Page 131 of Beauty and the Daddy
He shakes his head and sets Sofia down, still in disbelief. "Un-fucking-believable."
"What, hey!" Sofia extends out a hand. "Where's my penny for bad language?"
"I think we ought to make it a dollar." I grin.
Sofia squeals and Luca pulls out his wallet, still muttering in disbelief under his breath.
We spillout into the gardens not long after, the three of us and our furry crew.
The air smells like roses and cut grass, dusk painting the sky in streaks of copper and violet.
Luca and Sofia march ahead while Meatball slinks between them, good as an angel.
Until, of course, he remembers he's a cat.
With a sudden burst of arrogance, he launches himself up the nearest tree.
Claws, tail, attitude. He scales halfway, wedges onto a branch, and then stares down at us like he's the king of the castle.
"Meatball!" Sofia yells, hands cupped around her mouth. "Come down, you bad cat!"
Meatball yawns. Sprawls. Stretches. Very much not coming down.
Luca plants his hands on his hips and bellows back to me. "Unbelievable. Your cat is more defiant than half my men."
"He's your cat too." I leisurely pace the gravel with Bruno.
Bruno, for his part, plods beside me like the loyal soldier he is, every step careful, as if he knows I'm carrying fragile cargo.
He doesn't pull the leash, doesn't stray, just leans into me with quiet solidarity.
"You know what?" I pat his massive head, his ears twitching. "You're a true gentleman. Not like your brother over there staging a coup in the tree."
Bruno huffs, entirely agreeing with me.
"Bruno!" Sofia calls. "Help me get Meatball down!"
Bruno does not move. Because Bruno is smart. And also, Bruno has correctly identified Meatball as a lost cause.
I laugh under my breath, resting my hand over my belly. "See that, baby? Stick with the dog. The cat'll sell us all out at the first opportunity."
Up ahead, Luca is trying reason. "Meatball, get your ass down here before I climb up there myself."
Meatball licks his paw.
Sofia stamps her foot. "Daddy, he's laughing at you!"
"Yeah," Luca mutters, shooting the cat a killer look which Meatball ignores. "Don't push your luck, furball."
I keep walking, Bruno padding loyally at my side, the scene unfolding like some ridiculous sitcom: Mafia Don versus Cat.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I fish it out, still grinning—until I see the name flashing across the screen.
Dad.
The smile slips. My pulse spikes.
