His eyes moved over my face in the waning sunlight, the air in the car got heavy then, again with the scary whisper, “My woman doesn’t get freaked.”
Uh-oh.
“Ren—”
“Let’s go,” he clipped.
Before I could say another word, he let me go, turned to his door and angled out.
I rushed to do the same thing. I barely got to the sidewalk before my hand was seized and Ren half walked with me, half dragged me toward my childhood home.
The dragging part had to do with the fact that I couldn’t keep up with his pace. I had on a pair of high-heeled bronze sandals that were awesome and went great with my new brown-washed jeans and kickass Stevie-Nicks-meets-Olivia-Newton-John batwing dusty blue top shot with bronze and silver that had a deep vee. But even the reminder that I had on great jeans, shoes and a kickass rock ‘n’ roll top didn’t unfreak me (as it usually would do).
We were at the base of the walk when the door opened and expelled Roxie and Indy.
Roxie had her hands up, palms down, pressing the air and she was calling out (but quietly), “Calm. Calm. It’s all going to be okay. We got out the leaves for the dining room table.”
This did not make me feel better, and not just because Mom didn’t have that many leaves.
Indy just lifted a hand and stated, “No worries. It’s under control.”
I couldn’t tell if Ren even looked at either one of them before he hauled us through them.
As for me, I had just enough time to give them a wide-eyed, warning-danger-is-imminent look they both totally understood before he tugged at my arm, pulling me in front of him. He did this while reaching beyond me to yank open the storm door, push open the front door then shove me in front of him.
I took two steps in, Ren one, and we were faced with a tense family room filled with people holding cocktails or bottles of beer; none of them, I noticed on a quick scan, having a good time.
Except Vito looked like Vito always looked. Expansive and happy.
Shit.
The Montagues and Capulets were never congregated in anyone’s living room. If they were, I had a feeling from the vibe in my parents’ house right then, Romeo and Juliet would be a much shorter play.
Crap.
“Malcolm and Kitty Sue,” Ren greeted my parents tersely with a chin jerk, and then his eyes immediately went to Vito. “Vito, a word outside.”
“Son, we’re havin’ a drink,” Vito returned, lifting up what looked like a Manhattan.
“A,” Ren started, his voice on that one syllable rumbling and another chill ran over my skin, “word.”
Vito and Ren went into a staredown.
Indy and Roxie squeezed in through the limited space Ren left at the door, but they didn’t move in much further, just because movement in that kind of volatile environment could mean bad things.
I held my breath.
Surprisingly, Ren won the staredown when Vito turned to Mom and Dad and said, “Mal, Kitty Sue, my nephew needs a word.”
Mal?
Oh God.
Dad’s lips got tight.
Oh shit.
Mom murmured, “Of course.”
Dad just looked between Ren and Vito and nodded.
Vito moved toward the door.
Ren moved us out of his way and looked at Dom. “You too.”
Dom, incidentally a man with looks that could make him Ren’s brother, not cousin (except he had wave in his hair and his confidence had swagger), was playing it smart for once. I knew this when he immediately made his way toward the door.
They disappeared behind it.
Mom spoke. “Ally, honey, I had another pork tenderloin that I just popped in the oven, and you know I always have backup Pillsbury crescent rolls. It’s okay.”
Pillsbury crescent rolls could be served at peace talks to put the negotiators in good moods. However, I was thinking their magic wouldn’t work here.
I looked at Mom and told her, “He’s a hotheaded Italian American badass. I think he needs to do what he needs to do.”
“He needs to do what he needs to do,” an attractive, petite, stylish woman who was sitting on one of my mom and dad’s couches confirmed.
She rose.
