Page 115 of The Mafia Assassin's Redemption
I know this isn’t love, but it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and for a second, I wonder if I really can ever let her go.
“Torin, I…”
“Hate me. Yeah. There’s probably a club. You can be president.”
She pulls away with a little huff and she gets off me. A few seconds later, I hear the shower spray turn on. With a sigh, I sit up and pull up my pants.
Harry returns a second later.
She stops to point an accusatory finger at what’s lying on the floor next to me.
I turn my head, my stomach plummeting into my feet.
Fuck. The envelope I wasn’t ready to give her.
“What the hell is that? And why is my mother’s handwriting on it?”
TWENTY-SIX
harry
I wasready to run the second I got out of the shower.
And now, Torin sits on the bed opposite me on the sofa.
He watches me, those midnight eyes unreadable, dark hair curling, and I like that he hasn’t shaved. I can feel the burn of his kisses where his stubble scraped against my skin.
I gulp. Wrong time to be thinking that.
It’s just…
I blow out a breath, settle my thrashing heart, and look at the photos.
Mom and Dad on their wedding day. Mom at about sixteen. Mom young and happy and pregnant with me. Her and me and Dad. There’s also one of me at eight years old. I know my age because that’s when I lost my first front tooth.
I carefully push them around on the coffee table.
Torin’s gaze drops to them, but he doesn’t pick them up.
“Do you have something to say?” I snap.
“My mam taught me to shut my mouth in certain circumstances.” He’s quiet for a long minute. “Do you want me to say something?”
I smooth the letter out. The one-page letter. Theimpersonal on too many levels letter. I want him to tell me I’m being childish, rude, and ungrateful.
Because I am.
The thing is, my eyes ache, my heart’s cracking, and I want, more than anything else, to be hugged.
I look down. “I’m not usually a rude person. Am I?”
“You’re asking your worst enemy that? Or am I your best enemy?”
A half sob, half laugh breaks free. “Don’t.”
He sighs, walks over to me, and motions to the empty spot on the couch. I nod. He sits, and there’s a big part of me that is suddenly calmed by having him so close.
“It’s just… I get it,” I say, “but if Father Luigi had this letter like you say, why didn’t he give it to me sooner?”
