Page 146 of Savage Empire

Dante

One Week Later

The mayhem of an average day in my house has come to an end. The noise has died down, and the main shared spaces have cleared out. My grandchildren are asleep for the night, and most of my children have gone to their rooms. It’s this time of night that our large home feels almost empty.

Almost.

Walking into my dimly lit kitchen, I find an unfamiliar sight. Bare feet, hair piled atop her head in a bun, and satin pajamas wrapped around her small frame, Rayna quietly sips from a small cup. Her back is to me, but she looks like she’s trying to be as quiet as possible. As if half of the family isn’t still awake, roaming around in various parts of the house.

Perhaps she doesn’t know that she isn’t alone in her late night stroll, though. She hasn’t done much exploring from what I’ve seen. Our paths haven’t crossed many times since she moved in, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think she was avoiding me.

My son’s future wife is quieter than I would have expected after our first meeting. She doesn’t feel at home yet, I assume. I can’t imagine it’s easy to move into a house full of such big personalities like this one. We’re a large group and a boisterous one at that.

Attempting not to startle her, I purposely make my next steps louder and softly clear my throat.

“Oh!” She jumps, her tea cup nearly tipping as she spins around. “I didn’t hear you come in. I’m sorry if I’m in your way, I couldn’t sleep. The tea is supposed to help. I’m just going to go…”

“You’re not in my way,” I reply softly, surprised by her skittish reaction. I’ve never known Rayna Todorov to be anything other than fierce. “Sit with me, won’t you? I’m going to have my own nightcap.”

Mine won’t be as homeopathic as hers, but it’ll relax me all the same.

“Are you sure?” She tucks her bottom lip in. “I don’t mind leaving.”

“Why would I want that?” I tilt my head at her. “You’re family. I always make time for my family.”

I reach up into the closest cabinet, grabbing a bottle of dark rum and a small glass. After watching me with quiet contemplation, Rayna decides to stay while I pour myself a bit of liquor. She sits down at the far end of the breakfast table, and once my drink is settled, I join her.

“Are you afraid of me, Miss Todorov?”

Her eyes widen and she clutches her tea closer to her chest.

“W-why would you ask that?”

“Your body language is tense, and your breathing is uneven,” I start, watching the way she reacts. “Your blinking has slowed, likely because you don’t want to take your eyes off of me. It’s howpeople sometimes react to a threat, like if they stumbled across a bear while on a hike.”

“You’re intimidating,” she replies slowly. “But I don’t necessarily think I’m scared of you. Honestly, I feel like I’m looking at Apollo in twenty years and it makes me feel uneasy. Plus…I didn’t make a good first impression when we met and I find myself still being embarrassed of that.”

Definitely not scared of me, then. At least not deeply.

She would never be so candid if she was terrified. She would make up excuses, or deny acting strangely outright. Perhaps even make up some reason to leave quickly.

“I think you made a perfectly acceptable first impression,” I tell her, taking a sip of my drink. “Defending a friend is noble, but defending a friend to a group of people who could kill you for speaking out of turn is downright brave. Your outburst only made me more amenable to your connection with my son, not less.”

Rayna blinks, shaking her head. “O-okay.”

“As for looking like my son,” I continue, smiling softly. “I hear that very often. Jade, as well. I often wonder if Apollo’s son will share our resemblance. Perhaps he will look more like you, though.”

“I doubt it,” she says, almost chuckling. “The Moretti genes seem to be unnaturally strong. Those eyes are everywhere in this house.”

“That they are,” I agree, lips twitching.

Rayna looks down at her tea and makes a soft noise of acknowledgment. “What’s it like? Having so many kids?”

I lift a brow at the question. “Thinking about having as many yourself?”

“God no,” she denies, shaking her head. Her almost scared-like response has me fighting a grin. “Honestly, I’m mostly hoping that the first time we get pregnant, it isn’t twins. I don’tthink I could handle two at once, and they seem to run in your family to an unusual level.”

“Twins are a blessing, but a handful,” I reply diplomatically. “You get used to them the second time around.”