Addicted to Santino - Amarie Avant Page 0,86

habits. “So, you and your lady friend had a hard breakup? Witnesses on the scene at Triton Lounge stated how she was angry with you. Bad mouthing you for hurting her.”

“What’s a man like you doing with a woman like that?” the Asian asks. “Blackmailing her? Making her fall in love with you? You emptied your apartment right before the shit hit the fan. She broke things off. Your new lady killer scheme blew up in your face?”

“Or is this a new scheme?” the female inquires. “You had the perfect setup. Cleared your apartment. Prepared to run with her money? Enlighten us how things went wrong, Mr. Morelli?”

59

Gina

I’m wrapped beneath a thin, scratchy blanket. The SWAT guy who assumed he was saving my life had called me all sorts of crazy, just like Santino had on day one—but in English. He also dropped Stockholm syndrome, and I popped him. Now, I’m officially Gina the Grinch Galloway again. A rich bitch who believes she’s above the law.

The sun has yet to rise on Christmas morning. Officials walk past the corridor where they discarded me like days-old meat. I fold my arms and wait.

An hour later, I hear a good dose of bickering coming from the main clerical area. Do I hear Dad, Gabriella? Oh, God, they brought Little Stevie! A voice that sounds familiar, like Geraldine makes my eyebrows dip. No . . . She wouldn’t. She swore off Christmas’s in the States a few years back.

I edge off my snow boots, rising slowly as my entire dysfunctional family—Steven Double O’Asshole included—nears me.

“Oh, baby,” Mom sighs as she wraps me in a hug. Then Gabriella. While my middle sister offers a weary embrace, as if anticipating a fracas, I smile. Her lips push upward, satisfied that I’m unaware of her schemes. Bitch.

Geraldine flings her arms around me like a big warrior sister would if you were screaming about monsters at night. Zane hugs me next.

Dad clears his throat. “How dare you hug my child before . . .”

I tune out my father, as does Zane. His lean body shifts in a silent laugh.

“Thanks for coming,” I whisper, letting him go.

Zane peers seriously at me. “Please tell me this is a big misunderstanding?”

My Dad scoffs. “We can all hear you! Of course, it’s not a misunderstanding. I told the authorities exactly what happened! He was using you for our money! Did you see the footage of that barbarian with my daughter?!” Dad snarls. With the snap of his hard eyes from Zane to me, his demeanor changes. “Gina, sweetie.”

“Dad, it is a misunderstanding,” I assert as he wraps his arms around me.

“I beg to differ, sweetheart.” He’s still holding me, patting the top of my head.

“Please help me fix this,” I murmur. Quickly, I reach down to scoop Little Stevie on my hips because, why not? He awoke before the sun came up, on Christmas morning no less. Every Christmas morning, he awakens us, screaming at the top of his lungs to open gifts. This is some serious progress.

“Sure, you can help Gina and Santino. Honey,” Mom says as if reminding him of what I said.

“I’m not certain how . . . I could be of assistance.” Dad pats her shoulder.

“Maybe we can all . . . Talk to the person in charge?” Steven lifts a brow. Damn, and I was about to snub him with a formal handshake. I pull the elitist into a brisk hug.

“Thanks, Steven.” I glance back at my dad. “I doubt you would assist if you had the means to.”

“That uneducated buffoon was swinging you around and tossing you into an—”

“An unmarked vehicle particularly popular in ambush and abduction cases.” A highly authoritarian voice cuts off my father. Dad’s eyes flutter in annoyance as we all turn around. The president of some sort of “secret society” Dad was inducted to in college gives him an arrogant smile. One that reads he can do what my father is incapable of—the impossible even.

The black man also challenged my father when they were children. The term ‘oldest friend’ has been tossed around, not to be mistaken with best friend. Unless the male species is opposed to that term.

“Took you long enough,” I mutter. I drop the crusty blanket and head over to my play uncle, Alexander Castle. Everything about him screams flawless. From the subtle silver in his goatee, the expensive aftershave, the quality of his suit. I’ve never met an African American so influential in my life, and I’ve