Page 239 of Things We Left Behind

To ensure her safety, I had a security team on-­site and a second car parked in the alley. I was taking no chances.

I spied my mother already seated at the table, looking cool and lovely in an ivory cocktail dress.

“Mother,” I said when we arrived. I leaned down to kiss the cheek she offered. “You remember Sloane.”

“Hello, Mrs. Rollins,” Sloane said, offering up her best we-­don’t-­have-­to-­acknowledge-­the-­past smile.

For just a second, I caught a flicker of something on my mother’s face. Dismay? Shame? Embarrassment? But it disappeared just as quickly.

“How lovely to see you again,” she said, offering Sloane a careful smile.

I didn’t get the feeling she meant it. I couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t often she was invited to dinner with the woman who’d personally witnessed her violent attack and landed her husband in jail.

“Please, call me Kayla,” Mom said, recovering her social graces.

I pulled Sloane’s chair out for her and scanned the restaurant as she sat. It was the usual crowd of new and old money, each trying to subtly outdo the other. I suddenly wished we had gone for fast food.

“Sloane and I are seeing each other,” I said, taking my seat.

Mom’s eyes widened. Sloane choked on her water. Loudly.

“It’s serious,” I continued matter-­of-­factly as I patted Sloane on the back.

“Actually—­” Sloane began, but my less-­than-­gentle grip on her shoulder gave her second thoughts.

“How wonderful,” Mom said, quickly recovering. “Lucian’s never brought a girlfriend to meet me before. And it seems I have a surprise of my own.” She nodded toward a man headed in our direction.

He moved like a shark in a too-­shiny suit. There was a predatory gleam in his eyes as he sized up each table he passed. He carried extra weight around the middle, and his gray hair was distinguished but thinning. A pinkie ring adorned his lefthand. I didn’t have to see it up close to know tasteful diamonds spelled out the initials AH.

Anthony Hugo sat down next to my mother with a look of triumph.

“We finally meet in person,” he said to me as he took my mother’s hand with a sense of ownership.

My hands balled into fists under the table.

“Lucian, this is my date, Anthony,” Mom announced breathily.

“Oh, shit,” Sloane murmured. She snatched up her butter knife.

My hand clamped down on her thigh.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Hugo,” I said.

Anthony Hugo, crime boss and bad dresser, was sitting across from me with his arm around my mother.

“Not as much as I’ve heard about you,” he said, showing too many teeth.

“Anthony and I met at a charity auction recently,” Mom said, blushing like a boy-­crazy teenager. “He asked for my number, and it’s been a bit of a whirlwind ever since.”

“And who might this lady in red be?” Anthony asked, turning that mean, toothy smile on Sloane.

It was Sloane’s turn to clamp her hand on my leg, and it was the only thing that kept me from vaulting out of my chair and murdering Anthony Hugo with a lobster tail in the middle of a crowded restaurant.

“None of your business,” Lucian said.

My mother giggled awkwardly. “That’s Sloane. My son’s date. It seems they’re childhood sweethearts.”

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure yet,” Anthony said, letting his gaze linger on Sloane’s chest.