Page 28 of Hostile King

Once I’m finished, I wander back the way I came, skirt the large circumference of creamy marble and stop next to his mother, folding my arms over my chest as a barrier from her stare.

“Join us for breakfast before you retire to your suite.” A featherlight stroke caresses my shoulder, then she pivots back to André. “Here…” She drags out a chair, its backrest pintucked with miniature crystal buttons and beckons for me to join her. “I’m sure you’re starving.”

Floral perfume mixes with the aroma of fresh blooms and warmed pastries. The trickery of scent does its best to give me homely vibes. If this was my own family, I’d perch on the countertop cross-legged and drink milk from the carton while we chatted.

Instead, I slip my bare legs under the table and rest clean hands on a linen napkin.

André pours steamy yellow liquid from a teapot, serving his mother first.

“Thank you,” she croons. “Oh, by the way, there’s a new burner phone for you, Dré. No doubt Tomás will be in touch. It’s best not to tell him you're here.” She locks eyes with him. “That either of you are with me.”

I frown. “I guess now would be a good time to tell me why you brought me here.” My voice sounds tiny in this large kitchen.

In the silence that follows my sudden question, Teresa lifts a fine china teacup, the diamonds in her platinum rings glittering with the movement. Her long lashes bat slowly, conjuring a thoughtful moment of etiquette while she sips.

“You surprised me,” she announces. “I didn’t think a young girl like you would be capable of sacrifice, let alone surviving my eldest son. You pulled the trigger and ruined your virtue.” China tinkles as it meets the complimenting saucer. “I’ve been with that boy of mine through all of it. Helplessly waiting for an answer to his issues. Proudly watching him become the man he is today and knowing he’ll be a better role model than his paranoid father. And then he stumbled upon a special gift...” Her lashes flick up and she snares my gaze with eyes so green they appear supernatural. “And threw it away.”

Fingertips trace the curve of her neck as she slips into silence. I don’t respond, my gut telling me she’s faced her own source of brutality.

Despite the fact I’m no longer with Tomás, I desperately want to unearth every memory she has of him, every tantrum he pulled as a boy, every smile he offered his family, and every burst of carefree laughter he expressed before the weight of an unknown trauma stripped him of inner peace.

Then after Teresa’s own blip of remembrance, she pinches a grape between her finger and thumb, pops it into her mouth and chews.

“I’m a mafia princess who married a cartel leader destined for greatness. I’ve seen more bloodshed than you can imagine. Witnessed terror flash through the venomous eyes of hardened criminals, seconds before their brains hit the walls. I’m used to violence, underhanded tactics, and cruelty. But this place is my private sanctuary—our peaceful home.

My boys aren’t just my blood; they are my life. We needed a place to call home. A retreat to find our way back to. So, when I welcome you into our little piece of heaven, it’s not as a threat, or as a prisoner. You’re my guest.” Her mouth quirks to a faint smile. “I owe you a debt for saving my son. And I don't mean with a bullet, I’m referring to your astounding ability to reach him.”

As if she hadn’t just said something sincere, she gathers a three-pronged fork and spears a bold red strawberry sprinkled with grains of sugar. “I’d like you to stay with us until the wedding is over as a show of my gratitude. It will give us time to get to know each other and keep you safe.”

I shake out the fresh napkin folded into a triangle and pretend this is normal. But it’s not. Then again, Tomás taught me that normal is underrated.

“You know he suffered a great trauma as a boy.” She continues.

André takes a swig of black coffee and sits back, his muscular inked torso catching the daylight, so the images come to life.

“I know. He told me about his uncle,” I reply, pinching a piece of artisan bread from a shallow basket.

Her forehead creases. “He told you?”

“Yeah—.”

“What exactly did he tell you?” Her light tone changes from welcoming to sharp and cross-examining.

Once I finish chewing, I swallow the doughy mush and answer, “He went to a business meeting with his uncle after school. There was a bomb blast and his uncle died protecting him.” I keep it short and factual without letting the most devastating detail slip. “That’s all he said.”

Teresa glances at André, who keeps his eyes lowered as he chews.

“He never talks about it.” She sighs, pushing her cup and saucer away. “That eight-year-old boy didn’t speak for almost a year afterwards. He didn’t even confide in his grandfather, Don Hennessy, when I took the boys to live with him in Dublin until the threat of war had passed. Angelo and Tomás were inseparable. Tommy followed that man around like a he was a god of war.” Her lips cut to a rough-edged smile. “He worshipped Angelo more than Elias. I guess that’s why his Papá was so hard on him.”

André grunts. “Papá was hard on all of us—because he wanted to create monsters to protect his kingdom.”

Teresa’s eyes crease at the corners. “And I wanted my sons to care for each other. That’s why I built Mag Mell, Dré. To give you back your humanity after he beat it out of you.”

She inhales slowly and plops a sugar lump into her teacup, stirring it clockwise in the silence. A clock ticks out the seconds they remain contemplative together and then Teresa glances over at me.

“My poor baby boy was unrecognizable when the paramedics arrived at the bomb scene. His sweet little face was plastered in so much blood they thought the blast had ripped off his skin. None of it was his.

“Miraculously, he was unharmed, except for the invisible scars he now hides. Apparently, he begged the medical team to stitch his uncle's leg back on even though the man was dead. They said it was a piece of shrapnel to the brain that killed him. He wouldn’t have known a thing about it.”

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