Page 130 of The Devil's Deal

We pull up to my aunt’s colonial, a large white wraparound fence surrounding it. She’s already out front, sitting on her porch steps, hands clasped around a mug, a burgundy sweater clinging to her shoulders.

As soon as she sees the car and me getting out of it, she drops the cup so harshly on the step, it tips over, spilling black liquid down onto the grass.

She practically runs to me, and when I’m beside her, she clutches my cheeks in her palms, tears running down her face. Without saying another word, she holds me tight.

“You don’t know how happy I am to see you.” Her voice shatters with a gasping sob. “I was going insane with worry, thinking he killed you like…”

“Like Mom?” I pull back, searching her eyes. “What do you know, Aunt Kirsten? Please, if you know anything at all, you have to tell me.”

We never talked about what happened to my mom. I brought it up when we first started talking, but she found ways to avoid the question, only telling me Mom would never leave without me. As I got older, I stopped asking.

Her eyes close briefly as she pulls in a rough breath. “How about we go inside and talk?”

Her eyes wander to Dom, her brows pinching in question. I turn, seeing him standing against the passenger side, his arms crossed over his massive chest.

“Who is he? Your bodyguard?”

I scoff. “That’s Dom.”

“Wait a minute?” Her eyes widen and her mouth goes slack. “Francesco’s son?”

I nod slowly, my heart growing heavy, a fluttery feeling hitting my stomach as my skin tingles from the cold shiver sliding down my arms.

I’ve mentioned Dom’s name before, but never his father’s.

“Oh my God!”

Her palm falls over her lips.

“I thought they were all dead,” she whispers, her hand falling back down.

As though knowing we’re talking about him, Dom strides over to us.

He reaches out a hand for my aunt’s. “Hi. I’m—”

“I know who you are.” She takes his hand, staring at him as though seeing a ghost. “I knew of your father. He was good to my sister. Her mom.”

She gestures toward me with a flick of her head. My brows furrow. All this time, my aunt knew so much and never said a thing.

“Let’s head in,” she says, opening the door into a large foyer with a cathedral ceiling and a small crystal chandelier overhead.

We remove our shoes, following her into the den.

“Have a seat. Let me make you both some coffee.”

“I don’t want coffee,” I say, frustration lacing in my voice. “I want to know what you know.”

She purses her lips, glancing between Dom and me.

“All right.” She takes a seat on the brown leather sofa.

Dom and I sit across, and he knows better than to sit beside me, taking the opposite end of the couch. My aunt crosses her legs at her knees, gripping her cardigan with a jittery hand.

“Was Mom having an affair with Francesco?” I ask, ending the silence, knowing she’s probably too afraid to say what she knows without knowing what I know first.

Her eyelids fall to a close for the briefest of seconds before they soften, a wrinkle appearing between her brows. “Chiara...”

“I don’t give a shit about the damn affair. Okay? Just tell me what happened.”

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