Page 326 of Phobia

“In time, I’ll be dead.”

“You think Dom would let that happen?” she challenges. Her passion and belief in her son are resolute. “He’s already got the best doctors lined up.”

This time, I manage to stand. “Do you know what this is doing to me? How afraid-”

“What do you know aboutfear?” She spits the word. “Fear is having a dad that’d kill a boy for looking at you. Fear is getting pregnant at eighteen, knowing the baby isn’t going to be white, and having no clue how my dad would feel about it.”

She steps closer, shaking with anger. “Fear wasn’t just being afraid my dad would kill Dom’s father… it was not knowing whether he’d kill Dom too.”

Shaking, my hand moves to my stomach on instinct.

“That’s right,” Jean smiles. “It’s there—the maternal need to protect.” Stepping closer, she taps my forehead. “What you’ve got in here isn’t fear. It’s baggage, and it’s time to deal with it.”

Sitting me back down, she hands me the plate of food. “It starts with eating and talking to Dom.” She stops and studies me for a moment. “He’s made you his queen. It’s time to prove you deserve the crown.”

I stare at her open-mouthed. “Do you ever listen to the words coming out of your mouth?”

Giggling, she walks to the door. “It’s you who needs to listen, Naomi—to the wordsnotbeing said.”

Chapter 29

Mum left about five hours ago, confident she’d made some headway with Naomi. Now, I’m preparing another meal, hoping I can do the same.

“What did you mean abouthandlingmy family?”

“Shitting hell!” I almost drop the pasta on the floor but manage to salvage it. Turning to Naomi, I smile, “You scared me.”

“What did you mean?”

She’s still angry, but she’s here. Even if it’s just to yell at me, it’s progress. “I meant I’ll deal with them.”

“Andthatmeans?” She inches closer.

“I’m not going to kill your family, Naomi. I’ll talk to them.”

She stares at me like I’m a clueless child. “And how do you think that conversation is going to end?”

Closing the distance, I leave barely an inch between us. “With them understanding you’re where you belong.”

Her jaw tenses, and she stares at the pasta scattered across the worktop. “Full disclosure?” Her eyes land on me, and I nod. “What do you do?”

Stepping back to the worktop, I scoop the pasta into the pan. “I inherited a varied enterprise. Some of it legal. Some not.”

“Do you deal drugs?”

“Not the stuff you’ll find on the streets.”

Her eyes close, and she takes a deep breath. “Are you a pimp?”

Saying nothing, my eyebrows raise, feigning offence.

“Fine.” She relents on that one, then locks her beautiful green gaze on me. “Do you kill people?”

I maintain eye contact. “Yes. When necessary.”

Running her hands through her hair, she turns but doesn’t run.

Be my queen, Naomi. It’s who you are.