“He’s doing what?” His words sent Constantine to the door, snatching his hat from the floor on his way. He opened up and casually held his hat in front of his crotch as if he weren’t using it as coverage for what happened in here.

Colin raised a questioning brow, his gaze flicking to the hat and back up again. The kid didn’t miss a thing. “He’s not buying me a car, relax.”

I stood alongside Constantine, hoping Colin didn’t know what had happened here.

“Not a car?” Constantine shook his head, catching on. “No truck, SUV, four-wheeler, motorcycle, or any moving vehicle, either.” He was a fast learner regarding how our son thought and operated.

“Come on, if he wants to get me a truck, why not?”

“Because your mother and I will be the ones to get you your first vehicle, that’s why. We’ll decide together.”’

And I thought his dirty talk was sexy, but his parenting was next level at turning my insides mushy, especially when he referred to us as a team. A unit. A family. The way it was always meant to be. Ugh, there goes my heart again.

“Fine.” Colin shrugged it off, tossing a thumb over his shoulder. “He really does want to talk to you both, though. And your sister heard something about those guys we killed, too.”

“You didn’t kill anyone, and you never will. And we’ll be right out.” Constantine politely dismissed him, then shut the door and faced me, returning his hat to his head.

“Are you okay?”

“My father enjoys overstepping.” His hands went to his hips.

“I noticed.” I gave him a partial smile, then held on to as much of his tight bicep as I could manage.

“I never had a chance to thank you for what you said to him. You distracted me with that mouth of yours and . . .” He lowered his gaze between us as if remembering where his hand and mouth had just been. “It takes courage to stand up to him.”

“Well”—I smiled, resting my other hand on his chest—“it makes it easier to be a lioness when you’ve got a king standing behind you.”

39. Constantine

Chapter 39

Constantine

After switching to what Juliette had jokingly called “stealth mode” to sneak our bags from the foyer and grab clean underwear, we returned to the living room to face everyone.

Dad cut right to it in the no-nonsense manner I expected. “I was upset. I said things I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry.”

His words in English were meant for Juliette, and his more impassioned ones that followed in Italian? Those were for me.

I took them, absorbed them, and then, I forgave him.

Dad gave a slight nod before shifting his focus to Juliette. “Salvatore,” he offered, his tone gruff but sincere. “Call me Sal.”

“Oh, um, okay.”