Page 146 of Mafia And Maid
The murmurs swirl around us, but my focus zeroes in on Ethan as he buries his head into my sleeve. “You’re okay, buddy. Your mom will be right there with you. And I’ll be right here waiting.”
“Rosa, come now,” her mother admonishes in an impatient voice.
“Ethan, it’s okay, honey.” Rosa’s voice is gentle toward her little boy.
I give Ethan’s hand a squeeze. “As soon as you’re done, I’ll be here, and we can find somewhere else to go without so many people, okay?”
Ethan very slowly drops my hand and moves to his mom’s side. She takes a breath and mouthsthank you.
After watching them turn a corner and disappear from sight, I drag my hand down my face. I need a fucking drink. My eyes narrow on a large group of men and women, older than me by at least a decade, who stare at me wide-eyed.
They jolt and turn away quickly as I arch a brow.
Hushed whispers fill the air from their little group, the sneers and mocking laughter only prickling my skin more.
Playing with the cufflinks of my shirt, I squeeze past the bodies. Not a single person seems to be affected by the passing of the man. A testament to what kind of person Conor Davis really was. I’m certain of the fact that the world is better off without him.
Leaning against the bar, I throw back the whiskey, letting the burn soak up some of the fire gutting me now. Now and then my gaze lingers on a group too long. The difference between them and me is a blunt reminder that I don’t belong here.
I tower over most of the people in attendance, making it impossible for me to blend into the crowd. Their appearances are immaculate,adorned with pocket squares and worn expressions. I slouch while they stand straight; their voices come out refined while mine is only able to rasp and rumble as I order another drink from the bartender.
I pick up the new glass and give the crowd my back. Watching them makes me sick. Picking up my whiskey, I move away from the crowd.
“And she showed up with some thug instead of her husband.” A cluck of a tongue is followed by a soft laugh. “Conor was right to marry her off—even if it didn’t do her any good.”
I freeze to the spot, my hand tightening around the tumbler.
“And to think, Cyndie has to deal withthaton top of Conor’s passing. What was Rosa thinking? Has she no shame?”
“I’m just hoping Grayden doesn’t show up. Imagine.”
Each sentence curls my fingers tighter around the glass until I feel it shatter in my grip, sending ice and liquid dripping onto my hand.
The gossipers gasp, eyes wide as they gaze at me with unabashed horror.
The room closes in. My chest tightens.
Freak.
Monster.
Animal.
Murderer…
Each label is a bullet in my armor. Another crack in the chain of my restraint.
“Sir.”
I snap my eyes to the attendant who is holding out a towel. Snatching it from his outstretched hand, I notice the way he gulps thickly, his eyes avoiding mine.
I swallow back the comment that burns my tongue, tossing the bloody towel back at his chest. He’s just a kid working at some fancy ass party for the elite.
I glare at the women gawking at me, my lip curling into a snarl. They’re lucky it's public and daytime; otherwise, I’d show them just how thuggish I can be. I’ve never raised a hand to anyone who didn’t deserve it, especially not a woman, but I’d gladly make the exception to prove my point. I stalk toward the door.
I fucking hate it. I hate how they look down their noses at me. I hate the disdain they don’t bother to conceal.
Turning on my heel, I move through the house and to the front entrance where a few lingering guests dot the stone steps.