“So, what? She couldn’t leave with us, so she just left without us?” Santo asks.

“No fucking idea.” I pull my phone out of my pocket. I have to make the call before I decide to just put a hole between her eyes and be done with it.

After telling Tommy where to meet us and when, I send a text to the group chat I have with my brothers.

Me:

Meeting with the demon birther at two PM tomorrow, old house.

Vin:

Demon birther? I’m assuming you’re the demon?

Marcel:

Even the devil was once an angel. I’ll bring the sage. That place is full of fucking ghosts and evil spirits and probably curses.

Gabe:

I’ll be there.

“They’re going to be blowing up that chat all fucking night now,” Santo groans as he pulls into my driveway.

“Good thing you can fucking mute it then,” I tell him. “See you tomorrow.”

“Gio,” he calls out just before I shut the door.

“Yeah?”

“If you’re going to kill her, don’t do it in front of Vin. He doesn’t need to see that shit.”

I nod my head. I won’t kill her tomorrow. Probably. Either way, I won’t fucking do it in front of our baby brother.

Chapter Fourteen

“Are you serious? They want to meet me?” I ask Tommy for the tenth time in as many minutes.

“That’s what they said.”

“Why? Like, why now? I mean, no, not why, but really? Shit, what am I going to wear?” I get up and start rummaging through my closet.

“I don’t think it matters what you wear,” Tommy tells me.

“It always matters what you wear,” Esther says, walking into my bedroom. “Where you going?”

Tommy and I look at each other. I haven’t told Esther about the boys. I haven’t told her anything about my former life. I didn’t want her seeking them out and putting herself or them in any danger.

There’s also a huge part of me that doesn’t want her judgment. I know I deserve it. I know what I did was wrong. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to be able to change the past. I could have just stayed. I could have not tried to escape. There are a million things I could have and should have done differently. But I didn’t, and I can’t take that back now.

“Ah, Dad’s bringing me to lunch tomorrow. I want to dress to impress,” I lie.

“Since when do you care what you wear to lunch with Dad?” Esther asks.

“Since I don’t want to let myself go and give him a reason to shop elsewhere,” I tell her.

“Don’t worry, Mum. If any other woman tries to step on your turf, I’ll cut their throats,” Esther fires back. And the scary thing is, I think she actually would do it.