The Slayer (Untamed Hearts #2)(147)

“Mamá, no,” Chuito said with a glare.

She rolled her eyes. “Why are you so uptight? What’s the big deal?”

“He’s in the mafia,” Chuito pointed out. “He is the mafia.”

“So?” She frowned at them. “What does that have to do with me?”

Chuito opened his mouth in disbelief and then looked to Marcos, who shrugged at her as if he didn’t know either.

“Really?” Chuito barked at the two of them.

“I’m not going to do it again. It was just for fun,” she said as she walked around the bar to the kitchen and patted Chuito’s shoulder affectionately. “I love you, dito.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said dismissively. “Love me so much you f*ck my associates. Next you’ll be in bed with Luis.”

“Ay Dios mio.” She gave Chuito a horrified look. “I practically raised him.”

Chuito held up his hand. “Luis is the same age as Nova. It’s the same thing.”

“No, it’s not. Nova has old eyes. Old soul. Older than mine. They’re sad eyes,” she said as she walked into the living room.

Chuito paused at that, remembering long ago trying to explain that mentality to Alaine. That age did not equal life experience. That numbers meant nothing when they lived the lives they did.

“Look at this. On my couch,” his mother said from the living room.

“Maybe it’s a European thing,” Chuito called out, because he knew what she was bitching about.

“I sit on that couch. This chica didn’t even put a shirt on before she passed out. She’s sleeping on him like he’s stuffed with feathers.”

That got Marcos’s attention. He walked into the living room and was silent until he came back and gave Chuito a disgusted look. “Score two for the Italians,” he mumbled as he picked up his coffee again. “Why are they always ahead?”

Chuito shrugged.

“I was never that young and stupid. Never. I would never,” his mother said as she came back into the kitchen with more dishes. “Sharing a man. I need to talk to those girls.”

Chuito took another sip of his coffee. “You do that.”

“What if they like it?” Marcos asked with a grin.

“No.” His mother put the dishes in the sink. “I need a new couch now.”

“Ask Nova,” Chuito suggested.

Marcos grunted in agreement. “I’m all for that.”

She gave both of them a harsh, icy-cold look, making it clear what she thought about their assumptions. If Nova tried to buy his mother a Ferrari, she’d probably stab him for the effort.

The only one who had earned that special privilege was Chuito.

“What?” he barked at his mother as she stood there glaring. “You have money. Buy a couch.”

“This was your party, chico.”

“I’ll transfer money into your account,” he offered. “I’ll do it before I leave.”

“It’ll take days to go through.”

Chuito set down his coffee and hopped off the bar stool. He dug his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out a credit card. “How much is it?”

She took it from him. “Maybe six thousand.”

“For a couch?” he growled. “You do not need a six-thousand-dollar couch, Mamá.”

“It’s a set.” She gestured to the living room. “The tables. The lamps. They all match the old couch. Now I need a new one. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I can find something on sale and it’ll be six thousands.”

“Which means it won’t be six thousand,” Marcos pointed out.

“Gimme this.” He yanked back the card and gave her a different one. “Just put it on there.”

She looked at the platinum card in her hand. “I might need new rugs.”

“Whatever,” he said dismissively. “Put whatever on it. I don’t care. Do they let you use my cards to buy something that expensive? How come you don’t ever have a problem with that?”

“They let me.” She shrugged. “They like me.”

“Yeah, I bet they do.” Chuito laughed bitterly. “Just tell them to call me if you have an issue.”

“I won’t have an issue.” She turned away from them and walked back down the hallway.

Chuito remembered with crystal clarity why he hadn’t moved back to Miami. He turned to his cousin after the door closed. “Do you want the old couch? Can you fit it in the place out back? It’s less than a year old.”

“I’ll pass,” Marcos said with a harsh look. “I don’t want to sit on it either.”

“The tables. The lamps. There’s nothing wrong with those.”

“We don’t need any of it.”

“Shouldn’t you ask Katie?”

Marcos waved it off. “We’ll put it in one of the other houses. Someone will take it.”

“She needs to get her own credit cards,” Chuito mused not for the first time. “I don’t know why she doesn’t. She’s always stealing mine. Every time I come here, I lose credit cards. She collects them like postage stamps. I know I’m never getting that card back.”