Chapter 6
Frances
My eyes bulge in disbelief as we pull up to the Romano estate. The entrance to Lucky’s home is a statement in itself—massive iron gates standing like silent guards, determined to only allow a chosen few to pass through. Beyond those gatekeepers, the private property stretches out as far as the eye can see, like something straight out of a movie. With its perfect rose gardens and lawns so manicured, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that each blade of grass had its own stylist. And that’s just the front yard.
If this is the opening act, I can’t even imagine what the inside of his home looks like.
The place is huge—the kind of massive that makes my orphanage look like a damn shoebox.
So this is how the other side lives, huh? No wonder Lucky is a spoiled brat. I’d probably be one, too, if I grew up in a house like this.
Correction, mansion.
And not just any mansion. The kind of mansion that can comfortably accommodate at least twenty guests without anyone having to share a room.
Jesus.
How can some people have so much while others have so little? And why is it that the people who do have it all tend to be assholes like Lucky Luciano? It’s not fair.
Aside from the kids at the orphanage, most of the students at Sacred Heart are well off, so I always knew he came from money. But this? This isn’t well off. This is more money than his entire family can spend in their lifetime.
And don’t even get me started on the cars. Four brand-new Escalades trail behind us like they’re escorting the damn president here.
Sigh.
Why did I let Sister Agnes and Lucky’s mom bully me into coming? Because, let’s be real, with all their polite smiles and gentle persuasion, it felt like bullying to me. But what was I supposed to say? ‘I’d rather not have lunch with your family, lady, since you’ve raised assholes for kids?’ Yeah, that wouldn’t have gone over too well. Much less something a future nun should say.
Mother Superior would have had my ass if I said such a thing, even if a small part of her agreed with me. She didn’t say anything to the contrary, but I could see in her eyes that she wasn’t pleased with this impromptu lunch date. But what could she do? Say no to the family’s matriarch, who donated so much to St. Mary’s and Sacred Heart? Her hands were as tied as mine.
“Here we are,” Mrs. Romano says cheerfully, turning to look at me in the back seat as I sit beside a quiet Annamaria.
I was relieved when the twins decided to take a different car—until I realized that riding with their kid sister came with its own brand of awkwardness. She hasn’t said a word the whole ride through, content on watching me as if inspecting me or something.
I’ve seen Annamaria around Sacred Heart before. Not so much last year when she was in the middle school building, but now that she’s a freshman, I catch glimpses of her in the halls from time to time. She’s hard to miss as she stands out in a crowd with her Rapunzel-like golden hair and striking features. Yet, whenever I see her, she’s always alone, glued to her phone, smiling at something on the screen.
She doesn’t seem to be much of a talker, though. She’s either shy or just a straight-up introvert. Which is wild to me, considering her twin brothers are the exact opposite. Lucky and Enzo live for the spotlight, no matter the angle. They’re like mirrors—only fully alive when someone’s looking at them. They just thrive under the attention.
Personally, I prefer standing in the shadows and living my life under the radar.
Perhaps one of the reasons I resent Lucky so much is because he forced me to step into the light when I had no desire to do so. And now, here I am at his doorstep, pushed to be the center of attention once again.
Ugh.
I reach for the door handle, but before I can open it, it flies open on its own. Lucky stands there, waiting, tilting his head as if issuing a silent command to get out.
God, he’s a prick.
I climb out reluctantly, but before stepping away, Lucky pulls me to his side and mutters under his breath, “I don’t know what my mom is up to, but I have a pretty good idea.” His voice is low and annoyed. “She thinks if we spark some kind of friendship, it’ll get back to Sister Margaretta and get me out of hot water with the Nun Supreme.” He scoffs. “Just play along, and this will all be over in no time. Think you can handle that?”
I cross my arms and glare at him. “That depends. What exactly are you asking me to do?”
“I’m asking you to be a fucking human being,” he snaps. “Act civil. Pretend we don’t hate each other. Before you know it, the afternoon will fly by, and this hellish day will be done and over with.”
“So let me get this straight, you want me to act like I don’t find you deplorable and an overall disgusting human being?” I flash him a toothy grin. “That’s going to be tough.”
His jaw ticks in tandem with his flaring nostrils. But instead of responding, he turns and helps his younger sister out of the car, clearly deciding I’m not worth the argument.
