Page 33 of Privilege

Oh, for fuck’s sake, please don’t tell me—

Renzo didn’t even get to finish his thought because he turned to see which car the man was talking about, and yeah, there it sat. Lucia’s black Mercedes, locked up tight. He didn’t even have to wonder how he missed that car when he passed it by. His mind was on other things—like getting his father the hell out of his hair.

Shit.

Charlie whistled low. “That’s a nice car. And you know the chick driving it, do you?”

This day could not get worse.

“Mind your business,” Renzo snapped at his father.

Charlie only shrugged. “Just sayin’—”

“And stay out here. I’ll bring your money out.”

Renzo just expected his father to listen to him and follow directions because Charlie didn’t have any reason to follow him inside. He hoped for too much because his father came inside, anyway, and gave him a look that dared him to tell him to go again.

“Stay in the hallway, then,” Renzo said.

“I’ll think about it.”

Asshole.

Renzo wished he could say that when he got upstairs, the sight of Lucia inside his apartment taking care of his strung-out mother was easy to take … but it wasn’t. She didn’t even see him standing there in the apartment doorway. She didn’t notice him as he watched her wipe down his mother’s face with a wet rag.

She didn’t know he was there at all.

And maybe that was for the best. Those first few seconds let him have all those emotions he didn’t want her to know he was feeling. All the shame and embarrassment was that nearly always constant whenever his mother was involved. The anger that … Jesus Christ, why was she here again? She’d be far better off staying on her own side of the city, and not trying to fit in on his. And oddly, he also found himself feeling grateful.

Because what Lucia was doing for Carmen in those moments, Renzo couldn’t even be bothered to attempt to do anymore. He’d lost all empathy for his mother long ago. His ability to worry and love her had gone out the window right along with his respect for her, too. Every overdose … every time he had to pick up the pieces of Diego … all this fucking shit she had done to them meant he just couldn’t afford to care anymore.

Lucia didn’t know those things, though.

Apparently, she was just the type to care.

How sweet.

“How did you get in my apartment?” Renzo demanded.

Lucia’s head popped up, and her striking hazel eyes found his in an instant. He could see the concern and softness reflecting back in her gaze, but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with that right now.

She shouldn’t be here.

He needed her to go for more reasons than she would ever be able to understand. Because he didn’t want her to see what his life was like. Because his father and mother didn’t even deserve to know who this young woman was, never mind her name. Because in those few seconds, Renzo realized Lucia Marcello might just be exactly what he thought she was—better than him.

Not because of money.

Or status.

Or anything like that.

No, because she could care.

He stopped doing that long ago.

“The landlord was doing a walk through the apartment,” Lucia explained. “He said it was your mom, that she’s like this … pretty often. He let us in, and I got her cleaned up. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Why are you even here?”