The bus pulls up to my stop about thirty minutes later. I get out, cursing the high heels I’m wearing. I had a presentation at school today, but I’d much rather be in an old pair of jeans, a huge sweater and comfy boots. Carrying my large, cumbersome portfolio along with my backpack and the few things I’d left at the office in a plastic bag, I walk the six blocks home. The streets are busy, it’s the dinner hour, but for some reason, I find myself looking over my shoulder more than once, unable to shake the feeling I’m being followed. That’s got to be Sergio’s influence on my life. He’s a mobster. What he does he proved tonight. He beats people up. Hurts them. It’s what he knows.

Is it all he knows? With me, he’s been so gentle. So generous.

I shake my head. Trying to reconcile these two sides of him is giving me a headache.

Elftreth’s Alley is empty. No reason to be here unless you live here. The tourists usually come by during the day, not at night, at least not during the winter months. I dig my new key out of my pocket. The fact that I have these new locks—courtesy of Sergio who steamrolls to get his way—irritates me. I unlock the door and step inside. The first thing I do is slip off my shoes, leaving them as I walk to the kitchen table to set down the portfolio. I realize it’s strange Pepper didn’t greet me tonight. I’m later than usual and she’s probably hungry.

“Pepper, I’m home. Sorry I’m late. You wouldn’t believe my day.” I walk around the table to open the cabinet under the sink and get her food. “Come on, honey. Dinner.”

Nothing. Not even when she must hear the sound of food filling her bowl.

I stop. “Pepper?” My heart races. Shit. She’s so old. What if…

I straighten, thinking the worst, and turn to head into the living room. I switch on the light and let out a scream because I’m not alone.

Sergio’s here. Sitting in the middle of the couch, arms spread wide, eyes hard.

And right now, he looks like a fucking Godfather.

Pepper’s on the floor, her head on his shoe, sleeping.

“I fed her.” He’s pissed, I can hear it in his voice, feel it coming off him. There’s a half empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table.

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“She was hungry.”

“How did you get inside?” I repeat. I can match his anger.

“I told you I had a key.”

Fuck. That’s what he’d meant last night. “You can’t have a key. I never gave you one.”

“You switched off your phone.”