Page 97 of Vicious Games

“I’ll make sure Mom talks to her.” He throws her a smile that has my hand itching to slap his face.

“Then how can I say no to that?” She giggles.

Frankie. Giggling. At Marcello. Kill me the fuck now!

Annamaria must have just walked through Sacred Hearts doors since Marcello’s attention shifts behind us, no longer looking so damn chummy.

“I’ll see you then.” And with that, he leaves without so much as a goodbye.

The fuck is that about? Last month, Marcello was telling me to get rid of Frankie, and now he wants to be… what? Her BFF?

Fuck that.

I pull my hand away from her waist, threading my fingers through hers instead, and drag her off to the parking lot, away from my older brother.

When we get to the car, I yank open the door, pissed beyond measure. As much as I want to slam it, I don’t. Instead, I fume my way around to the driver’s side and slam my own door shut. I don’t even look at her as I lean in and help her with her seatbelt, something that’s usually one of the highlights of my damn day. Now, Marcello’s ruined it with his dead eyes and fucking shy charm.

I jam the key into the ignition, but before I can turn it, Frankie grabs my hand and yanks it out.

“What’s your problem?” I snap.

“You!You’re my problem!” she yells back. “If you think I’m going to let you drive while you’re this mad, you’ve got another thing coming!”

“I’m not mad,” I bite out.

“Oh, really? Tell your face that!”

I lean my head back against the leather headrest and close my eyes, trying to get my temper under control.

“Where were you today?” I ask once I can trust myself not to blow up.

“What do you mean?”

I turn my head toward her, confusion stamped all over her pretty face.

“I mean, where the fuck were you, Frankie? I looked all over school for you. And couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“Why were you looking for me?”

Why?

Is she seriously asking me that?

Do you have an answer for her?my conscience taunts.

Fuck you,I mutter back internally.

Because no. I don’t have an answer. All I know is that I needed to see her. Be near her. In any fucking capacity.

When I don’t say anything, her own rage starts to simmer down.

“Sister Margarette asked me to help out at St. Mary’s Cathedral,” she says quietly. “We’re doing all the Thanksgiving prep now, so once the funerals are over Wednesday evening, they can set everything up without scrambling. I missed most of my morning classes because of it.”

“Oh,” I mumble, feeling like a jackass.

“But it’s not like you didn’t see me all day,” she adds. “You saw me at chapel this morning.”

“That wasn’t enough,” I admit, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. However, instead of melting into my touch, her expression turns serious.

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