12. Chapter 12
“This is where we’re gonna live?” Freddy asked in an awed whisper as they sat in the idling pickup. His voice was hushed, like he was afraid the house might overhear him.
They both leaned forward to get a better look at the third floor.
The place loomed, an Elizabethan giant with stone walls rising to the sky with gables and peaks, every window framed by dark mullions.
At least twenty windows stretched across the facade, the glass glowing faintly in the afternoon light.
Ivy crept politely along the outer walls, not wild or ragged, but neatly trimmed as though it had been told where it could and could not go.
To one side, a wide arched portico sheltered a parking area where Mia’s beat-up sedan sat.
The dented car looked comically out of place, its dull paint clashing against the immaculate symmetry of the well-trimmed hedges and flowerbeds bursting with spring color.
It was the same with his rusting truck—two relics parked outside a palace.
He spotted Mia helping Evangeline out of the passenger seat. The old woman balanced the chicken box against her chest like a treasure chest while she held onto Mia’s arm for support. Mia’s curls caught the light, dark and glossy, bouncing as she bent to steady her grandmother.
“This place is huge,” Freddy murmured, eyes wide as he stared at the house.
“Yeah,” Raffe grumbled, shifting into gear. His rusty pickup rattled up the drive, sounding like it belonged on a different planet. None of this matched—their cars, Mia’s plain T-shirt and jeans, his own undercover scruff. If she owned this place… why the hell was she driving such a junker?
And more than that—what, exactly, had she handed to the judge this morning to prove her income?
So many questions. Raffe’s life was built on unraveling mysteries, on hunting men who thrived in shadows. But now he was willingly walking into a minefield of unanswered questions, married to the daughter of the very bastard he was hunting.
“We’ll figure this out,” he said at last, and Freddy nodded, though the motion was stiff, uncertain. Raffe patted his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. Trust me?”
The boy hesitated, his chin dipping in something closer to maybe than yes. Raffe felt the weight of it. He’d have to earn that trust. And once he had it, he would never let the kid down.
“Hey,” he added, looking directly at the boy. “From the moment I saw you watching that football practice last month, I told you—I’ll do whatever it takes to help you walk again. First step is getting that surgery.”
“Yeah,” Freddy muttered, his voice small. “But the window for the surgery is closing. Already, my legs aren’t healing right.”
Raffe’s chest tightened. “As soon as the paperwork clears, you’re on my health insurance. Then we schedule the surgery. No more delays.”
There was a beat of silence, then Freddy offered a firmer nod. “Okay. Got it.”
Raffe knew that Freddy wasn’t convinced, but he was faking optimism to make Raffe feel better. The kid had been let down too many times to believe that anything good could happen to him. “Good. From now on, no more stealing. Deal?”
Freddy’s gaze wandered—not at him, but back toward the house. His lips pinched. “Got it. But…” His eyes dimmed. “The other kids… they’re still hungry.”
Raffe scrubbed a hand down his beard, jaw flexing. The kid wasn’t thinking of just himself. Dammit, Freddy had a heart too big for his own good.
“Yeah, well,” Raffe said gruffly, “I’ve got some connections. Jenny can run more surprise checks. If the foster mom is starving kids, her license will be taken.”
As he said it, he looked up.
Mia was waiting by the stairs, one hand resting lightly on the railing as she turned to watch him. Her eyes flicked to him, quick, hesitant—as if she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to see that she was watching.
That glance hit him harder than it should have. Subtle. Barely there. But real.
And he wanted more.
He cursed silently to himself. He didn’t deserve her glances. Not when she was the daughter of Vito Calvino. Not when his entire mission was to bring her father down and drag every last one of his cockroaches into the light. He had to keep his mission front and center.
But when she looked again—so brief, so unsure—it sent something fierce and unwanted through his chest.
He turned back to Freddy. It was safer there.
“Surprise inspections are a great idea.” Freddy’s voice was quiet and thoughtful. “Would your connections take suggestions? I know the best times to stop in so that the social worker can really see what they’re doing.”
“That’s a brilliant idea,” Raffe grunted. “But back to the stealing issue—it’s never the solution.”
Freddy’s jaw tightened as he stared blindly through the windshield. His eyes were hard, older than a boy’s should ever be. “It is when we’re all hungry and haven’t been allowed to eat all day.”
Raffe opened his mouth to respond, but another voice cut in sharply.
“All day?”
He and Freddy turned. Mia stood at the open driver’s-side window, eyes flashing. Behind her, Evangeline leaned heavily on Mia’s shoulder, still clutching the fried chicken box.
Raffe swore under his breath. The wheelchairs were still strapped down in the bed of his truck. He’d been so focused on Freddy that he hadn’t noticed Mia was trying to get her grandmother to walk the distance.
He shoved open the door and jumped out, circling around quickly to help. “Damn it—I should’ve brought the chairs out first.” He yanked the tailgate down and began tugging at the straps.
Mia shot him a scathing look, though her lips twitched with something like humor. “That would have been helpful.”
Evangeline, however, wasn’t in the mood for humor. Her eyes were stormy, her frail frame trembling with fury—but not at Raffe.
“We had a lot of chores,” Freddy explained quickly, guilt written all over his face. “And because of this—” he tapped the arm of his wheelchair as Raffe lowered him into it—“I’m pretty slow.”
“Why were you assigned chores at all?” Mia demanded.
Freddy looked up, shifting his weight slightly to better settle into the wheelchair. “My foster mom said—”
“Former foster mom,” Mia corrected immediately, as she bent to help him shift his feet into the footrests.
Evangeline nodded firmly in agreement, holding onto Raffe’s arm as he lowered her into her wheelchair, eyes blazing with fury.
Freddy swallowed, his gaze dropping. “She said just because I was in a wheelchair, it didn’t mean I couldn’t do chores. She said the world wasn’t going to accommodate a cripple, so I might as well figure out how to get on in the world now.”
“She’s wrong!” Evangeline spat, her elderly face twisting with righteous rage.
“My husband, Barney, was just like that, dear. I’d started to lose hope while married to that cruel bastard.
Then he up and died, finally giving me freedom and happiness.
” She smiled gently at the boy. “I guarantee there are kind, generous people in this world.” She leaned forward, patting Freddy’s knee with surprising gentleness.
“You’re with us now. And you’ll never go without food again. ”
Freddy smiled faintly, but Raffe felt the kid’s wariness like a weight in the air. He’d been let down too many times—by the system, by strangers, by the person who had killed his mother.
Raffe set a firm hand on Freddy’s shoulder. It wasn’t much. It wasn’t enough. But maybe the steady pressure said more than words could.
Still, it felt inadequate.
“Let’s go inside and find bedrooms for everyone, okay?” he suggested.