My attention is pulled away from them when a butler opens the massive front door of the mansion.
“Lunch will be served in thirty minutes, Mrs. Romano,” he announces.
“Good. Thank you,” she says with a pleased nod. “That gives us enough time to freshen up.” Her eyes sparkle when they land on me. “Make sure Lourdes sets an extra plate. We have a guest today.”
The butler nods before disappearing down the hall.
“Anna, take Frances with you to freshen up,” Mrs. Romano instructs.
“Yes, Mammà .”
Annamaria takes my hand, her blue eyes way too kind to have come from a life of this much luxury.
“I was hoping we could talk,” she says excitedly as she leads me through the halls.
“You were?” I ask, dumbfounded since she didn’t utter a word the whole ride here.
“Hmm.” She nods. “Rumor has it that after you graduate, you’re going to devote your life to God and join a convent. I’m really interested in learning what you have to do to become a nun.”
“Why?” I immediately bristle at the question.
“Well,” she adds quickly, “don’t tell anyone, but… it’s something I’ve thought about pursuing myself.” She sighs. “Not that my family agrees.”
I blink once, then twice, as if that would improve my hearing.
“ You want to be a nun?” She nods with a shy smile. My gaze drifts over the insane level of wealth surrounding us before looking at her again and stating, “You do know nuns take a vow of poverty, right?”
“I know.”
“So you’d be okay leaving all of this behind?”
“Material things don’t mean much to the soul,” she says simply. “A person can’t live off wealth alone. We need a deeper meaning in life to make us whole.”
My jaw practically drops. This girl is fifteen—if that—and she’s already figured out something most adults never do. Money is worthless compared to the things that actually matter—friendship, family, love, humility, generosity, and kindness. Those are the things that genuinely make a person whole. Nothing you can order from Amazon can fill the kind of emptiness that comes from lacking those things.
“That’s a mighty big decision to make. Especially when you’re so young.”
“What does age have to do with someone’s life purpose?” She hikes up a confused brow. “Didn’t you always know you wanted to devote your life to a higher calling?”
My heart drops to the pit of my stomach.
How do I tell this impressionable young girl that my decision to join the nunnery isn’t some noble, selfless act? It wasn’t faith or vocation that led me here, but fear of being alone and ending up living on the streets. Also, I owe Sister Margaretta more than I can ever repay, and becoming a nun felt like the only way to even begin trying.
As I stare deep into her clear, sapphire eyes, I know that telling her the truth would only shatter and dim her altruistic view of the world. So, instead of answering her question, I throw her one of my own, “Is that what you feel? That you have been called to offer your life to a higher power?”
She chews on that question, taking her time to give me an honest answer. “I know that the world can be cruel and unforgiving. So if there is any way I can help those less fortunate than myself…help those souls that the world forgot, then that’s what I want to do. I want to ease their pain if I can,” she responds earnestly.
I give her a warm smile and nod as I reply, “That’s a noble cause to have. And from the looks of it, you have everything at your fingertips to make that kind of impact. You don’t need a habit or a convent to change lives, Anna. You come from a family with the kind of wealth and influence that can move mountains. You can feed mouths, build homes, and fund futures. Money can’t fix everything, but it can ease a lot of suffering. Sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do is use what you already have to give others what they never did or never will. The most sacred kind of giving comes from using your blessings to lift someone else’s burden. And you… you’ve been given so much. That’s not something to run from—it’s something to use with love.”
Her smile widens as she takes my words to heart.
“You’re going to be a good nun. I can tell.”
I’m not as optimistic.
I offer her a shaky smile and let her lead me to the bathroom to freshen up. But the moment the door clicks shut behind me, and I catch my reflection in the mirror, the smile slips right off my face.
Unlike Annamaria, I’m not as confident about what kind of nun I will be. To be honest, Annamaria would make a far better candidate than I ever could. Her heart is already in it. It’s in the work, the mission, the cause. Whereas mine is just looking for refuge. A place no one can throw me out of. A family that won’t leave.
I knew coming to the Romano home was a bad idea. I just didn’t expect to feel this low within the first few minutes of walking through the door.
After I manage to shove that shame back down, deep where no one can see it, I step out of the bathroom. Annamaria’s waiting patiently to lead us into the dining hall.
And—Jesus.
The dining room looks like it was built for royalty—high ceilings, polished wood, and a table long enough to seat a small army.
