Page 67 of Royally Ruined

Me:Eat a doughnut, dummy.

He sat up, feeling the vibration. After glancing at the screen, Costello cast me a sly smile. Reaching over, he took a plain doughnut from the basket and gave it a nibble. Good. The guy needed fuel if he was going to put up with my uncle today.

Gina pushed a third bear claw into her mouth. “You’re still an ace baker, Margie,” she said.

My mother grabbed her big hips, laughing with pride. “Come by the bakery sometime, they’re even fresher! These are a day old, you know?”

“They don’t taste stale,” Gina said. Stretching backward over the chair and cracking her back, she groaned in delight. “I’m so full. Mind if I hop in your shower, Margie?”

“Not at all,” she answered.

“Great. Where do you keep the clean towels again?”

Rolling her eyes kindly, my mom waved for my friend to walk ahead of her. “You’d think by now you’d know this home as well as your own. Come on.”

Gina flicked a bit of sugar at me as she walked by. I snapped my napkin at her, but she dodged, laughing all the way up the stairs. It made me nostalgic for when we were kids and she’d sleep over on the weekends.

It was almost easy to forget why we were back home.

Except that when I looked at Costello and my father and uncle all glowering silently around the table, it wasn’t easy at all. These men were filling the air with testosterone, with bad memories and old hang-ups.

It had to end.

“Okay,” I said, pounding the table with my fist and shaking the silverware. They all snapped their eyes to me. “Let’s get down to business.”

Costello visibly relaxed as he watched me. I hoped he found me comforting; the thought thrilled me. “You’re right. There’s no time to wait.”

“How much timeisthere?” my dad asked. He was wearing thick moss-green sweatpants that I knew were easy to get over his stiff joints. They matched the color of his eyes—a color I’d lamented not winning in the genetic lottery. “Your father and his lot, or the Valentines, they’re working together to find you both. What are the chances they’ll bang our door down?”

“Slim, currently,” Costello said.

“They can’t track Heather back here?” Uncle Jimmy asked.

Shaking my head, I wore a tiny smile. “I’d never have come here if it put you guys in danger. No one knows who I am. When I waitressed—”

“Okay,” my uncle grunted. He’d spoken up so suddenly it threw me off. “We get it. So there’s no pressure to fix this quick.”

Across from me, Costello’s whole body crunched together. Either his poker face wasn’t as good as it used to be, or I’d gotten better at reading him. I had a feeling it was the latter. “There is pressure,” I said, chewing my lip. He shot me a wary look, but I went on. “The Valentines are threatening to hurt Costello’s family if he doesn’t hand me over to them.”

Costello remained steady, looking at my uncle with mounting curiosity. He said, “You’re wondering if I’ll betray you.”

“Being blunt doesn’t win you any points,” Dad grumbled.

“Stop,” I said, leaning over the tabletop. “We’re not going to start accusing Costello of plotting against us. He’s saved me too many times to count.” But the mention of his family had my brain going haywire. I was terrified by that text Maverick had sent.

His loved ones will get hurt if I don’t fix this.

Tightening my teeth together, I spoke as firmly as I could. “We need a plan. Darien started all of this. He’s got everyone thinking I tried to murder him, and we all know it’s nuts. Honestly,” I laughed, “I don’t know why anyone is taking him at his word.”

A chair squeaked, sliding an inch backward. My dad had linked his fingers over his mouth, but his voice came through clear. “There’s a reason, if you think about it.”

All of us focused on him, silent in our anticipation; we didn’t dare slow his train of thought.

Shutting his eyes under a furrowed brow, he said, “Jimmy, you remember the old guy who used to run that little grocery store with his brother?”

My uncle cocked his head. “Stanford and Montana. We were always getting called down there for the pettiest crap, and when Montana took over ...” All of a sudden his eyes stretched wide. “Shit. I get what you’re saying.”

Dropping his hands to his lap, my father looked at Costello. “Montana wanted to run the shop, but his older brother had seniority. They fought about it for years, and the employees never knew which side to take. Until one day. I rolled up there, had a call about someone planning to burn the place down.”

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