Frankie didn’t stay late with me last night, just long enough for me to eat half a plate of food and then take it away when I didn’t want anymore. Then he left me to stew, which is what I really wanted anyway. I had laid in bed, determined to be miserable about it for hours, but to my surprise I fel

My eyes quickly flick over Violetta’s casually mussed hair, her cute pajama set, Christian’s own t-shrit and checked pajama pants. The two of them, dressed like that, together at this hour means… But nope. I’m not going to go there. I’m not going to think about what it means. But it pisses me of

Frankie doesn’t say anything when I get down to the car, just smirks at me and raises an eyebrow. I don’t bother to fill him in, giving a coy shrug as I move to the front seat and slide in. We’re on the road quickly and Frankie fills the ride with chatter, telling me the basics about Lupa, which a

“Sir?” Andre says, coming to my rescue as he walks to my side, polishing a glass as he does. His hands are always in motion, I’ve noticed – always busy fixing, cleaning, setting straight. “Well, Andre?” Romano says, shifting his eyes to the man in charge. “How’s she fitting in?” “So far so good,

“What the hell, Frankie!” I hiss, leaning over the bar to smack him on the arm. “Why didn’t you tell me that!?” He grins at me, pleased at his little trick. “You didn’t ask, Bambs. Come on, you ready to go home? I’ll let you make me dinner.” I scowl at him, but I admit – it’s hard to be mad at h