Mrs. Romano sits at the head of the table, flanked by two men I recognize from church. Dominic is massive, all broad shoulders and towering height, and covered in more tattoos than I’ve ever seen on a single person. Giovanni, on the other hand, is clearly cut from the same cloth as Lucky and Enzo—same brown hair, same easygoing smile. He’s practically a carbon copy of the twins. Maybe an uncle from their father’s side.
At the far end of the table, directly across from her, sits a single empty chair, its presence quiet but heavy. That seat must belong to their father, Vincent Romano.
Scanning the room for a place to sit, my eyes land on two open seats beside Annamaria and Stella Romano. Stella, I recognize from Sacred Heart. She graduated last year, and even then, she had a reputation for not playing by the rules. She’s got the same striking red hair as her mother, but while Selene Romano’s green eyes radiate warmth, Stella’s hold a glint of rebellion.
There’s also a seat next to Lucky and Enzo, but I’m not nearly brave—or foolish—enough to sit there. I start making my way toward the safer option next to his sisters until a tall, blonde man enters the room and stops me in my tracks.
“That’s where our brother and his wife sit,” he says, his voice unreadable. “You should sit next to Lucky.”
“Oh,” I stammer. “I didn’t realize more people were coming.”
“Let the girl sit where she wants, Mar,” Stella sighs, rolling her eyes. “It’s not like Jude and Mina are flying home for Sunday lunch.”
Still, the dead look in the man’s eyes has me quickly redirecting to the other side of the table.
Marcello Romano.
I remember him from when I was a freshman. I used to spot him around Sacred Heart, always drifting through the halls like he owned the place.
No, not owned, haunted.
Even then, he gave me the heebie-jeebies. He’s handsome like his siblings—annoyingly so—but there’s something cold behind those eyes. Not cold like distant. Cold like dangerous. The kind of eyes that make your gut whisper, Don’t get too close.
I’d honestly take sitting next to Lucky a hundred times over before risking a seat beside that.
Enzo and Lucky are whispering amongst themselves, not paying me any mind when I take my rightful seat beside them. I don’t say a word and try not to shift in my seat under Marcello’s scrutinizing gaze. I’m only able to regain my breath when his father steps inside the room and pulls his attention away from me.
“Sorry for the wait, tesoro, ” Lucky’s father says, pressing a quick kiss to his wife’s cheek before moving toward his seat.
All his children smile at him, except Marcello, who hasn’t smiled once. Instead, he fixes me with another scathing stare, the kind that makes my skin prickle and burst out in hives.
“You must be Frances,” Mr. Romano says, his tone casual. “Lucky’s classmate.”
I nod, keeping my focus anywhere but on Marcello because—holy shit—that look of his could kill a man.
“So, you’re the young lady who taught my son some manners?” he asks with a friendly ease.
“I don’t think I did a very good job,” I blurt before I can stop myself.
Laughter ripples from everyone around the table except Lucky and, of course, Marcello.
“Well, at least you tried,” Mr. Romano says, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “We all have. Nothing seems to stick.”
I give him a sheepish little smile, which he thankfully takes as a sign that I’d rather not continue down this road. He shifts his attention back to the rest of the family.
With the spotlight off me, I sneak a glance between Mr. Romano and his offspring, searching for the similarities—and finding gaps in between. Marcello, despite his dark blond hair and crystal-blue eyes, still carries the strong jawline and sharp cheekbones of his father. Even the way he holds himself—steady, authoritative—makes the connection impossible to miss. As for the girls, it’s obvious they take after their mother. Both Stella and Annamaria have been blessed with Selene Romano’s beauty, each in their own way. It’s only Lucky and Enzo who don’t quite fit the mold. They don’t resemble their father at all. Not like they do the man sitting next to their mother, whose index finger is idly tracing small circles against the back of her hand.
Weird.
But my gaze quickly lifts from that strange moment of endearment to the household staff as they enter the room, each one carefully placing down tray after tray of food along the enormous table.
For a second, I completely forget where I am. The sheer extravagance of it stuns me into silence. If I’d ever imagined what it might feel like to attend a king’s banquet, this would be it.
Antipasti spreads with imported cheeses and cured meats. Handmade pasta swimming in rich, velvety sauces. Freshly baked bread with golden, crackling crusts. Roasted meats that look so tender I wouldn’t be surprised if they practically fell off the bone. Even the salads look expensive—dressed with delicate slivers of truffle and edible flowers like something out of a magazine.
