Twenty-Two
ALLISON
PRESENT DAY
I f Allison were being completely honest with herself, she had no idea what she’d been thinking.
It was ten o’clock on a Sunday morning—an utterly unforgivable hour for anything serious—exactly a week after The Car Incident ? . With her mind stuck in an endless loop starring Angelo freaking Taylor, she desperately needed a distraction. So, in a moment of questionable judgment, she decided it was time to let her other two brothers in on the secret. After all, since Johnathan had taken the news relatively calmly, how bad could it be? Right?
Nearly two months had passed since that fateful lunch with Johnathan. While she trusted him to keep her safe, trusting him to keep her secrets from their brothers was another story entirely. Those three were like the CIA when it came to her—complete with dossiers, round-the-clock surveillance, and an unnerving ability to know everything. They were nuts.
So, she’d invited Frederick and Leopold over for coffee, dragging Angelo into the mix because, well, there was no way she was doing this alone.
Not that she and Angelo had spoken much since The Car Incident ? . Before that little disaster, their conversations had been warming up nicely, just as she’d told Amira. But now? Thanks to the abrupt way things ended, they were back to texting like awkward co-workers—cold, impersonal, and maybe a little too fond of the ellipsis.
Not for lack of effort on Angelo’s part, though. She had to give him credit—he was nothing if not persistent.
The day after the incident, he’d bombarded her with apologetic texts. When she hadn’t responded, he even threatened to call the cops if she didn’t reply, forcing her to finally answer with a curt, “Please stop apologizing. I’m fine.” It was all she could manage without actually engaging in a real conversation. What she really wanted was to forget the whole mess and just move on.
If only my brain could cooperate.
Last night, Allison had sent him a no-nonsense text: “Come to my place tomorrow morning at 10.” And that was it—no explanation, no emoji, not even a period to soften the blow. She knew she was being harsh, but she couldn’t help it. She was drowning in her own panic, and instead of dealing with it, she was projecting all that confusion onto him. His presence had stirred up a whirlwind of feelings she wasn’t ready to face, so she did what any rational person would do—left him hanging with a cryptic text and a whole lot of questions.
She’d thought she had everything perfectly timed, right down to the minute everyone would arrive at her apartment.
But of course, she’d miscalculated.
Instead of Angelo arriving fashionably late, as planned, he showed up at the exact same time as Frederick and Leopold, who, naturally, arrived earlier than directed.
Because of course, that’s just how her fucked up luck worked.
“What in the ever-loving fuck is he doing here, Allison Pink Lockwood?”
Allison winced. Nothing made her cringe quite like hearing her full name being weaponized, especially when it was delivered at full volume. As much as she adored the color pink, it lost a bit of its charm when her brother screamed it like a curse word.
“Inside voices, Freddie. And could you please stop with the middle-naming? We’re all adults here,” she shot back, her voice tinged with irritation.
It’s way too early for this shit.
“Oh, don’t get snappy with me, Ali. Answer the damn question,” Frederick snapped.
They’d barely made it through the front door before Frederick had taken one look at Angelo and exploded, yelling at the top of his lungs about what the hell this ‘dirtbag’ was doing there. It was safe to say Frederick wasn’t a fan.
What really surprised Allison was how all her brothers seemed to instantly recognize Angelo, despite never having met him. Meanwhile, she’d had a very up-close-and-personal introduction to him and somehow hadn’t recognized him during their first meeting months ago. The irony wasn’t lost on her.
“Maybe if you calm your prickly ass down, I can answer your question, Frederick,” Allison retorted, her patience wearing thin. Her caffeine levels had been critically low the past few days, and while she didn’t exactly blame her daughter for that, she wasn’t exactly thrilled either. To top it all off, she was well into her pregnancy, which meant new clothes—ugly clothes, because apparently, the fashion industry didn’t care if pregnant women wanted to look both cute and comfortable.
As much as Allison loved sweater dresses, she was determined not to live in them as the weather warmed up. And leggings? Absolutely not. She had a deep, unwavering hatred for them—she wouldn’t even consider them as an option.
I’ll have to employ Ami for a new wardrobe, she mused, sighing inwardly. That woman was a fashion genius and, frankly, Allison needed all the help she could get.
She rubbed her temples, trying to stave off the headache brewing behind her eyes. She was not in the mood to let a bunch of testosterone-filled idiots tie her nerves into a knot.
“Can you just come sit down like a human being? I promise I’ll explain,” she said, shooting a pointed look at Frederick, who was still fuming in the doorway.
Angelo and Leopold, bless them, hadn’t uttered a single word during this entire debacle, and she was grateful for their restraint. It was nice to know at least two men in the room knew how to act like adults.
As she led the group into the living room, she felt a familiar heat crawl up her spine—the other reason she was in a foul mood. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew Angelo’s gaze was roaming over her. She could practically feel his eyes lingering on her face, the swell of her breasts, and the curve of her growing belly, on full display beneath her crop-top sweater. His gaze burned into her, leaving a trail of awareness in its wake, and she hated it—or at least, she tried to convince herself she did.
