Page 170 of Keeping Kasey
I peer into the kitchen before walking in. Elise stands over the stove, cooking what looks like homemade ravioli, and a woman I don’t recognize washes dishes beside her. She has dark skin and long black hair that falls down her back. Her delicate features are flawless, and she wears a kind, easy smile.
Damon leans against the counter, talking animatedly to a man I’ve never met, but I know exactly whoheis. Ryder Bates was Moreno’s underboss for years. He is who I had expected to be at Moreno’s side at our first meeting.
He’s as tall as Damon, with a broad build and dark complexion. His black hair is cropped short, and he wears a pair of worn jeans and a gray tee that look far more comfortable than the suits the Consoli men insist on wearing. I can’t see Ryder’s face from here, but I’ve seen enough pictures to know he’s handsome, with trimmed scruff outlining an angular jaw, deep brown eyes, and thick lips that rarely pull into a smile.
I step forward to peer into the living room, where James sits on the floor in front of the coffee table with a small girl no older than three or four. She has the same dark complexion as Ryder and the delicate features of the woman—she’s undoubtedly their daughter. The little girl reaches for a wooden piece of the Jenga game she and James play, and she pulls it from the tower without the slightest wobble. It’s an admirable gentleness for someone so young.
The loudest voice comes from a small boy who is currently attacking Logan in the living room. He looks to be the same age as the little girl, but he shares none of her calm temperament.
His tan skin, dark hair, and wide grin wouldn’t raise any flags if I saw him on the street one day, but seeing him right next to Logan?
They look identical.
A sharp stab shoots through my stomach, and I have to wrap my hands around my torso to ease the pain.
Logan doesn’t have a son. I would have known about it.
The boy’s arms wrap around Logan’s leg, and he has one foot behind Logan’s as he pushes forward. “You’re not doing it right, Uncle Logan!” he whines.
Uncle Logan?
Logan is sporting a broad smile—a stark contrast to the apathetic mask he showed me—as he watches the boy with pure amusement. “I think you’re the one doing it wrong, kiddo. I’m not going toletyou tackle me.”
The boy takes a step back and glares up. “Uncle Damon lets me tackle him.”
“Uncle Damon isn’t as strong as me.”
“Heard that,” Damon calls from his conversation with Ryder.
The sight of Logan with the small boy is too much. I think I’m going to be sick.
I can’t do this.
I turn to the door, but someone is standing at the base of the stairs, watching me.
“Kasey,” Moreno says with a nod of greeting. “Welcome back.”
His expression—while far from happy—is pleasant.
Mine is not.
“I don’t remember being welcomed in the first place,” I remind him.
He shrugs. “I had a feeling about you—which, for the record, was right.”
“You must’ve been so proud when I left.”
“I do relish any opportunity to ridicule Consoli,” he says with a nod, “but no, I was not happy. You’re finding the traitors in my family, too. I might not deal with as much sabotage as the Consolis, but I still get traitors screwing with my business.”
Sabotage?
Why didn’t Logan tell me they were being sabotaged?
Whywouldhe?
I’m already doing what I can to get the traitors out for good.
He steps closer, stopping only when Elise is in his line of sight. “And for reasons I cannot fathom, my wife likes you. She was upset that you missed the wedding.”
