Page 61 of Royally Ruined

This wasn’t going to be easy.

“Heather.” It was my father who spoke first. I came toward him, and he rose to limp my way.

“No, Dad, just sit.” I waved my hands at him until he sank back onto the chair. “Everyone, just let me explain.”

My uncle reached into his pocket for a cigarette; Mom intervened, smacking him sharply in the shoulder. “Dammit, Margie.”

“Not in here,” she said, leaving no room for argument—they’d had this talk several times. Turning toward me, she offered a half smile. “Sit down, honey bun. We’re listening.”

I was proud of them. With Costello hovering in the kitchen corner, leaning there as if he could blend in and be forgotten, I knew this was hard on their nerves. But they sat there quietly as I began to tell them everything.

Their whole sit-and-listen shtick fell apart minutes in.

“Wait!” My father slammed his palms onto the tabletop. “You’ve been waitressingwhere?”

“The Dirty Dolls,” I said. “It’s a club—”

“A strip club!” Uncle Jimmy made big meaty fists. “I’ve been there before; how have I never seen you?”

“The real question is how you never saw me,” Gina said, shrugging. “We’ve worked there for what, eight years now?”

“Eight years?”My dad grabbed at his chest. I started to sit up until I realized he was overreacting and not having an actual heart attack. “Heather, how could you?”

Ugh. I didn’t know how to answer that, not with Gina sitting in earshot. Costello’s warm voice rolled over into our conversation, saying, “It’s not the kind of place you think it is. My family has owned the club since I was young. We make sure it’s clean; nothing bad goes on in there.”

My tiny pitter-patter of pride melted under my uncle’s response. “Please. Everything your family touches is corrupt. Everyone in this room knows that.” His glare froze on me. “Especially you, Heather. I’ve warned you for however long that the Badds are a dangerous family. They bring destruction. Ruin. And that’s all.”

Gina stood up, knocking her chair over. “Hey! That’s wrong! Costello is as good as those guys can get!”

“Keep out of this, Ginavene, please.” My father sighed. “I can’t believe you two were working in that place, and now ...”

My ears were buzzing from the constant argument. All of them were getting louder, hands shaking in the air to emphasize whatever points they had. They all thought they were right. And maybe they were—about some of it. But not all.

Costello’s hand settled on my shoulder. Bracing myself, I said, “Someone wants me dead.”

I wanted a photo of them right then, their eyes wide, jaws hanging slack. Yeah. I had their attention again.

Standing up, I gently put my hand on top of Costello’s; my father and uncle shot their attention there. I said, “The same person who assaulted Gina tried to murder me. Now he’s convinced everyone thatIwas the one that tried to killhim. If it wasn’t for Costello, I’d be dead already. You can say he brings ruin all you want ... but for me, he’s been a hero.” His fingers tightened and my ribs followed suit, unable to contain my blossoming heart.

Deep in my mother’s eyes, I caught something: Pride? Joy? She looked at my father, her arm moving as if she’d taken his hand under the table. The way he twitched, eyeing her, I was sure she must have. “Heather,” she said slowly, “I believe you.”

“You do?”

Glancing at Costello, she said, “If you think you’re safe here, you’re all free to stay.”

“Margie!” my uncle snapped.

Her eyes darkened on him. “What? You want to tell Heather she’s lying? You know she wouldn’t, and if anyone can tell someone’s intentions, it’s her. If this young man was going to hurt her, he’d have done it by now.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I breathed out. Relief flooded me, making me tired. But this wasn’t over with. One look at my dad made that obvious.

He hunched farther over the table. “Costello,” he said, as if the name were a piece of rotten meat in his mouth. “Who’s this person chasing after my daughter?”

“Darien Valentine,” he answered.

Both my uncle and my father sat back, sharing a distraught look. “The Valentines?” Uncle Jimmy asked, palming his scalp. “The Boston Valentines?”

“The same.”

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