Page 218 of His Pretty Little Duet

She folds one thigh over the other, sipping her whiskey. Her eyes rest on my face easily. “I’m pleased you put the girl to use, Clay.”

I clench my jaw; she is not worthy to have an opinion on Fawn. My lips slice into a smile that is entirely lethal. “She is not like you,” I say, bearing the acid on my tongue as that was phrased as a compliment.

“I’m like you.” She rocks her top leg over her other. She’s comfortable in a man’s space. She knows it. She’s stared at the misogyny in our business with venom pursing her red-painted lips. It must have bred hatred in her. “I should have been born a man.”

“I don’t enjoy children.”

“Neither do I,” she says matter-of-factly. “You were barely a child to me. Raised by theCosa Nostra.It was only your brothers who were children to me. But you won’t be stuck with your children, Clay. She will. You won’t have to concern yourself with them. Just make them. You can come and go as you please and fuck whomever you want. That is your right.”

I sip my whiskey, wishing for a cigar, but I won’t smoke inside anymore. Reaching up I rub my jaw, contemplating her words. They are full of bitterness. Her tone, masking a true motivation. I let the time, her contentment, and her deemed status as my equal pass between us as she drinks.

Finally, I say, “That’s not what you want me to do.”

“Yes. I do,” she presses, with a smile that is anything but wholesome, curved in a way that suggests she cares little about Fawn; only what Fawn can give us. “I’m glad you’re not falling allover her like your brothers’ do for their women. It makes me so disappointed. I’m glad you’re more like me.”

“Not like my father?” I pry, watching her liberally enjoy the liquor. “He was never around either. You want me to be like him and?—”

“No, Clay. Your father is soft. Your father was never around because he spent most of his life grovelling over—” She smiles wryly, and I glance at her half-empty whiskey. “Never mind. You, you have always been more like me. Not soft for anyone. We’re the same.”

“I have always felt so.”

“You are nothing like your brothers.” She smiles approvingly, and I dislike that. “Bronson was such a wimp when he was a baby. He would cry so much. And at everything. I couldn’t stand it. You won’t have to worry about that. Only make sure she doesn’t coddle them. Make them hard. Discipline them hard. Or you’ll end up with weaklings.”

I force myself to relax, resting my fist below my chin, casual as I assess her every expression. “I would have drowned him,” I say without mirth.

“I nearly did,” she admits unbidden. And my veins set ablaze, but outwardly I merely chuckle. She discloses it so easily, so seamlessly. She continues, “I was alone in the house. It wasn’t my fault. I was struggling. And he would scream and scream. My mother was in England. My husband—” She sneers, derision and contempt dripping from her lips. “Off chasing another woman, of course. I was all alone to deal with them.Youwon’t have to do that.”

I zero in on her eyes, filled with accusations, bubbling with memories. Men and women enjoy nothing more than connecting over their dislikes, their hate. Toxic discussions are addictive, so I use them. Use her isolation, her self-pity, and ask, “What other woman?”

“Clay,”—she waves her empty glass of whiskey, making a large gesture with it— “your half-brother’s mother. It is not a secret anymore. Luca has told you.”

A woman scorned…

“Larger gestures after relaxed ones indicate a spike in passion.”I hear my deceased Don’s words. Jimmy Storm was the master of reading body language, every pantomime, every tic, he was a fucking hound, and he taught me about tells.

I nod at Que, and he dutifully offers her a refill of the dastardly concoction. As is her way, she accepts without offering him her attention. An elitist with her every glance.

“Konnor’s mother,” I confirm.

“Yes.Madeline.”Her name falls from my mother’s mouth like poison. “She had all the men in the District pawing after her. I couldn’t stand the little mouse. And now, your father is set on healing this memory. He talks about her with the bastard. He brings him around our house.” She stares at me expectantly, yearning for my sympathy, for my outrage. I tighten my brows. Let her vent. “Can you imagine what that is like for me?”

The bastard…

My children will be bastards.

Lifting my whiskey glass, I silently order Que to top it up, making it seem as though I am drinking generously also. “This is why you have looked so unwell?” I say smoothly.

“At leastyou havenoticed.” Her spine hits the sofa seat behind her, her position slumping. Her arms are seemingly heavier than before, but she doesn’t notice, keenly fighting the weight to finish her second glass. “It was her death anniversary a few days ago, or whatever people call it. And he had the boy around to mourn her, to wallow. I can’t stand to be in that house with that flaunted in front of me.”

I set my glass down on the table, lean back further, and ram down the regret swarming through me. She hates them…everyone.“I don’t like that.”

“I know you don’t.” Her head hits the back of the chair, her neck now too loose to control. She is slipping from reason. Her eyes begin to daze and her speech comes out slurred. “You have always looked at me as though you wanted to protect me from this entire world. Even when you were young. I am the only woman you have ever looked at like that. Not Aurora. Not that Fawn, girl. You care about your mother.”

She goes on, “But your father, well, he turned out to be a disappointment, simpering after that Australian tart, risking alliances with Nerrock and the entireCosa Nostrato do so. Well—” She releases an unruly chuckle. “I put a stop to that years ago.”

A wave of unease rises through my chest, lifting the stakes of this conversation as I ask, “How did you put a stop to it, Mother?”

She tries to smile, but the curve of her lips won’t settle, her mouth becoming hard to control. “I tried tohelphim, Clay. Lessen the hold she had on him,” she drawls. “It was brutal to see him sopathetic. I tried to make Luca’s life easier when I saw how much she tormented him. I had to do something.”

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