But still . . .
“Don’t say anything. I’m neither confirming nor denying, but just . . . hush.”
“Babe, you think I’ve worked for this family for this long without knowing when to keep my lips sealed? Shit. But when the coast is clear, I fully expect a deep dive on how that man is when he’s not glaring at everyone in a ten-foot radius.”
And then it’s my turn to laugh, drawing attention to our little huddle, but I don’t care.
Because I finally have girlfriends to gossip with, with zero strings attached.
* * *
The afternoon goes as well as one can expect—stupid games are played, gifts are opened, food is eaten, and now I’m staring at the clock, knowing I only have about thirty minutes left of this sham to endure.
I can handle thirty minutes.
Or so I think, until I’m moving toward the refreshments table and I hear it.
“Well, you know she wouldn’t even be here if her mother wasn’t a whore, out fucking that politician and then going behind his back with a Russo.”
It’s almost like a record scratches.
“What did you say?” I ask, turning around to face the speaker.
None other than Angela fucking Sigano.
The room goes quiet. The women she was gossiping with wisely take a step back—they must see the fucking venom flowing in my veins, dying to be spit at someone.
If I didn’t already hate this woman for being able to be seen with my husband out in public while I can’t, I really fucking hate her now for talking shit about my mother.
Would she be so confident in her bullshit if she knew my entire life has become dedicated to wreaking revenge for my family? If she knew that I fully plan on tearing down anyone who gets in my way?
But she just stands there, not moving, staring at me like she can’t comprehend the words I just spoke.
Angela clearly has not a single fucking light on in that empty, empty head of hers.
“What?” Her eyes go wide, big blue ones that I’m sure let her get away with a lot of shit.
Not with me.
I’ve been looking for a single solitary reason to go at this woman, and she handed it to me on a silver fucking platter.
It’s my party and I’ll beat your ass if I want to.
Or however that song goes.
“I said, what did you say?” I enunciate the words like she’s a child who needs me to speak slowly as I take a step closer to her.
“I don’t understand.”
“I get that there’s literally nothing but a fucking hamster on a wheel in that thick skull of yours, but don’t play games with me. What the fuck did you just say?”
“Lilah, maybe—" someone starts. I’m not sure who. I’m solely focused on Angela, who still can’t seem to understand that I have the full intention of inflicting harm on her for what she said.
“What did you say about my mother?”
A smile forms on her lips.
“Oh, that?” I smile, too, because I just know she’s about to make a huge fucking mistake. “I said your mother is a whore. And that if she wasn’t a whore, you wouldn’t even be here.”
