Page 15

"You can't promise me that." She shakes her head.

"Come on, Olivia." I walk toward her, opening the hood. "Let's go."

She nods slowly, her lips pressed together. A single tear drips from one of her eyes, and before I can stop myself, I reach forward, wiping it away.

And then I slip the hood over her head and escort her out to the car.

"I'll hirea nurse for your grandfather while you stay with me."

Olivia is sitting next to me in the car, the hood still over her head and her seatbelt crossed over her chest. I think her exhaustion is the only reason I was able to get her out of the warehouse and into the car without resistance. Her limbs seemed to ache as she stood up on wobbly feet. And her head leaned against the window once the car started moving, her hands clasped in her lap.

I assume she's still scared, still worried. And I don't know why her silence grated on me. I wanted to hear her voice again, see some spark of emotion rather than the dull defeat she’s emitting.

That's when I decided I just needed to solve a problem for her. And a nurse for her grandfather seems like the perfect solution. That's what she was worried about, after all. That no one would be there to care for her grandfather if I kept her.

But immediately after the words leave my lips, I can see the anger rise within her. She straightens, her head lifting from the window.

"I don't want a nurse!" she lashes out, her hands flying. The only thing restraining her is the seatbelt. If there wasn't a sack over her head, I think she would’ve hit me by now.

"Easy." I reach over, grabbing both her hands and pinning them down in her lap. "I'mhelpingyou."

She scoffs. "You're not helping me. You're helping yourself."

Her words cut deep. I solved her fucking problem. Why is this making her mad?

"Take the help or leave it, Olivia. It doesn't change anything for me," I say, my frustration slipping out.

Her body goes limp, the fight leaving her. Wordlessly, she pulls away from me, her head going back to the window. I let go of her hands, but they don't move, staying in her lap.

Suddenly, I miss her fight. Her silence once again seems like a worse punishment for me.

I'm longing for the way she obeyed me back in the warehouse, back when she still thought she had a chance of getting away from me.

For the rest of the drive home, she doesn't speak. And when we arrive, I lead her from the Escalade, waiting to remove the hood until we're inside.

She glances around the mansion I inherited from my father, unbothered by the ornate displays of wealth. Still silent, she follows me up the stairs as I bring her to the guest suite. She waits until I leave, the door closing with a soft click behind me, and then I hear it.

Sniffling and muted cries.

TEN

Sam

I'm thinking about my mother as I enter my home office, my fingers itching for a glass of good alcohol to numb the intrusive thoughts. It's the house. Her ghost haunts me here.

When my father was still alive, I had a townhouse in one of the newly built areas of New Orleans. I liked that townhouse—the modern design, the solitude. Mostly, I liked leaving these ghosts behind.

But John sold it while I was rotting away in Orleans Parish Prison, and this house has been in my family since before I was born.

Waiting for me in my office, I find John. He's holding a crystal glass of amber liquid when I walk in. I go to the bar cart in the corner of the room and pour my own glass of bourbon before bringing the tumbler to my lips and letting the alcohol burn its way down my throat.

It feels good to be out. To be in the comfort of my own haunted home, wearing my clothes, and drinking my alcohol.

"How'd it go?" my cousin asks. Out of everyone in my life, John knows me the best. He's been my closest friend since wewere kids. I was two when he was born, and though I don't remember meeting him, I recall my father telling me how he brought me to the hospital where his sister had just delivered her first and only child. How they had helped me "hold" the baby, and when he gripped my little finger inside his palm, I had gasped, declaring that he was squeezing me. And how I had told that baby that he was my cousin, and that meant we were best friends.

My childlike statement became the truth. John spent a lot of time running through the halls of this house with me. And once my training to take overla famigliabegan, John was at my side, ready to have my back through all of it.

"About as well as it could." I shrug, sinking into the cushioned seat next to him.