Page 4 of Claimed By the Don

“For what, another month? I know my brother, Benny. He ain’t been himself for years. We got too much riding on this organization to protect his ego. You know what I’m sayin’?”

I keep my expression affable. She wants me to step in and take over. She also knows my dad will hang on until he’s forced out, and that sure as shit won’t be pretty. Very few people know he’s struggling, and most people just assume he’s a huge asshole.

Any rumor of instability in the organization would give an opening for a power grab by the Ricco family. They’re a smaller organization but ambitious. We’ve been in a state of armed neutrality without aggression for over a decade.

“I’m not sure what you’re saying, Aunt Gin. Can you help me out here?” I say.

“Save it for somebody that hasn’t known you since you were a kid. I know that shit eating grin.” She takes another drag off her cigarette and shakes her head.

“I don’t doubt you know my shit-eating grin when you see it, but I don’t know what it has to do with Dad. He is fit as a fiddle and still mean as shit, just like always,” I say with a chuckle I hope sounds affectionate.

“I’m the first one to say he’s been mean since he was born. But he was always so smart. It breaks my heart to see him go downhill. A couple weeks ago I called to tell him I was getting flowers for our parents’ monument, and he acted like he had no idea what I was talking about.”

“You know how he gets when he’s busy. Laser focused on one thing, and everyone else can go to hell,” I say smoothly. She fixes that gimlet eye on me, shrugs.

“Maybe so. Let me know if I can help. It would piss him off, but I’d do it anyway.”

“Offering to help has pissed him off as long as I can remember.” I say.

“You should’ve seen him as a kid. Nobody could tell him anything. Had to learn the hard way and be independent. Like somebody else I know,” she said wryly.

“I guess I got that from him.”

“That’s right. Stubborn as a mule. But you got your mama’s big heart, God rest her soul.” Aunt Gin crosses herself. I nod respectfully and don’t point out that she and my mom fought like rivals on a drag show when I was a kid.

My phone rings and I excuse myself to take the call. After that I go admire the sleeping baby, clap Gino on the back and let Molly know the night nurse I hired them starts tomorrow.

3

DAISY

On my first morning back, I woke up early. The gray light filters between the slats of the cheap plastic blinds I broke in seventh grade. I stretch carefully so I don’t disturb Liam. He’s sprawled out next to me, making little huffing breaths once in a while. I look at him and feel the swell of love when I brush his sweaty hair back from his face softly. I wonder what he’s dreaming about.

I check the list in my Notes app of everything I need to do today. First things first, I make a grocery pick up order and pay for it.

Next, I clean the bathroom. My mom’s an obsessive cleaner, so if I don’t scrub the house thoroughly, it will drive her nuts. Then I do the kitchen and start the coffeemaker. I set out the fiber gummies for Liam, which I’ve learned the hard way to never let him skip. I hear my mom waking up and hurry in to see if she needs help.

“Good morning!” I say to her. She squints at me. “Let me help you.”

“Don’t fuss,” she says, grumpy.

“Fine, if you can manage then I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”.

“You always were a morning person,” she grumbles and I grin.

I pour both of us a cup of coffee. I add sweetener to hers and a splash of creamer to both, looking forward to a nice chat. I help her transfer to a kitchen chair and hand her the mug proudly. She sips it and smiles. I take a drink and nearly spit it out. I cover it with a cough. This coffee tastes like cheap piss that was made three blocks away from the last place it saw actual coffee. I’m spoiled from living in Washington, where the coffee is always a priority.

It’s Saturday, so my mom wants to relax until Liam wakes up, then they’ll play some card games. I thank her because this gives me time to check out the salons on my list. With the amount of savings I have in the bank, my life can’t stay on hold. I needed to find myself a job.

It takes me forty-five minutes to get ready. I’m going to introduce myself to management at three nearby salons, and when you want to inspire trust and confidence in clients who are about to shell out a couple hundred dollars for a cut and color, you’d better look damn good the second they walk in.

My mom whistles when I walk through the living room. I’m beginning with my top choice. Snip feels like the best fit. They aren’t trying to do it all—there’s no add-on facial waxing or lash extensions. They focus on cuts and color. They have a specialty stylist who does knotless braids and weaves for natural hair, but they don’t have a top-notch colorist. That could be me.

The salon occupies the ground floor of an old brick front building, the trim freshly painted glossy black, Sleek, modern letters spell out SNIP on the window. The old floors arerefinished in a blond color, the walls painted a cool gray. Blues guitar plays low from the speakers and a diffuser on the reception desk is wafting citrus. I catch myself bouncing on my toes, excited.

Smiling, I ask for the manager. A woman steps out from behind the counter. She’s around my mom’s age, glossy black hair like a curtain to her jaw on one side, a close undercut on the other.

“Hi,” I say, “I’m Daisy Cooper. I just moved back here from Washington where I worked as a colorist and stylist for the last four years at Dune Aesthetics. I was hoping to speak to you about opportunities in your salon.”

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