Page 151 of Cook

I swallowed over the lump in my throat, thinking about Massimo’s second demand from last night. Arranged marriage. Who the fuck did that in this day and age?

Apparently, la fucking Famiglia.

It obviously wouldn’t be Wilde, Celt, Angel, the Warden, or me. We had our ol’ ladies, but there were enough young dudes in the MC who’d be good enough for the Mafia princess. Sas, Teller, Graff, Hammer, Coyote, Jackyl were the few we could fully trust.

“Do we want to make it easy or hard for whoever Massimo’s little Mafia princess is?” asked Bou with a crooked smile.

Maddie

Blinking back my tears, Ifinished, “And that’s what happened, Doctor Richardson.”

The doctor sat opposite me, not even moving as I told her my story. I didn’t know what I expected her to say or do, but she was a statue with her face painfully drawn and her eyes focused on me. I tried not to squirm under her gaze.

Finally, she said, “You can call me Ava.”

I nearly laughed. That was all she had to say as I opened up my mouth like an artery and the last decade plus bled out. Every terrible thing that had cut me to the bone and all the bastards who had held me down and raped me, and all she could do was tell me to call her Ava?

However, some of the weight fell off my shoulders. I wasn’t foolish enough to think that one bout of spilling my guts would make me as composed as Roni, but by saying it aloud made me feel free.

Safe.

Like I didn’t have to face nameless or faceless monsters in my nightmares anymore.

Welcomed and loved.

“Do you think you could say any of this to your sister?” Roni asked me, and Ava glanced away. Even the doctor didn’t think it was a good idea.

“No,” I said. She didn’t need to know what happened to me.

“Are there other things you could talk about with Lanie?” asked Ava, and I wondered whose side she was on. “Your sister cares for you deeply. She came to see you in the recovery house. She’s had counseling sessions and has waited patiently to reconnect with you.”

“Are you pushing me to see her?” I asked.

We had already connected on some things. Did I need to hand myself over to her?

“No,” said Ava at the same time Roni said, “Yes.”

The two shared a look, caught on their warring sides, and then Roni pushed, “Yes, I am. If you have the opportunity to get back a lost sibling, do it. I lost my brother, Justin, and if I had the chance, I’d tell him everything.” Her voice broke. “You’re lucky that Lanie is still here.”

Luck felt too far-fetched for my situation. My fate had been a result of too many plans. My kidnapping didn’t just happen. Signora’s plots weren’t a product of what the universe cooked up. Tommy G.’s using me certainly wasn’t happenstance.

Cook saving me and meeting Mel again—they may not have planned that exactly, but I can’t think myselfluckybecause of it.

Regardless, both Mel and I were alive and together. Did that mean I owed our sisterhood a chance? Where were our parents? They must’ve been dead if they hadn’t come, right? That, I would have to ask.

How many girls had I watched beaten to death or raped, and they had never recovered? Mel could’ve been hit by a car walking across the street or been killed by any number of crazy bastards she faced as a DA. Yet we were both here.

So, was I the lucky one?

Roni and Ava were both waiting for me, expecting me to do or say something. Apparently, I hadn’t said enough.

With a hefty huff, I peered out over the desert at the red cliffs I was beginning to love. At the huge cactus that marked our driveway. Atthe blue-gray sage and small creosote bushes that Cook had pointed out while we worked around the house’s exterior. Shadows slanted sideways, but the day was hot. Sweat slicked my skin, and Mel sat in the car, likely blasting the AC.

She turned off the car as I neared, extending my hands.

“Don’t shoot,” I muttered, trying to lighten the situation.

Mel gave me a deadpan look as she slammed the door shut. So much for sisterly bonding that Roni and Ava wanted. After I had told them basically all that had happened to me, they made me do something more tortuous. I knew I should’ve wanted this—most people would—but I didn’t know what to do around non-broken women. Her trauma and mine weren’t the same.

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