They settled into the living room, though the tension was so thick you could slice it with a butter knife. Angelo, ever the gentleman, chose the seat right beside her on the couch—close enough that their thighs brushed. A crazy, intrusive thought flashed through her mind: she wanted him to grab her thigh, to see his large hand splayed possessively over her curves.
And she wanted him to do it in front of her brothers.
She quickly shot the idea down. Her brothers would murder Angelo with their bare hands. Especially Leopold.
It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for, she thought, shivering.
“Would anyone like something to drink?” she asked, suddenly craving a hot chocolate and a muffin to soothe her frazzled nerves.
An awkward silence followed, before Angelo, ever the instigator, replied with a smirk, “I’d take some iced tea, Pinkie.”
Allison cursed him silently for finding the energy to tease her now, of all times, in front of Frederick and Leopold, who were glaring daggers at him.
“Pinkie? What the—”
“Frederick,” Leopold interrupted, his voice calm, yet carrying that dangerous edge that could stop a charging bull. It was that deep, measured tone that so closely resembled their father’s. “Water for me, please.”
Leopold was always the laid-back one, with an easy smile that could turn cold enough to freeze a desert when he was angry. He was the easygoing counterbalance to Frederick’s fiery, explosive temper. But right now, even Allison knew better than to be fooled by his demeanor—Leopold was pissed .
Frederick’s anger deflated instantly, leaving him grumbling, “Just some hot coffee for me, Ali.”
He was still radiating tension, though, seated as far away from her and Angelo as possible on the corner of her couch. His mood probably had something to do with how closely she was sitting next to Angelo, but in that moment, when everything seemed to be falling apart, she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Angelo surprised her by speaking up again. “What do you want, sweet girl?”
Allison blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Huh?”
“Hot chocolate and a muffin?” he suggested, his smile widening as her eyes grew round with surprise.
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“Come on, Allison. You think I’ll let you lift a finger while I’m here?”
Her cheeks flushed as she looked away, feeling suddenly flustered.
“Exactly. Now, hot chocolate and muffin, yes?” Angelo pressed, his voice soft but insistent.
“How do you—”
“Sweet girl. You don’t really think I haven’t noticed your preferences by now, do you?” His words were gentle, but the implication hit her like a freight train.
She looked at him, eyes wide, a thousand thoughts running through her mind. Here was a man who noticed the little things—things she hadn’t even realized he’d been paying attention to. It was both unsettling and, dare she admit, a little heartwarming.
She finally nodded, unable to fight the small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, hot chocolate and a muffin would be perfect.”
As Angelo got up to head to the kitchen, Frederick leaned over and muttered, “This better be good, Ali. Because if he messes up, I’m not cleaning up the remains.”
Allison rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the nervous flutter in her chest. Because, deep down, she knew—this was going to be one hell of a morning.
The silence that followed was anything but comfortable. Her brothers stared at her, their gazes like twin spotlights in an interrogation room.
Not awkward at all, she thought, mentally rolling her eyes.
They sat still like statues, their faces pinched with varying degrees of displeasure. It was like being under scrutiny from a jury that had already decided on the verdict.
Angelo, ever the thoughtful one, prioritized Allison’s hot chocolate and banana muffin, placing them in front of her with a gentle smile. He followed up with his own coffee, then Leopold’s water. Frederick’s coffee was placed on the table last, the order clearly not random. If this was Angelo’s way of subtly reminding Fred where he stood in the hierarchy, it didn’t go unnoticed.
Allison took a sip of her hot chocolate, nearly moaning at the rich, creamy taste, and silently thanked every deity she could think of that no angry words had been thrown about.
Yet.
But peace in this household was like a unicorn—pretty in theory, but nonexistent in reality.
“Answers. Now, Allison,” Frederick demanded, his voice sharp enough to slice through her moment of bliss.
For holy shitballs’ sake, Freddie!
Couldn’t he at least wait until her muffin was half-eaten?
She huffed, puffed, and reluctantly set her drink down, trying to muster the energy to deal with this mess. This was going to require her full, undivided attention.
Here goes nothing, I guess, she thought, mentally bracing herself.
“So, I know this is out of the blue, and you’re both very confused, and let me just say I’m sorry in advance because you will not be happy or calm after I say—”
“Allison.”
She froze.
There was something about the way Angelo said her name. It was a command, a plea, and a grounding force all in one. It made her feel like he knew her mind was spiraling and was trying to bring her back to earth.
It wasn’t exactly the time for her hormones to go haywire, but apparently, they didn’t get the memo. She cleared her throat and pushed on, ignoring her brothers’ curious glances.
“Right. Well, as you both know, I am pregnant. Twenty weeks along, to be precise, which means I’m past the halfway mark,” she said, her voice steadier now as she focused on her breathing.
