Page 10 of Tossed into the Mob
I rambled on about Dad telling me to be wary of trusting people. He’d homeschooled me, and we’d spent a lot of time tucked away in the back of a library where no one could see us, until I went to high school.
I often wondered how he’d earned enough money to pay the rent and bills when he only worked part-time. He’d said he had some money left to him by his folks, but now I suspected my alpha father had sent regular payments.
But that was enough talk about me. It was too hard imagining my life without my dad.
"How long have you been taking care of people?" I asked while he boiled spaghetti.
Treyton glanced up as he tossed garlic in a frying pan with olive oil. “What?”
“You drove me to safety, found us a place to stay, looked after my wound, and made me food.”
His cheeks reddened, and the flush spread over his jaw. “It’s an occupational hazard.”
Why didn’t I believe him? He concentrated on stirring that garlic as if it had been naughty and he was giving it a talking-to. He didn’t want to speak about himself and neither did I.
“Tell me more about your family. Who will I be meeting?”
He ran through a list of names, too many for me to memorize. Flint was numero uno in the company, so he’d be the guy who’d decide if I met my father, and Arnie was Treyton’s grandpa, who he adored. They were the ones I had to remember.
But I’d never met any mafia people before. Did I have to kiss their ring? Or was that only for kings?
“Your family, they are?—”
“Mafia. Yeah.” He finished my sentence, and I was pleased it was out in the open and we hadn’t danced around the subject
My alpha father was too, but this was a new world for me, and if they didn’t catch dad’s killer, I’d need to stay under their protection. But that was assuming they would keep me safe. My alpha father may never have mentioned he had a kid. What then? Toss me out and let me go on the run with a gunman after me?
Treyton was looking after me, but if the boss, Flint, ordered him to ignore me, my life might end in a dark alley as I lay bleeding out.
The aroma of fried garlic with fresh chili and coriander dragged my thoughts away from the future. Treyton drained the pasta and added it to the pan. After plating the spaghetti, he grated cheese on top and placed the two bowls on the table.
My belly grumbled, and Treyton grinned and told me to dig in.
Multiple flavors flooded my mouth. “This is so good. If you decide on a career change, you could be a chef.”
“Grandpa has been teaching me to cook simply and rely on the freshness of the ingredients, though that grocery store down the road might not be what he had in mind.”
Utensils scraping the porcelain was the only sound in the room until Treyton asked where I’d been when I got shot.
Another memory I’d been quashing. But if I didn’t tell him now, the family would expect me to give them details.
“I was staying at a motel, not far from your hospital.” I put down my fork and spoon. “I’d gone to a mall to get food, but I sensed someone following me in the crowd.” My dad had taught me to check the exits wherever I was so I always knew how to get out of a burning building.
“I raced down a fire escape, but as I reached the first floor, I looked up and the guy leaned over the railing and shot me.” There’d only been a pop, so he must have used a silencer. I’d recognized him as the one who shot Dad.
“From there, I headed to your hospital, tying a spare shirt around my arm and covering it with my hoodie.” I was sure he was going to ask how I knew he was working and where to wait for him. “Dad and I had watched that documentary you were in and you said you mostly worked nights. It also showed you getting into your car and the level you were on.”
I should have showered because I must stink, but exhaustion was strangling me, and I just needed to put my head on a pillowand close my eyes. I shuffled to the couch, but Treyton directed me to the small bedroom.
“The sofa’s fine. I’ve been sleeping on it all day.”
He folded his arms and waggled a finger at me. “I’m putting on my midwife’s hat and telling you to take the bed.”
I hid a smile because he was adorable when he was pretending to be stern. “Do midwives wear hats?”
He grinned which became a giggle, a chortle, and a belly laugh so infectious that I joined in. I held my tummy because the jiggling hurt my arm, but despite the discomfort, it was good to laugh.
Treyton stood up, tears glistening on his lashes, and my heart reacted with a ker-thunk. I expected my cock to take notice but that was it. Perhaps I just had a heart murmur or something.
