Page 8 of Charity's Redemption

He ran everything.

“I don’t like this one.”

“You’ve said that about the last ten houses we’ve looked at. Why don’t you sit down and tell me what it is you’re looking for, and I can see what we can do,” Marjorie said.

My realtor leaned against the tiled kitchen counter in a house that held a million-dollar price tag and flipped open her tablet.

“Let’s see.” I counted out the reasons on my fingers. “Cheap countertops and flooring. Ancient shutters. Paint is peeling in the bathroom. The toilet looks like they have not cleaned it with any products in the last century. Cracks in the foundation… And the list goes on.” I held up my hand, showing the count. “How about you find me a home that is worth the fucking price tag.”

This house was comparable to a rundown piece of shit on the other side of town, but with a well-manicured lawn. She may not understand what I was going through, but sending me to one dump after another wasn’t the way to go about getting my business.

“Marjorie, I think we should call it a day.”

“You don’t want to make a list or anything?”

“No. I don’t have one.”

We’d looked at three houses today, and every single one of them felt off… empty and cold. Never a home, never full of memories. They were worth nothing.

I walked away from her as I picked out my keys from my pocket and made my way out to the new blacked-out Dodge Challenger Demon. It was a present I’d gifted myself just this morning.

Marjorie raced after me. “We’ll keep looking. I’m sure we’ll find something. Okay?”

Her desperation rolled off of her like stale perfume, making me gag. I pressed the button on the handle to unlock the door, then waved her off while salivating over the massive hood scoop.

I’m not sure what possessed me to buy the damn thing. All I knew was one moment I saw it on the lot, and the next, I’d traded in the Cadillac on the spot.

The engine roared as I threw the eight-hundred horsepower machine into drive and took off down the quiet suburban street, leaving black tire marks down the road. Yeah, these neighbors wouldn’t appreciate me.

I sped through the subdivision, then onto the freeway, making it back to Luca’s in record time.

Flying into the driveway, I pulled inside the garage, but not before noticing Vito racing up to me like a man on a mission.

I slid out of my car as he greeted me. “When did you pick this up?”

“Today,” I said, leaning against the glossy paint.

He tipped his head back, nodding. “It’s slick, but uh, next time, give me a heads-up. I could’ve put a bullet in your head.”

I glanced behind me, taking in the tinted windows that beamed back your reflection like mirrors and the tinted windshield so dark you couldn’t see inside—another major selling point for me.

“Yeah. Hindsight.”

“Cool car, though,” he said before walking back to the front of the house while I sauntered inside.

You’d think he’d be used to us bringing new cars home, what with Luca’s extensive collection.

“Honey, I’m home,” I hollered into the empty foyer.

“I told you to stop saying that. It’s weird,” Luca said from the kitchen. I met him at the counter as he poured his coffee. “Any luck?”

I sat down on the stool and flicked a crumb across the counter. “Nope.”

“You’ll find one. At least you better cause you’re a fucking slob. Stop flicking trash onto my floor.”

Chuckling to myself, I stood and went to the scotch sitting on the silver platter with four glass cups tipped upside down beside the decanter. If he was going to bitch at me like my mother used to, I was going to need a stiff drink.

I picked one up, ran my finger inside to check for cleanliness, then poured a full glass.

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