“Not exactly breaking news, Ali,” Frederick muttered, and she silently cursed Angelo’s coffee for not calming her brother’s nerves.
It was my good coffee too, she thought with a touch of bitterness.
“Would you let me finish?” she snapped, giving Frederick a look that could curdle milk. “So, as I was saying, I’m past the halfway mark.”
Frederick narrowed his eyes. “This better not be another ‘I’m secretly dating a vampire’ prank.”
“God, Freddie!” Allison groaned, rubbing her temples. “This is serious. I… well, he is…” She hesitated, glancing at Angelo, who offered her a reassuring nod.
“The baby is mine,” Angelo finally said, his deep voice slicing through the tension like a knife.
Well, fuck me in the ass and call me Judy.
Frederick’s jaw dropped, and Leopold’s usually calm expression froze as his eyes narrowed, processing the bombshell that had just detonated in the room.
“You… You what?” Frederick stammered, his voice rising an octave.
Allison winced, bracing herself. “You heard him. Angelo’s the father. We didn’t plan for it to happen like this, but it did, and we’re—”
Before she could finish her sentence could, Leopold—cool, calm, collected Leopold—darted across the room and lunged at Angelo.
Literally lunged at him.
He flew across the space, arms outstretched like a pissed-off vampire, and tackled Angelo with surprising force.
“Leo!” she gasped, but her brother was already raining down punches, while Frederick stood by, shouting a colorful array of profanities. Strangely, the curses weren’t directed at Leopold for the unprovoked attack, but at Angelo for ‘defiling his sister.’
Hey, God? Why?
Allison mentally called out to the universe, hoping for some divine intervention.
She watched as Leopold landed another punch. She sighed.
Angelo tried to push him off, but didn’t seem too keen on hurting her brother. She closed her eyes, wishing for this mess to magically resolve itself.
Frederick kept shouting, escalating the chaos. She sighed again, louder this time.
Allison didn’t know why Angelo didn’t try harder to shove her brother off. Leopold was certainly fit, but there was no way he was stronger than Angelo. Especially considering the size of the man’s arms.
Large and defined in the shirt he was wearing, strong enough to hold her up—which she knew from experience.
Not now hormones.
Allison heaved an exasperated breath.
For fuck’s sake. Do I have to do everything around here?
Taking a deep breath, Allison decided to play her trump card. The one trick that had always worked when dealing with her brothers. The tried-and-true method that had saved her sanity growing up as the only girl in a house full of boys.
“Hey, Dad.”
It worked like a charm.
The boys—because this was certainly not the behavior of grown men—froze mid-fight.
Leopold quickly released Angelo’s shirt and stood up straight, looking around like a guilty schoolboy. Frederick’s face dropped back into his usual expressionless mask, though the tension in his jaw gave him away. Angelo, meanwhile, lay sprawled on the couch, his shirt crumpled, a bruise already forming on his cheek, and his lip bleeding.
“Did you just call Dad? What are you, five?” Leopold scoffed, trying to fix his hair back into the bun that had slipped out during the scuffle.
“No, I didn’t. But you do not want to start talking about maturity right now,” Allison shot back, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms. She watched as both of her brothers’ postures shifted, realizing they’d been played.
The mere mention of their father always worked like a magic spell. It didn’t matter they were grown men now—just the thought of them was enough to make them fall in line. Growing up in a house with three boys close in age had been a nightmare for Allison—constant fights over the PlayStation, endless bickering over girls, and a hunger that seemed impossible to satisfy. Peace was a rare commodity, and Allison had learned early on that if she wanted any, she needed to find a way to shut them all up.
That’s how she invented The Fake Call ? . Short, sharp, and to the point. It had saved her sanity countless times back then, and apparently still worked wonders now—even though her brothers were in their thirties.
“Can we not be adults about this?” Allison pleaded, focusing her gaze on Leopold. His subtle nod was all she needed to relax slightly before turning her attention to Frederick.
With a dramatic flourish, she amped up the sass—arms crossed, eyebrows raised, left hip popped out. She stared him down, fully aware that while she might be smaller and shorter, she could be intimidating when she wanted to be.
And right now, she really wanted it.
“Fine. I’ll try,” Frederick finally conceded, looking about as pleased as a cat in a bathtub. If Allison hadn’t been so exhausted by this whole mess, she might have done a little victory dance.
Instead, she motioned for him to sit back down, making sure to position herself away from Angelo this time. She had no idea what might set off these two idiot alphas again, and she wasn’t about to take any chances.
“Alright,” Frederick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Start from the beginning. And, Allison—please, no more games.”
Allison glanced at Angelo, who was gingerly wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, and took a deep breath. This was it—the moment of truth.
“Okay,” she said, her voice steady but filled with a hint of the exasperation she felt. “Here’s how it all went down…”