I’ve never seen so much decadent food in one place in my life.
No wonder these people make a big deal of having family meals together. If I lived here, I’d also be the first one at the table for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
My mouth waters as the waitstaff begins circling the room, filling plates with practiced ease.
“What would you like, Miss?” the waiter assigned to me asks politely enough, though there’s a thin edge of impatience behind his smile.
“I’m not sure,” I admit, eyes darting across the spread, completely overwhelmed.
If I were alone, I’d want to try everything. Unfortunately, I’m not, and the last thing I want is to embarrass myself. It’s not like the nuns ever taught us the proper etiquette for five-star feasts like this.
“Salad, perhaps?” the man offers, his voice clipped, clearly ready to move on.
My cheeks burn before I can stop them, heat rising from embarrassment at his barely hidden annoyance.
“She’ll have a bit of everything,” Lucky says, cool and calm. “And Marco, when her plate’s empty, make sure you come back and ask if she wants seconds… without the attitude. Or else.”
It’s the or else that has the man working double time to fill my plate.
Any other time, I would have scolded Lucky for acting as if it were his God-given right to order people around. Still, I’m actually grateful he stepped in and stood up for me when I couldn’t.
By the time the waiter hurries off, my plate is a mountain of deliciousness. I turn to thank Lucky, only to find him completely absorbed in his phone, thumb scrolling, his expression unreadable.
Figures.
He’s probably scrolling through his socials, trying to find his next victim to bully.
Even though he made a point of telling me to be on my best behavior before I even stepped foot in his house.
What an asshole.
I roll my eyes and transfer my focus to the food, fork halfway to my mouth until something down the table yanks my attention.
Giovanni is leaning in close to Mrs. Romano, whispering something in her ear, their fingers now completely entwined. She laughs at his words, her gaze flicking across the table to her husband, who casually winks back at her.
Okay, yeah.
That… is officially weird.
But am I really that stunned?
Normal couldn’t raise a guy like Lucky Romano.
After lunch is over—and the most delicious soufflé I’ve ever eaten has been devoured—I place my napkin on the table, ready to hightail it out of here.
“Thank you for the meal, Mrs. Romano. It was lovely.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Lucky’s mom replies, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. However, when she decides to turn her attention to the boy sitting next to me, something tells me that I won’t be going home anytime soon. “Lucky, why don’t you show Frances around?”
Lucky groans like a child being asked to take out the trash.
“Fuck, do I have to?”
“Language,” his father snaps, his authoritative tone sharp enough to make even me straighten up in my seat.
“It’s fine,” I interject quickly. “I should be getting back to the orphanage anyway.”
“Nonsense.” Mrs. Romano waves a dismissive hand. “You’ll spend the afternoon with us.”
Damn it. So this isn’t a cut-and-run situation like I’d hoped.
Lucky lets out a long sigh, dragging his chair back before reaching for mine, gently pulling it out for me to stand.
The gentlemanly, out-of-left-field gesture shocks me a bit until I remind myself that this isn’t for me but rather for his mother’s benefit.
Of course.
“Come on, Frances, ” he grumbles my name as if it were a curse, tilting his head for me to follow him.
I don’t make eye contact with anyone in the room, hurrying my feet to keep up with the prick.
“I don’t need a tour,” I say as soon as we’re out of earshot. “I get it. You have a big house.”
“This isn’t our house,” he replies.
I pause mid-step. “Oh, yeah? You have two houses?”
“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’ at the end.
“You’re kidding?” I narrow my eyes at him, calling bullshit.
“Nope.” Another pop.
“Wait a second. So you and your family don’t actually live here?”
“That’s what I said. Hard of hearing, are we, Frances? ” he goads with a smirk.
“Then where do you live?” I ask, bypassing his taunt.
“That’s a secret.”
I fold my arms. “A secret? So, what, is this house a decoy?”
“Pretty much.” He shrugs as if that reasoning should make perfect sense to me.
It doesn’t. Nothing about this makes sense. Why would anyone need two houses? I mean, yeah, Lucky’s family is bigger than most, but still. Two? Really? Do rich people really live like this? A home for sleeping and another for eating. And what? Do they have a third house for shitting, too? Unbelievable.
