Page 198 of Dirty Deadly & Mine
“Thanks to you,” they say, but I shake my head.
“Nah, not me. You know your mum is paying for it.”
Jude waves a dismissive hand. “But it’s because ofyouthat someone cared enough to help her. I have a feeling you would’ve found the money to pay for it, regardless.”
He’s right. I would have. Probably not legally, but still.
“Check out this crazy shit.” Ronnie points to the TV up on the wall across from us, where a game of Australian Rule Football is playing on the screen.
“Craziest game I ever saw.” Jude’s eyes go wide as a player gets tackled and thrown hard to the ground. “They don’t even wear pads. Aussies are crazy motherfuckers.”
I grin because I’ve already figured that out.
And one of those crazy Aussies is mine.
CHAPTER 48
LILY - 1 WEEK LATER
Leon and Trinity Marx do Sunday lunch like a wedding reception, something that hasn’t changed over the years since I left. My parents like to indulge. Like to splash their money around, making a day of it.
They don’t know I’m here. My brothers and cousins promised not to tell anyone, agreeing to let me return into the fold on my terms, and Devon was right when he insisted I see them first before Gracie’s party.
“How rich are we, exactly?” Jude asks before he whistles as the elevator doors open onto the twentieth floor.
As we step out into the three Michelin starred restaurant, Mariners, I study the space that takes me back to my younger years.
It’s been refurbished, but it still has the same royal feel to it.
“Any money we have is whatIearned, Jude. But your grandparents are filthy rich, as you can tell.” I gesture to the diners, the space filled with elite members of Melbourne’s high society.
“May I help you?” the host asks, a wide smile lighting up his face, his back as stiff as a board.
“No need,” I dismiss him. “I know where I’m going.”
His smile falls, and I step past him, heading towards the far side of the room where the private dining room is.
“I can’t see Uncle Devon,” Ronnie mutters quietly, but I ignore him and keep walking until we are just outside the doors.
Spinning to face my sons, I take in their excited eyes and the way they no longer glare at Asher.
Things aren’t perfect between the four of us yet, but they have spent some time alone with Asher, and seem to get along fine until Asher and I make contact. Then they get uncomfortable, which I understand.
Today, the three of them are dressed just like their uncles.
The twins are wearing suit pants, shiny shoes, and black button up shirts with the sleeves rolled up.
Asher is dressed a little smarter today, wearing a black vest over his crisp white shirt, and he even has on a tie.
It’s been a struggle to keep my hands off him, especially with the way one of his new tattoos peaks out from the collar of his shirt.
He may only be twenty years old, but he looks at least twenty-six right now.
The fact he and the twins have slid straight into the look of the lifestyle of Marx men in the couple of months since arriving in Australia has me ready to leave.
But where would we go? Even with most of my images removed from media and police files, it’s still a risk, so my best bet at staying protected is with the family I ran from.
So, I’ve given in, looking the part as well, my knee length, lacy, green dress making my copper hair and blue eyes pop. The silver teardrop earrings with diamonds falling from my ears match the shoes I’m wearing, completing the look.
