Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Salvatore
Idon’t think Shiv likes me all that much, but my cousin isn’t going to miss the chance to flaunt the bar she took over after graduating.
And I’ll admit she’s done the place up nice in the past few years.
Oak and black leather for the bar stools and the booths, a little dance floor by the retro jukebox, all the best lagers on tap.
With the regulars cleared out for this private event, every face around me is family: Cosgraves and Morellis. As the heir to both syndicates, I get hasty hugs from various aunts and claps on the back from a dozen uncles.
Their expressions are a weird mix of wary and repulsed that I’m used to after twenty years of it. It doesn’t stop them from pushing envelopes into my hand or tucking a little cash in my jacket pocket alongside muttered “happy birthday”s.
The Irish and Italian sides look at each other with even more suspicion, but they keep any needling words and shiny weapons they’re carrying to themselves.
Their lives depend on it.
Mom and Dad are reigning over the party by the curve of the bar counter, watching their clashing families attempt to mingle. They’ll notice if anyone stirs up trouble or snubs their son on his birthday, and punishment will be swift and brutal.
It’s just fantastic knowing any bit of friendliness I get in this crowded room is offered under threat of maiming rather than because, you know, they enjoy my company even slightly.
But I’m used to that too. I lift my mug of beer in a million toasts and toss back exuberant gulps as if I’m having the time of my life.
The cold, bitter liquid tastes pretty flat after I’ve sneakily alchemized most of the alcohol out of it. When I grab a refill, I pause near the sink to make a joke to one of my gazillion cousins and propel more of those particles down the drain.
These are the last people I want to get actually drunk around.
They’re all watching too. Hoping to spot a weakness in me they can exploit, a misstep to give them an excuse to complain. It’s all fucking politics.
Is this what it’s like at the dinner parties the Devines and the Worths would host, just with less shouting and significantly fewer knives and pistols on the premises?
I don’t know if I’d like the snooty version better.
From what she said, Elodie hasn’t actually experienced much of either type. Not the Elodie who’s here now, the one who grabbed me by the heart and hasn’t let go.
If she grew up all wrong-side-of-the-tracks, she’d probably fit in with this crew better than her dad’s.
The thought passes through my head, and I immediately wince away from the idea of bringing her near any of these people. I don’t want my parents setting one eye on her. I don’t want any aunt, uncle, cousin, however many times removed, having a clue how much she matters to me.
Because the first thing they’d do is plot how to get their claws into her.
I sway around on the dance floor with Gabe and Riley and a couple of the other cousins around my age. If some of my beer sloshes onto the floor or my clothes, oh well, it’ll look like I’m properly sloshed. Shiv won’t be a stranger to sticky floors.
Simone lurks in a corner, nursing a cooler and shooting mournful glances my way. Why does the one person here who might actually want to hang out have to hinge her interest on getting into my pants?
Not a situation I ever thought would be a problem, but here we are.
I trade my mostly empty mug for another full one and make one more circuit of the room, giving my hellos and thank yous to anyone I missed before.
I’m just coming around to the back again, thinking I might give the jukebox a push for the hell of it, when Uncle Tony slings his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in like he’s about to share a secret.
“You shoulda been there for the beat-down this weekend, kid. We showed those Russian pricks good. What were you doing anyway?”
I was spying on a coffee shop, but that’s none of his business.
I skew my voice with a drunken slur. “Just taking care of some other stuff. What’s the deal with the Russians?”
I don’t really care that much, but it’ll make him happier if I let him talk a little. And I don’t remember hearing about recent problems with the local Russian mob.
It’d be good to know if there’s someone new I need to be extra careful not to get shot or stabbed by.
Tony grunts. “We got a tip they were gearing up to hit one of our spots. Can’t take that lying down. We hit ’em before they even got the chance. Ha!”
Huh. Mom and Dad don’t usually approve a smackdown over only hearsay.
I laugh along and make a show of supposedly chugging more beer. “Who’s giving us these good tips? We gotta talk to them more!”
“Oh, they’re definitely good. Same guy warned us about a couple other assholes trying to creep up on us too in the last month, and it all panned out. It’s because of them we caught those Triad fuckers I heard you put in their place!”
The Triad guys we jumped a few weeks ago seemed confused, but they were definitely intruding on territory known as ours. Maybe we have stumbled on a snitch who’s really in the know.
“You talked to this guy?” I ask, like I’m impressed he got the dirt.
“Ah, nah, just heard about it. Romina’s giving it all due attention now. You should have seen the arsenal on those Russians. Fuck, but we messed them up good.”
Romina is my mom. She probably knows more about this source than Tony does.
I’d rather not make it my problem anyway.
“Maybe I’ll be there next time.” I shrug Tony off as gently as I can and toss back an actual gulp of the beer. It turns my whole mouth bitter, but it’s better than worrying about who my parents might expect me to maul next.
I do finally make it to the jukebox, but while I’m debating which of the songs I’ve mostly never heard of to put on, my phone vibrates by my hip. I duck into the back hall by the restrooms to check it.
