Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(39)

He stands there in the doorway, dressed like usual but yet barefoot, his eyes scanning us with confusion, like we’re the last people he expected to see when his doorbell rang a moment ago.

“Bruno, love, who is it?” a woman’s voice calls out from behind him inside.

“It’s, uh...”

Seven doesn’t finish, but he really doesn’t have to, because the woman pops up in the doorway beside him. She’s everything you’d expect from someone with potted plants leading to her door, the kind of woman that just looks like she’d pack her husband healthy snacks before sending him off to work—burgundy ruffled blouse, black pencil skirt, with perfectly straight blonde hair, wearing the kind of makeup that doesn’t look like makeup.

You know what I’m saying?

She looks out at us, eyes widening only slightly. She’s either got one hell of a poker face or she’s gotten used to Lorenzo. “Oh, hello, Mr. Gambini.”

He merely nods at her.

Her gaze shifts to me as she smiles. “Hi, there! I’m Sarah. You are...?”

“Morgan,” I say, a little caught off guard by her politeness. “Morgan Myers.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Myers,” she says.

“You, too,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say to that.

“Morgan is, uh... Lorenzo’s girlfriend.”

Oh, whoa, buddy...

My eyes dart to Lorenzo, stunned, and see he’s making a face similar to the one he makes when he sees me crying. He’s disturbed. That should probably offend me, right? Should probably want to hit him. Instead, it makes me laugh.

“Oh, wow, that’s great,” Sarah says, still smiling at me. “I was just finishing up dinner. We’re having tacos. Would you like to join us? There’s plenty to go around.”

“Oh, Jesus, yes,” I say, the words flying out of my mouth without me even thinking about them.

Sarah laughs. “Well, then, come on in!”

Seven looks insanely nervous, watching his wife as she walks away, before he turns to Lorenzo. “Boss?”

Lorenzo just stands there.

He says nothing.

I don’t have it in me to try to figure out their exchange, because my stomach is growling and the woman said tacos. Shrugging it off, I head up the steps, my movement bringing Lorenzo back around to reality.

“Relax, Seven,” Lorenzo says, following me inside. “It’ll be fine.”

I don’t know if Seven agrees with that, because he says nothing, too preoccupied as his wife calls out for him to set two more places at the table.

I start to follow, but Lorenzo grabs my arm, stopping me right in the entryway to the town house. His voice is low as he says, “Do me a favor and be on your best behavior.”

My brow furrows. “What do you think I’m planning to do here, straddle the woman’s lap and motorboat her titties? It’s dinner.”

Lorenzo lets out a laugh of disbelief, not letting go of my arm. “They’re Mormon.”

Okay, that stalls me. “What?”

“Watch what you say,” he continues. “Don’t talk about stealing, or killing, or fucking...”

“What are we supposed to talk about?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Whatever people talk about that aren’t those things.”

“Wait, hold on,” I say when he finally lets go. “If she’s super-conservative, how does the dude get away with working for you?”

It strikes me, as soon as I ask that, that she doesn’t know.

“We deal in oranges, Scarlet,” he says, turning away. “It’s a lucrative business.”

I head to the kitchen, because well, there’s no getting out of this now. Tacos, it turns out, aren’t the kind of tacos I’m thinking about. They’re fancy homemade chicken tacos with some kind of yogurt sauce. We sit down at the table, and they bless the food with a prayer.

Yeah, I got us in deep here…

“So, tell me about yourself, Morgan,” Sarah says as we start to eat. “What is it you do?”

Oh, boy.

I’m waiting for one of the guys to chime in for me, but nope. I’m on my own here.

“I’m kind of in between gigs right now,” I say. “Still trying to figure out what I want to do with my life.”

“You’re young. You’ve got plenty of time.” She smiles. Always smiling. “How’d you two meet?”

She motions toward Lorenzo, who is eagerly eating like the guy has never eaten before, avoiding having to talk. Figures.

“Just ran into him on the street one day,” I say. “It’s kind of a funny story, actually... you see, he lost his wallet and I happened upon it and he tracked me down to get it back. I never expected to see him again, much less somehow become his girlfriend.”

Lorenzo chokes.

Not even kidding.

He starts choking, coughing, his face turning red.

Seven jumps up, like he’s about to give him CPR, but Lorenzo pulls himself together before the man can touch him.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, waving him off. “Sit back down.”

The subject changes, thanks to Seven, who finally decides to chime in and distract his wife, taking the attention off of us. I slouch in my chair, leaning toward Lorenzo, whispering, “It’s just a word. They’re only words, remember?”