Page 27 of With This Kiss
“It’s just you and your brother, then?”
Something in her expression shifted before she nodded. “Yeah.”
“Your dad?”
“He’s there,” she answered, not giving anything away. Smart girl.
“And your mom?”
“She’s gone.”
“Gone?”
She nodded. “Gone.”
I actually didn’t know what happened to the former Mrs. Caparelli. Some said her husband killed her when he caught her in bed with another man. The woman hadn’t been known to be faithful. Others said she had run away from home. That rumor was even more ridiculous. No man in Davide’s position would ever let his wife run away.
Not only would it damage his reputation, but I was sure she knew more about the organization than she let on.
She would be a treasure trove of Caparelli secrets.
“Do you miss her?” I asked, wondering if I would miss my own mother if she were to ever decide she’d had enough of the abuse and leave.
Her eyes cast a faraway look before she answered, “No.”
The response was quick and decisive. I nodded, not asking any more.
The food came out then, along with the bottle of wine.
We didn’t talk much during the rest of dinner—me, because I didn’t want to give too much away, and I still didn’t know what she wanted from me, and her, because it seemed my questions about her mom had affected her mood.
I didn’t mind it too much. After all, I had made friends with the silence a long time ago. And it seemed Jamie was the same way.
It was… nice.
6
JAMIE
Before the date, a part of me doubted that he didn’t know who I was.
He never asked for my last name, and while Jamie was a common enough name, it wasn’t that common.
But it seemed like he actually didn’t know who I was, and didn’t seem to care to find out.
I wondered if he treated all his dates with the same disinterest.
Something about the thought left a heavy weight in my stomach that I couldn’t explain.
Though I did learn something about him.
He wasn’t close to his family—not his brother and not his parents.
But not being close to his family didn’t mean he wasn’t deeply entrenched in his family’s business. I looked down at his hands as he expertly cut into the steak and brought the morsel of meat to his mouth. I imagined his hands—much like my brother’s and my father’s—had been drenched in other men’s blood countless times.
He was dangerous.
I wasn’t unaware of that fact when I asked him out, but there was just something about him that didn’t make me feel fearful.