A message pops up from Elodie. Can you get away from whatever you’re doing? I’ll meet you at the condo.
Can I get away? With an offer like that, I’d teleport to her side instantly if I had the magic for it.
Be there ASAP, I reply.
Tucking my phone away, I saunter back into the main room of the bar. I spot Siobhan chatting with a couple of the cousins and make my way over with a purposeful sway in my steps.
“Cuz! Thanks so much for the amazing party! Can’t wait until it’s another year and I can stop by legally.” I laugh as if that was the funniest joke known to humanity and pretend to stagger.
As Shiv smiles politely at my thanks, Mom appears by my shoulder. She speaks in a low, pointed tone. “Just because you’re celebrating doesn’t mean you should make a fool of yourself.”
“I think I went too hard on the shots,” I say, hoping she wasn’t paying close enough attention to realize I never actually downed any. “It’s been a blast, but maybe I should hit the sack. Everyone can keep having fun even if I’m not here, yeah?”
I rub my head to emphasize my supposed unsteady state. Mom lets out a sharp sigh, but she nods. “You’ve celebrated plenty.”
I holler out several more goodbyes and wander down the street while booking a ride. I don’t drop the drunken act until I’ve dropped into the back seat.
There’s barely any chance Mom or Dad will check my bedroom when they head home. If I go straight to school from the condo, they’ll probably never realize I slept somewhere else.
My heart leaps with every step from the car to the building’s elevator. I haven’t gotten any one-on-one time with my match since last week, since before I found out who she really is and everything she’s been through.
She’s even cleverer than I gave her credit for. Pretending to be stuck-up Elodie when she was anything but—trying to keep me away with the act even though she knew we belonged together, for my protection.
I almost bought her act. Almost let frustration blind me. But something about her kept tugging me in.
I knew she was meant for me.
The moment I open the condo door, my heart flips right over.
She got to the condo before me. Candlelight flickers from the counters and tables. Familiar savory and sweet smells mix together in a tempting blend.
Elodie beams at me from the other side of the dining table. Nothing could be quite as tempting as her. Her simple light green dress hugs every slender curve just right and brings out the purple tint and streaks in her dark brown hair.
“Happy birthday,” she says. “I wanted to put something together for you… Have you eaten a lot already?”
I just stare at her while my brain catches up.
Of course she knows when my birthday is. In the world she came from, we were matched for three years before that version of me lost her.
Too bad for him.
A warmth like nothing I’ve ever felt before tingles through my chest. I’ve been calling her my love and my mate in more than one language, been promising my devotion to her in every word I have… but I’m not sure I knew what it really means to love her until this moment.
She’s so fucking perfect I could explode.
Except then I’d ruin the amazing dinner she’s apparently arranged for me.
I shake my head. “Nope. Not much. Partied a little with the family, but I didn’t actually ingest a whole lot.”
“Playing it safe. I know that trick.” Her smile widens for a second before she bustles over to the kitchen.
“I hope your tastes aren’t too different from—from what I knew before.
I’m not that wonderful a cook, so I picked up the food from a restaurant that’s supposed to be good—I got porchetta and squash risotto and a genoise cake with custard and blueberries. ”
She’s unwrapping the takeout containers from their insulating foil as she speaks, sending a thicker waft of mouth-watering smells into the air. I can already tell she picked well.
“That sounds incredible, mia amata.” I move to join her, grabbing plates from the cabinet. “Couldn’t have asked for a better birthday dinner.”
Elodie pauses where she was checking the drawers for silverware. Her dark gaze holds mine. “Are you sure? If there’s anything you’d have liked better—you just need to tell me. I know not everything here is exactly the same.”
I grin. “Well, this much is.”
“Okay. Good.”
She starts lifting slices of porchetta onto the plates as if she’s afraid it’ll get cold if she delays by even a second. The intensity in her expression, almost worried, niggles at me.
I slide my arm around her waist and kiss the crook of her jaw. She drops a piece of meat half on the counter and babbles an apology.
My gut twists. I nuzzle her hair. “Hey. Elodie. I love this. You don’t have to do everything. I can put my own food on a plate.”
She stays tensed in my arms. “It’s your birthday. I wanted to do this for you.”
“You did.” I lean my head against hers, breathing in the heady floral scent of her skin. “And now I want to enjoy it with you.”
Her body gradually relaxes into my embrace. My heart squeezes with a horrifying thought.
Why is she so on edge about getting this gesture right? So worried that I won’t be completely satisfied?
Didn’t I make it clear how happy I am to have her after her confession this weekend?
Just how awfully did the other version of me treat her to make her this nervous when she’s doing something sweet?
Did that Salvatore make her feel she was never good enough? Did her other matches?
My jaw tightens, and I hug her closer.
I can’t actually launch myself across dimensions to stick it to the other me, however he might have failed our match. So I’ll just have to do whatever I can to show Elodie how wonderful she is, exactly like this.
Keeping one arm around her, I take over one of the forks and heap a few scoops of risotto on the plate I’ve decided is mine. “Now you need to tell me, a chroí—when’s your birthday?”