“Come on,” Lucky urges, his teasing tone morphing into one of annoyance again. “Move your feet.”
“I told you. I don’t want a tour. Especially of this mausoleum.” I sigh. “I just want to go home.”
“You don’t have a home,” he says flatly. “An orphanage is not a home.” His words sting, even if they’re true. Especially since this is not the first time he’s said them.
“God, you’re an asshole.”
“So you keep reminding me.” He gestures ahead. “Now move your sweet ass before my mom comes looking for us.”
“Don’t talk about my ass, jerk.”
“Fine. I’ll just look at it instead, brat.” He has the audacity to wink, pointing to a room and expecting me to enter.
When I don’t budge, he lets out a muffled curse and trudges in front of me. I exhale sharply and follow as he enters a large living room, leading toward a set of sliding glass doors with a perfect view of the woods surrounding the back of the estate.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he pushes them open.
“Somewhere they can’t hear you scream,” he says, his voice mock-menacing.
If he thought he could scare me with those words, he’s shit out of luck. Now, if his brother Marcello had said it, I’d be terrified.
“Just come on, Frankie. We don’t have all day.”
“Fine, whatever.” I follow him outside, mumbling under my breath. “Just remember, I already took you down once. I can do it again.”
“Hardy har har.”
“Not joking.” I roll my shoulders back. “Any funny business and I promise you’ll meet my left hook again.”
“I’m not going to do anything to you. I just want to get out of this place and get you away from my meddlesome family before they get any ideas.”
I glance at him. “What kind of ideas?”
“Who knows with that lot? They get carried away over nothing.”
I can’t tell if he’s being honest or laying the groundwork for some elaborate prank. And if it’s the latter, I wasn’t bluffing when I said I’d punch him again.
No, Frankie. You can’t hit him. You’re already on thin ice with Sister Margaretta as it is. Imagine how mortified she’d be if she found out you decked Lucky again—especially after his family invited you into their home. Or second home. Whatever.
Those thoughts tumble around in my head as we walk deeper into the woods behind the mansion, the crunch of dry leaves echoing beneath our steps.
Autumn is on fire around us. The trees are ablaze in scarlets and golds, the air crisp with that unmistakable earthy scent. The sun filters through the branches in soft, golden beams, making the whole area look almost mystical.
Aside from winter, autumn is one of my favorite times of year. I’d take this serenity over the blazing heat of summer any day.
It’s so beautiful here. Calming. Almost enough to make me forget who I’m with.
I take a deep breath, letting the stillness settle over me like a blanket.
My guard drops. Just a little. Just enough. And when I’m completely distracted by the tranquility of my surroundings, Lucky decides to act and push me up against a tree.
I immediately shove my hands against his chest in defense and yell, “Let me go, Lucky!”
“Not until we get a few house rules straight,” he says, his voice low and sharp. “Whatever you think you saw back there? Forget it.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I shout in his face.
His grip tightens on my hips, not enough to hurt me, but enough to make a point.
“Don’t play dumb, Frankie. I saw you. I saw your face when you noticed Gio holding my mom’s hand.”
How? He ignored me all throughout lunch. Or… was he faking it?
“So?” I frown.
“So, I don’t want to hear shit at school tomorrow about it. In fact, I’d rather no one even knew you came here today.”
I roll my eyes. “Like I go around telling people about my life.”
“What life?” He smirks.
Motherfucker.
Forgive me, Sister Margaretta, but the prick had it coming.
His smug expression barely has time to register before I slam my knee straight into his crotch.
“FUUUUUUUUUCK!” Lucky howls, doubling over as he clutches his junk.
“That’ll teach you not to try intimidating me again.” I smile, his hollers of pain music to my ears.
He’s still bent over in agony with one hand braced against the tree trunk for support and says, “Jesus fuck, Frankie! Do you always wake up in the morning and choose fucking violence?!”
I shrug. “Why not? Especially when I’m so good at it.”
“You really are,” Lucky groans, still clutching himself. “Damn, you got me good.”
He then starts to laugh, and as color slowly returns to his face, I surprisingly find myself laughing with him as opposed to at him.
“I’ll be walking funny for days.” He chuckles.
“Well, you deserved it.”
“Did I?”
“Yeah, you did. You always do. Why do you insist on constantly pushing my buttons?”
“Why do you make it so easy for me?” he counters with a grin.
