The Thief (Black Dagger Brotherhood #16)(54)

“Wash hands,” she commanded gruffly. “Time to eat.”

It was her vovó’s way, of course—love shown through effort, rather than words. And Sola had to smile a little—especially as she saw the table set for five, and the thin guy she had threatened with her gun pouring water into glasses. He straightened as he looked at Assail, and then paled as if he were going to pass out.

“Markcus,” Assail chided, “let’s not become emotional. I’m home and going to be fine.”

Sola closed her eyes and had to remind herself that that was probably the best attitude for him to take. Positivity was a good thing.

Assail went over and gave the young man a hug, and then Rhage was over by the back door. “As much as I want to stay, I’ve got to catch you all later. But you take care, and call us if you need us.”

“We shall,” Assail promised as he went to the sink and began to wash his hands. “Thank you as always for your service.”

“Good deal.”

The man gave them a wave and walked out into the night. Guess he was being picked up by someone, Sola thought.

“Are you sure he shouldn’t wait in here?” she said. “It’s really cold.”

Assail shook his head. “He will be fine.”

Platters of food came out of the oven where they had been warming and were carried by her vovó’s strong hands to the table. And Ehric and Evale washed up at the bar sink across the way and then got into their seats as if they were good little children ready for lunch at school. Markcus joined them, and Assail led Sola over to a vacant seat, which he pulled out for her.

It was sometime around then that her grandmother stopped moving and just stared at Assail. Her expression was frozen, but her eyes were not. They traveled around him, noting…everything.

He hesitated after he scooted the chair in under Sola’s butt.

“Sit,” her vovó said as she pointed to the head of the table. “You will eat much now.”

Assail flushed, but followed orders, planting himself in the chair. And then Sola’s grandmother approached him with a grave expression. Putting her hands around to the back of her own neck, she removed a slim gold chain that had a small medal hanging off of it.

“This is St. Raphael. He will protect you and heal you. You will wear this and no take it off.”

She transferred the necklace to Assail’s throat and switched to Spanish, offering a prayer for Assail’s health as she took his face in her old, beautiful hands.

Sola rubbed her eyes as they teared up.

“Now, you eat,” her vovó snapped. “All of you. Too thin!”

As her grandmother headed back for the stove, she gave Sola a quick, hard hug. And then Assail’s cousins began passing the food around. The man himself simply looked down at the medal, however.

Sola cleared her throat. “Don’t worry, I won’t let her make you convert.”

“This is very kind of her.” Assail glanced up. “Very kind indeed.”

“There’s more where that came from.” Sola accepted a platter of enchiladas—and realized she was starved. “We have a saint for everything.”

He turned toward the stove. “Mrs. Carvalho?” When the woman looked over, he lifted the medal. “Thank you. I am honored.”

“Eat. We go to mass at midnight—”

“Vovó, I don’t think that is a good idea—”

“Yes,” Assail said. “That is perfect. We shall go, indeed.”

And with that decided, he began to pile his plate high, that special smile on his face making him seem renewed from the inside out.

After a moment, Sola resolved to just go with it. She had no idea how much time they had together, so she was going to damn well enjoy every second she had.

To do anything else was a foolish waste of a gift she had never expected to receive.





TWENTY-FOUR


Assail started with sopa de fubá, which was a spectacular combination of collard greens and sausage in a thick broth. Then he moved on to three servings of the feijoada, a mix of smoked ham hocks over white rice—with plenty of p?o de queijo on the side. Dessert was something they called sobremesa de banana com queijo.

Banana pudding.

He wasn’t the only one who put the goods away, so to speak. Everybody, including Marisol, ate like it had been a year since their last meal. And when they were done, they all pushed their chairs back and just sat there, the effort of moving any farther away from the table too much like work.

But Assail had something on his mind, something that he could wait no longer for.

Looking over at Marisol, he said, “Will you please help me to my room upstairs? I should like a shower and a lie-down before we go to church, and I shall require help.”

Marisol nodded and got to her feet. “Let me just clear first—”

“No,” Mrs. Carvalho said sharply. “I will clean. Then I will rest as well. We leave here at eleven-twenty. I no want to be late.”

Assail stood up. “Allow me to reassure you, madam, that your granddaughter’s aid will be that of a necessary nursing function only.”

“You are good boy. Now, go! Out of my kitchen.”

“You have honored us greatly with this meal.”