The Vampire's City by Mary E. Twomey

Author:Mary E. Twomey [Twomey, Mary E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mary E. Twomey, LLC

15

A Cannoli is Just a Cannoli

Colette

By now I am confident enough to make it clear that I control the mood of this place, not them. The impending war that’s always in the air whenever the heads of the two families get together is no match for my cheery mood.

Rome read me poetry last night over the phone before I drifted off to sleep. Nothing bad in the world could possibly exist after an evening that perfect.

Declan stands at my side, reaching out to hold my hand.

I lean up to peck his cheek. “You go on home. You need some sleep.”

Declan’s voice carries through the entire salon as he motions between the sheriff and Rome. “For the record, this is a bad idea.” Then he squeezes my fingers once to let me know he doesn’t like this.

Declan doesn’t like the sheriff, either, but Declan is the smarter one between the two of us. He hides himself and keeps quiet. Father doesn’t care what Declan does, so long as it doesn’t blow back on the family.

“Good to see you, Orlando,” I say to Rome’s beefy cousin after Declan exits.

Orlando is the enforcer of the family, which is a role that suits him well. Of course, I remember back when I pestered him to push me higher on the swings, and he dutifully obeyed. He looks like Rome and Nino-bear, only thicker and with a few more visible scars.

Orlando doesn’t smile, but he nods once. “Miss Colette.”

I loathe the formalities. I was out of the salon when Orlando dropped off the tables and chairs out front, so I didn’t get to see him then. I’ve spent years adoring Orlando in my memory, only to be sorely disappointed when reality seems to produce distance and stiff nods.

I try not to let my gaze fix on Rome, but it’s hard not to stare. He’s always had a commanding presence. Where the sheriff is the thunder constantly making a big noise to show the world he must be reckoned with, Rome is the crackle of a storm in the distance. You know it’s coming, but there’s a quiet comfort to the rumble that quells my worries.

I shouldn’t notice the broad scope of his shoulders, or the way his torso tapers to his trim waist. I’ll bet he’s ripped under that white dress shirt he’s married to. All the Valentino men wear the same black slacks and fitted white dress shirts with the cuffs rolled. The silver belt buckle is part of the uniform, too, though I can’t say I’ve ever paid as much attention to their attire as I am today.

Rome is beautiful. There’s no other word for it. The ice blue of his eyes and the short, styled black hair make him command the room without a single word.

Dang, I’m a good stylist if I do say so myself. His hair looks incredible, angled up and to the side like that, instead of up and forward as it’s always been.

When Rome finally does speak, he addresses my father.

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