God help me, but the sparkle in his chestnut eyes and that easy smile makes my irritation thaw—just a little.
Okay. So… Lucky is handsome. I mean, drop-dead, stupidly, unfairly gorgeous kind-of-handsome. But usually, his looks are instantly ruined by the fact that he acts like an elitist dick all the time.
Right now, though? Seeing him crouched over in pain but still managing to smile kind of makes his pretty features stand out even more.
“Want me to run back inside and grab you some ice?” I offer, arching a brow.
“Is that your way of saying you’re sorry?”
“A person should only say sorry when they genuinely regret something,” I reply easily. “And I don’t regret kneeing you in the nards. Like I said, you deserved it.”
“Is that what they teach you in nun school?”
“There isn’t a ‘nun school,’ you moron,” I scoff. “It’s called a convent.”
“Whatever.” He waves a dismissive hand. “I highly doubt they teach you to punch people like it’s your favorite pastime.”
“Only you, Lucky.” I flash him an ear-to-ear grin. “I only ever punch you.”
“And knee.”
“Yes. And knee.” I giggle as he finally manages to straighten up, using the tree for balance.
“I guess I should be honored that I’m the only one who brings out this side of you into the light.”
“Consider yourself lucky, ” I say, emphasizing the word.
He groans. “Was that a pun? ‘Cause that was awful.”
“I thought it was pretty good.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He shakes his head before draping an arm over my shoulders. “Help me back inside.”
“You really can’t walk on your own?” I ask, adjusting to his weight.
“I doubt I’d even make it back crawling,” he grumbles. “That was one hell of a knee.”
I hesitate for a second but finally say, “Sorry.”
His head snaps toward me, eyes dancing with amusement.
“Don’t say you’re sorry if you don’t mean it. Your words, not mine, remember?” His mouth tilts into a slow, lazy grin—the kind that tightens something in my chest.
I finally get why girls at school go gaga over him. When Lucky wants to be, he’s dangerously charming. Maybe getting kicked in the balls temporarily expelled his dickish nature. I make a mental note of that just in case he needs a repeat.
“I might mean it a little now,” I admit. “Just a little.”
“She feels remorse,” he muses. “Win for me, I guess. Though I don’t feel much like a winner right now.”
“Stop milking it, Lucky.” I roll my eyes. “Remember, you’re the one at fault here. You cornered me.”
“Lesson learned,” he grumbles. “Won’t be doing that shit again. Trust me.”
“Good.” I nod and then think about why he felt the need to shove me up against a tree like that. “And I promise I won’t tell anyone I was here today.”
“I don’t care what you say about me,” he replies. “I just don’t like people gossiping about my family.”
“I don’t gossip.” I shoot him a pointed look. “And it’s not because I don’t have friends or a life like you so graciously pointed out earlier. It’s because Sister Margaretta always says gossiping is a sin.”
“You’re really tight with Sister Margaretta, huh?” he asks, his penetrating gaze trying to read me.
“She’s like a mother to me.”
Lucky snorts. “Jesus. I hope you have better maternal role models than her. Sister Margaretta is evil when she wants to be.”
“She’s not,” I argue. “You and your brother just coax that side out of her. She’s been a godsend to me.” His smirk fades a little.
“Is she the reason you want to be a nun?”
“In part.”
“In part?” He lifts a brow. “So there are other reasons you want to throw your life away just to wear a habit?”
“There are many reasons,” I lie.
There are not that many, but Lucky doesn’t need to know that.
When the mansion comes into view, Lucky slows his pace slightly.
“All I’m asking is for your discretion,” he says, his voice softer now.
I tilt my head toward him and see how important my silence is to him.
“Your family is… different, huh?” I ask, still unsure of what I saw.
He nods. “We operate… differently than most families, yes.”
“I’m not sure what that means.”
“And I’m not going to explain it to you, so quit fishing.” His gaze locks onto mine. “I just ask that you keep whatever you saw today to yourself. Can you do that?” I nod. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
This time when he smiles at me, it isn’t his usual cocky grin or smug smirk. It’s one of genuine gratitude.
Hmm. Maybe we can coexist after all.
I’m not saying Lucky and I will be friends anytime soon, but I think we’ve come to an understanding today.
And if spending my entire Sunday afternoon at the Romanos’ decoy mansion was the cost of that?
Then maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t a complete waste of my time after all.