My mother’s love.
As for Maria, she mentioned tension between herself and her mother, but this exchange is arctic cold. Frigid comes to mind. My heart breaks for Maria as the room bristles with tension. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment, and she ducks her head, trying to make herself disappear.
There’s no love, no compassion, nothing which speaks to a maternal bond. What compels a mother to speak to her daughter like that?
And with strangers in the room?
Complete lack of respect.
Wolfe and Brady shift behind me. They feel the glacial temperature plunging the room into icy stillness. They’re probably wondering how I’m going to react.
I turn toward Maria and brush the back of my fingers against her wrist. She turns her hand around, desperately seeking my touch, needing reassurance. Or maybe, she tenders an apology for her mother’s chilly reception. Maria hunches her shoulders and tucks in her chin.
Maria refuses to look me in the eye. Yeah, her mother’s icy reception cut deep.
Our fingers twine together, joining as one.
“You must be Muriel Rossi.” I flash my megawatt smile at the arctic bitch. “Maria goes on and on about her beautiful mother.”
That, at least, is a truth I can speak without stretching things too far. Muriel Rossi is a beauty for the ages: a stunning amalgamation of great genes with a team of personal trainers, dietitians, and plastic surgeons to keep everything tight and tucked.
She gave the blessing of those genes to her daughter, where they magnified a thousand-fold.
Muriel Rossi’s facial features, however, twist like a shrew—a pretty shrew, but a disgusting rodent nonetheless.
“Young man, I don’t know who you are, nor do I care. I will speak to my daughter alone.” She flicks her fingers, dismissing me as if I’ll run away with my tail tucked between my legs. “Run along.” Another flick of her fingers punctuates her words.
Her harsh gaze takes in the imposing presence of Wolfe and Brady, who stand two paces behind me. Her lids draw back, ever so slightly, not intimidated by my bodyguards but irritated by their presence.
That gives me pause. This woman lets very little get under her skin.
Wolfe, dark hair, dark eyes, monstrous in size, intimidates by breathing. We all do. Brady has that same vibe, but it isn’t in your face like Wolfe.
Wolfe looks like the boy from the wrong side of the tracks who grew into the dangerous criminal everyone fears. What they don’t know is his devotion for defending those weaker than himself. He’s a righteous force for good in this world.
Brady is different.
He’s the boy next door: a man with a smile you can’t help but trust—and shouldn’t. From his sandy-brown hair to the freckles dusting his cheeks, he’s the all-American hero everyone loves…with scars.
It’s a double-edged sword with him. If a person’s not careful, they’ll assume he’s one of the good ones.
Which, in Brady’s defense, he is.
Eagle Scout, All-Star Quarterback, and Homecoming King, he’s the boy all the mothers and fathers trusted to keep their daughters safe. He’s also the boy who deflowered those dainty little virgins while laughing his ass off when he delivered them safe and sound, minus their virginity and much more experienced in the ways of men, back to those same trusting parents. The man destroys his enemies without batting an eye, precisely because they trust him.
Muriel Rossi isn’t affected by either of them.
She’s not affected by me.
Damn, she’s stone cold and unfeeling.
“I’d like to say I’m happy to finally meet the mother of the woman I love, but last I looked, I’m not a dog for you to order around, and your daughter deserves a far better greeting than that arctic frost.”
Her cold eyes bristle. I expect shock, not this spine-chilling challenge. Cold is too warm of a word for this woman. She’s dispassionate, dismissive, dangerous, and cold enough to freeze hell.
Mitzy’s words return to me.
This woman married her boyfriend’s brother.
Why?
What was the draw?
Did Milo Rossi offer her more power and prestige than his younger brother?
Not just a cold-hearted bitch then, but a power-hungry one as well?
That could explain the subsequent marriage to Marco Rossi after her husband’s death. Used to the power of the Rossi name, maybe she did what she could to maintain her position as matriarch of the Rossi empire?
It’s possible, and if that’s possible, is it likely Muriel Rossi is involved in the true business dealings of the Rossi family? The woman is definitely used to people kowtowing to her demands.
She’s really not going to like me.
“Young man, if you know what’s best for you …” Her frigid gaze turns to me, “you’ll leave me and my daughter alone.”
“I’ve been told I rarely know what’s best for me, and I’m inclined to raise your Young man and fire back with Old crone, but I’m a gentleman and it doesn’t feel right getting into a pissing contest with a woman I’ve just met. I’ll keep my opinions to myself, but …” No way is this woman scoring one point in our little exchange. “As for leaving Maria alone with you, that’s not happening. We’ve had a long night. Despite the excitement and the news we can’t wait to share with you, Maria’s practically asleep on her feet. I’m not going anywhere except to take her to bed.”
Yeah, I slipped that one in. All Maria and I have done is hold hands and kiss a bit, but I’m definitely interested in more. That comment was more for Maria than her mother.
Maria’s mother’s lids draw back. I don’t give her a chance to respond and roll right past whatever she was going to say. Her mouth shuts as her fury builds.
“You’re in the way of me achieving that goal. I’m all for extending respect, but I won’t tolerate anyone speaking to the woman I love the way you spoke to her just now.” I hold out my hand and give a little flick of my fingers, gesturing toward the door. “Now, run along. You’re not wanted, nor needed.”
Muriel Rossi’s face flushes with indignation. She opens her mouth to respond, but I don’t give her a chance to utter a single word.
“You do not want to test me.” I tug Maria to my side and hold her mother’s fierce gaze.
It takes mere seconds for Muriel to crack. Although, it’s more of a strategic retreat. She’s outnumbered and knows it.
What Muriel needs are reinforcements. Leaving is the only way for that to happen, which means she must cede this first victory to me.
“You have no idea whom you’re speaking to, young man. Your lack of respect for your betters will come back to bite you.”
“A mother who tears into her daughter in front of strangers doesn’t deserve my respect. The next time we see each other, perhaps our exchange will be more civil? Until then …”
Wolfe and Brady take two steps back.
With a dramatic sweep of my arm, I gesture toward the door. Muriel slides off her perch, face screwed up like the shrew she is, but the woman is not defeated.
“This is not the end of our conversation, Mr. …?” Her left brow arches in question.
Muriel Rossi knows exactly who I am. The moment Gerald and Stefan left that coffee shop, news of my arrival shot straight up to Marco and his wife, but Muriel will never admit to the deep dive they took into my background.