Page 108 of Assassin's Obsession

"It's practical in my line of work."

Right. Black hides blood. That's why I wear black leggings a couple of days before my period's due, in case I start early.

So glad he doesn't explain that to my eleven-year-old sister.

Before dinner, Angelo takes me and Cookie to the kitchen to introduce us to the housekeeper, cook and maid. All three look at me with a strange kind of awe but are instantly charmed by my little sister's exuberance and frank admission of hunger.

"Smells yummy," Cookie says with an appreciative sniff when the cook promises dinner is ready to bring to the table. "Can't we eat in here?"

The kitchen is industrial sized with a large eating nook at one end. Three men are already sitting at the table there.

"If that's what you want," Angelo easily agrees. "You can meet some of the men who patrol the grounds."

That's how we end up eating a fancy three-course Sunday dinner with a bunch of mafia soldiers at the kitchen table.

At first, the men at the table don't do much talking, but my sister and I are curious people and we ask a lot of questions about the house and what it's like to be on a security detail.

"I am learning to make Polish food as Mr. Caruso requested, but I look forward to getting tips from your mother," the cook tells me as she puts a plate of roasted meat and vegetables in front of me.

"That will make her very happy. Neither Cookie nor I are natural cooks." We learned what we had to so we wouldn't starve, but neither of us ever found the joy in the kitchen mom does.

By the end of the third course, I'm not sure I'll ever eat again and even Cookie doesn't finish the meat on her plate.

"I'll take mom a plate and then call my friends. I want to tell them about the game system in my room. Maybe a couple of them can come home with me after school?" Cookie asks.

Angelo nods. "Fine by me."

"As long as mom plans to stay another night," I tack on.

But we've seen mom this exhausted before. Even with the therapist giving her a massage, she'll need to rest up tomorrow before a car ride back to the apartment.

"Can Mars sleep in my room?" Cookie gives Angelo her best pleading look.

It's not necessary. Of course, he says yes.

"You're going to spoil her." He's going to spoil all of us.

"She deserves to be spoiled, as do you."

"Are you reading my mind again?" I tease as we head upstairs to our bedroom.

Our bedroom. Am I admitting I live here now?

I think I am.

Taking my hair out of the messy bun I put it in earlier when I was in such a hurry to get downstairs and head off my mom calling the cops, I shake it out. I never brushed it out last night either and I don't look forward to what it's going to take to smooth the tangles now.

Angelo makes an approving sound, like the sight of my messy hair is all that. "I'll brush it out for you."

"You want to brush my hair?" Is that a thing men do?

Maybe? He sure seemed to enjoy washing it before and his insistence on doing the conditioner step is the only thing that will make the next thirty minutes even slightly bearable.

"I always want to touch you, whatever form that takes."

"Okay, then." I sit down on the bench in front of the vanity and pull open the drawer with the hair stuff. "I can't believe you thought to get a detangling brush for me."

I'm grateful though.

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