Page 91 of Auctioned to the Mafia Don
“I was forced.”
Stefano’s gaze cuts to mine over the phone and I look back with a level of accusation.
Dolores sets a plate in front of me. Eggs, toast, fruit, and something that looks like rice pudding but smells like cinnamon and comfort.
“Eat before you glare holes through his suit,” she says.
“I wasn’t glaring.”
“You were practicing.”
Erin laughs again, bright enough to make Heath look at her instead of the door. That alone makes Dolores worth whatever trouble she will clearly become.
Stefano ends his call and slips the phone into his pocket. “Dolores will be staying for a while.”
“With us?” Erin asks.
“For now.”
Dolores clicks her tongue. “For as long as I am needed. Men always say ‘for now’ when they are afraid to admit they have made a good decision.”
Stefano looks at her.
She looks back.
He says nothing.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
“Are you a doctor?” Erin asks Dolores.
“No, corazón. I am better. I know when doctors are being dramatic and when men are pretending not to worry.”
Omar mutters something in Italian.
Dolores points at him without looking. “And I hear perfectly.”
Heath, who has been pale and quiet since I entered, makes a small sound.
A laugh.
Not almost.
Real.
Short, weak, and immediately hidden behind the edge of his blanket, but real.
The room goes still for only a fraction of a second before everyone has the sense to pretend it didn't happen. Everyone except Erin, who beams at him so openly I have to look down at my plate to keep my face together.
Dolores keeps moving like this was always expected. She checks Heath’s water. Touches Erin’s hair. Tells Omar he is blocking light from the window. Tells Stefano he looks thinner, which is apparently an accusation. Tells me I am not eating enough after I have taken exactly one bite.
It is chaos.
Warm, bossy, impossible chaos.
And somehow, inside Stefano’s controlled, guarded, weaponized house, it works.
