Page 162 of Auctioned to the Mafia Don
A screen door squeaks open behind us.
Erin comes running down the porch steps, her coat flapping open behind her.
“Aunt Maya,” she calls. “Come see my room!”
I wipe away the moisture that's accumulated below my eyes quickly, before she can see the tears.
“I’m coming.”
She takes my hand and pulls me toward the house, already talking too fast about the purple curtains, the blanket Alex picked out, and how there is a shelf where Mr. Buttons can sit “like a real person.”
Heath waits at the top of the stairs.
When I reach him, he looks at me for a long second.
“You are still coming for Christmas?” he asks.
The question is quiet enough that no one else hears it.
“Yes,” I say.
“And my birthday?”
“Yes.”
“And if I get in trouble at school?”
“Yes.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “Even if I do something bad?”
I crouch in front of him.
“Especially then.”
He watches my face.
“You promise?”
I take his hand.
“I promise.”
This time, the word does not feel like something fragile.
It feels like a direction.
He nods once, then opens the bedroom door.
The room is painted a deep blue-gray, with a desk beneath the window and a bookshelf already half-filled. There is a small framed photograph on the dresser: Erin, Heath, and me in the apartment, all three of us caught mid-laugh. I do not know when Alex took it. I do not ask.
I walk to the window.
From here, I can see Stefano standing in the yard with Victor. They are speaking quietly, two men who understand different kinds of damage and have spent their lives pretending they do not.
Stefano looks up.
His gaze finds mine immediately.
