Page 80 of Promise to Break

"Nightmares." Liam tries to hide his remark with a cough, but come on, the woman looks like a bad version of the readaptation of Mary Poppins, the one with the mole.

"Nana doesn't have time for your games. Juli told me everything. Killian, boy, Sasha would be disappointed."

I blink once, the only sign of recognition of the name. Sasha was the whore who taught me all I know. I was seven when I was sent to her. My father wanted to make a man out of me. Sasha took pity on the confused boy in front of her. She told me what to say to Franco, and in the meantime, she was my teacher of everything sex. She passed away five years ago from a new drug she tried from the Albanian mafia. Those fuckers are a problem we've been trying to deal with for a long time.

"How do you know Sasha?" If there's one thing I don't like, it's coincidences. Why would someone like this woman work in an orphanage—an orphanage where Serena and Maricela once lived?

"I was her madam. I worked for your father. A great piece of shit, that one."

"And what do you know about us?" I take the cigarette that she smokes out of her hand and toss it on the floor. I hate that smell.

"Let's see. Killian Fierro, twenty-one years old, and the second in line to the Italian mafia, son of my capo. Liam Bourne, twenty-one years old and first in line to the British mafia. And Kai Koralov, twenty-two years old this month. Next in line to the Russian bratva, awaiting his beautiful bride-to-be."

"How do you—"

"I'm Nana. I know everyone. Now, answer a few things for me. What do you want from Mari?" The woman takes out another cigarette but doesn't light it.

"She's mine." The old thing in front of us laughs so hard I imagine it hurts her decrepit bones. How the fuck did they let something that old take care of children?

"Good luck with that, boy. My Maricela is a wild one. And she isn't one to be tamed, not even by you."

"She isn't a dog to be tamed." Hero barks at that. God knows why Kai insisted that the kids would love the creature. Hero looks like the devil's son.

"No, she's not. The Latin goddess in there is a free spirit. Your life is here. You're settled with your murders and the mafia. My Maricela needs to see the world, and you'll be an obstacle for that."

"How?" Kai puts a hand over Liam's mouth, just like Raven did to Julian. The last thing I want is for him to confirm her knowledge. She might be a pimp, but she's not inside the mafia.

"No need to think about killing me, boy. The Brit can speak up. I was your daddy's slut for a while. This old hag was good-looking once."

"They let a whore take care of children?" Liam asks disbelievingly.

"My pussy doesn't serve your fathers anymore. Although Liam's daddy is in love with his wife, so he never touched me. I taught Franco all he knows. All he thinks he knows that is. The poor thing doesn't know how to wield a cunt. His sense of direction is fucked."

"He's your capo," I warn, but I get another laugh.

"And? Besides, he was my capo. I'm eighty-one, kid. I'm still here, and it doesn't matter if I go by the hands of him or by the hands of this earth. I'm not going to be here much longer, either way. Now, forgive me. I'm going to see what my Mari and Raven made for dinner. And you, Brit asshole, touch her before the wedding, and you'll find out why I was called Monique Shebelle."

"Who?" Kai mutters.

She belts out another throaty laugh. "You kids these days. Listen to some musicals. It will make it all better."

Liam scowls and steps forward. "What do you want? Why are you here?" he asks, making her choke on her laughter.

"You most of all need to prove yourself to your future wife. Stop talking all the time. Give a little. There's a lot to give here. And you too," she adds, pointing to Kai and me and then to a boy who can't be older than five. He doesn't engage with anyone, not even with Julian, but it seems that people love him here. The boy looks like he's seen the worst life has to offer, and he probably has.

After the crazy woman leaves, I turn to the boy. "Can I sit here?" I ask, looming over the kid.

"Are you going to take me to mommy?"

"I don't know her," I confess. I sit on the edge of the sidewalk next to him. His eyes are red from tears, and his pale skin is covered in freckles.

"Oh."

The sadness in that single syllable alone reminds me of how I sat here once, just like him, slumped and dejected, but not in a place full of kids and people who wanted to protect me. No, I was alone in a basement, being punished for acting like a kid.

"Do you want to tell me your story?" The boy puts his thumb in his mouth, but I don't tell him it's bad.

"I don't know you. Mommy told me not to talk to people I don't know."

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