Page 46 of Volatile Vice

God, she’s something. I remember when we were with Falcon and Savannah, how serene she looked as she was eating the ice cream and raspberries Savannah made. How much she savored every bite.

She’s doing the same with the chicken. I can see her taking in every texture. The gooey cheese, the crunchy breading, the moist chicken.

Good God, I’m fucked.

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Mom replies to Raven. “Our family has been praying for you.”

I nearly choke on my bite of chicken. Maybe Mom has been praying for Raven. There’d be no way of knowing. But it was only a few days ago I was convincing my own goddamned Grandfather not to take a hit out on this woman. I doubt she’s been inhisprayers.

But Mom doesn’t know about any of that. And neither does Raven. So I’ll keep my mouth shut. My mother continues to pepper Raven with small talk as we finish our dinner. Raven answers each question candidly between bites of food, letting her gorgeous personality slip in every time she utters a word. Mom listens with bright eyes.

The two of them are chatting as if they’ve known each other forever.

For a moment, I allow myself to imagine that my life is different. That Raven is my girlfriend and I brought her home to meet my mother, and they’re getting along famously—which they are.

And that later tonight, perhaps I’m planning to propose to Raven. With a large diamond ring in my pocket.

That I have my mother’s approval.

And that the woman I love will be mine forever.

But reality nudges its head back in. Raven and I are not boyfriend and girlfriend. And I’m not proposing to her later tonight. No.

I’m promised to an eleven-year-old girl—an eleven-year-old girl who is being abused and has asked me for help.

I force myself to finish my dinner, and then I sit with an empty plate while Mom and Raven are still chatting as if everything’s fine.

But everything’s not fine. I’ve killed two men. My father’s in prison for killing another—and God only knows how many more he’s killed and gotten away with it. And I’m sure that number pales in comparison to my grandfather’s body count.

And Raven… Raven has been thrown into this. Her attorney is dead because of it.

I clear my throat. “Would you ladies excuse me please?”

“Vinnie,” Mom says, “don’t be rude.”

I tap my right pants pocket. “Sorry. I have to make a phone call and it can’t wait.”

Mom frowns. “All right, but come back quickly. Phyllis made tiramisu for dessert.”

I don’t actually have to make a phone call. I just need to leave the kitchen for a moment. I need to gather my wits, figure out how best to deal with the situation. Raven is here, and all I can think about is getting her up into my bedroom.

I don’t even care that my mother is here in the house.

Of course, there’s always the guesthouse. The guesthouse, which is always fully furnished, complete with a pool and hot tub.

Perhaps I should be living there anyway. I just don’t want to leave Mom alone. Especially since my grandfather has made it clear that every female member of his family—his daughter included—is an expendable pawn in his game.

But my mind still keeps dwelling on that guesthouse…

Raven and I could be alone there. We could make all the noise we want. I could fuck her into the wee hours of the morning.

But would that change anything?

No. Not a damned thing. It would only make it more difficult to let her go again.

She’s made it clear that she’s not going to go easily or willingly.

So I’m going to have to demand it. I’m going to have to hurt her.