Tied Bond (Holly Woods Files, #4) (25 page)

“
Si!
Isn’t it-a
fantastico
?” Nonna beams at me. “We cook-a to-a-gether!”

“Yeah, fantastic...” I trail off. “Where’s Dad?”

“The shed,” Mom answers. “Drake here?”

“Yeah. I’m goin’ to see Dad.” I scurry out of the kitchen and into the backyard before she can say anything else.

Dad’s shed has always been a staple of my life. It’s where he keeps everything for his guns and his not-so-legal shooting range on the edge of the land we own, not to mention a DIY store’s worth of tools. He’s always out here tinkering with something—if he isn’t watching television with headphones on, that is.

“Hey, Daddy.”

“Daddy? Bad day?” he teases, looking up. His dark eyes meet mine. “What’s up,
bambina
?”

“Bad day,” I agree, leaning against one of the counters at the side of the shed. “Mom and Nonna are scaring me.”

He laughs. Loudly. “Yes... It is real freaky, ain’t it?”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks so. What are you doing?”

“Fixin’ up Sil’s radio-control car. He smashed it into a brick wall and busted up the front. Not hard work, but I was hopin’ to get it done before he gets here. Is he here?” Dad glances at me.

“No. Just me and Drake.”

“And you left him in there with TweedleCrazy and TweedleCrazier?”

“Yep.” I smack my lips together at the end of the word and grab the counter before looking down.

The floor is dusty, and I can already see some kicking up onto my black heels. Good thing they’re easy to wipe clean.

“Everythin’ okay with you two?” Dad puts his tools and down grabs a cloth for his hands, although they look perfectly clean to me.

“There’s nothing wrong with us,” I admit. “But we had a funky conversation this morning. One of those miscommunication things. It’ll work itself out.”

“Sure it will. You’ve just gotta let it be sometimes. You know I’m here if you need a guy who thinks with his head first.” He nudges my arm and winks.

I smile and peer up at him. “Thanks, Dad. Are you done? I was hoping to hang out here for a while. You know. Until everyone’s gone home.”

Dad laughs. “No, I’m done. It’s all fixed for him. What’s really up with you? You can’t fool your
padre, bambina
.”

“Trent,” I admit, taking a deep breath. “This whole case with Gianna. It’s taking its toll on me, and we fight every time we see each other. I’d have tried to bail tonight if I didn’t know that Nonna would come and steal the drawer full of ice cream she left me.”

“That she would.” He chuckles. “You’ll be fine, Noelle. Just stay at opposite ends of the table and avoid each other. Lord knows this family is large enough that you won’t have to exchange a single word.” Another chuckle.

“True,” I acquiesce. “But it’ll still be awkward. And I hate awkward.”

Not to mention that despite how badly we all bicker, I hate fighting with my brothers.

“Darlin’, you were born awkward. No offense, but you were.” He laughs and stands in front of me, his hands clasping my upper arms. “Don’t worry. Sit with me and I’ll protect you.” He winks and releases me to pick up the car and the controller. “Now, let’s drive this back to the house to test it and hope Sil’s here.”

I take the controller from him with a playful smile, and he turns the car on. It’s a problem when you’re the only girl growing up—these things become a natural part of your life. Granted, it took me a long time to master driving them, but in the end, I did, much to my brothers’ collective annoyance.

No boy wants their sister racing them in remote-control car races. I never won though. They kept their masculinity there. I drive the car to the back door, where Dad picks it up and puts it on the kitchen floor. I keep it still until I’ve caught up and the familiar giggle of my little nephew rings through the house. Ah, there’s nothing better than a kid laughing. A smile creeps across my face as I drive the car through the house and into the front room.

“My car!” Silvio exclaims, jumping off the sofa. “Auntie Noelle!”

“Papa fixed it.” I smile. “He just let me drive it to test.”

“Does it work?” he asks, reaching for the controller.

“Perfectly. But, before you have this,” I tell him, lifting the controller where he can’t reach it, “you need to give Papa a big hug and kiss to say thank you.”

It takes him a split second to dart around me and into Dad’s arms.

“Fank you, Papa!” he cries, squeezing Dad’s neck. “You the best.”

That I agree with.

“You’re welcome, dude. Now, try not to steer it into another wall, all right?”

“Uh-huh.” He grins and runs back to me. “Mine now, Auntie Noelle?”

“Well... All right. Yours now.” I hand it to him just as Brody walks through the door.

“No one is yelling and the parrot isn’t crying. Is this the Twilight Zone?” He casts his gaze over everyone. “I’m scared.”

And that’s why he’s my favorite.

“Everyone grew up,” Aria sullenly mutters to her phone screen.

“Aria. Attitude,” Alison scolds her, looking at me. “They tell you two is bad. They don’t mention eleven.”

“Yeah... I remember being a pain in the ass then too,” I admit. “I think it’s our genes.”

“Excellent. Then your brother can deal with her.”

Aria sits up. “I’m not a pain in the ass.”

“Language, Aria,” Alison snaps.

“I’m not a pain in the butt,” she corrects herself.

“Then apologize for being a brat,” I shoot at her. “Because you don’t get to be one of those until you have your period in this family. We’re bitchy enough without your wannabe baby attitude.”

She sighs, but resignation is in her eyes. “Sorry, Mom.”

“Apology accepted,” Alison replies, looking at the ceiling. “Mind your behavior tonight or that’s going in the safe.” She taps Aria’s iPhone and gets up. “I need wine.”

“Great idea.” I follow her into the kitchen, where—shock horror—my mother and Nonna are still getting along. I ignore them and pour two glasses of wine before handing Alison one.

“Thank you.” She swallows a large mouthful. “So you’re avoiding both Trent and Drake. Interesting.”

“Not really. It’s hardly a new development for me to not be talking to them.” I sip as the front door opens and Dev and Amelia walk in.

Oh, goodie. Here’s the whole cavalry. Now can we eat so I can go home?

Amelia walks right into the kitchen, takes my glass from my hand, and finishes it in two gulps. “Sorry,” she whispers, wiping her mouth. “But I needed that.”

I look at the empty glass then at her. “No worries. I feel you.” I move to get the bottle and another glass, but Alison has already beaten me to it. I pour the glasses out and hand one to Amelia. “What’s up?”

“Weddings. Cakes. Invitations. Name placements. Center pieces. I just want to say, ‘Fuck this shit,’ and elope in Vegas.”

Well. If she’s swearing like that, she’s pissed.

Nonna gasps from the other side of the kitchen. “No! No!” She drops her wooden spoon and comes to Amelia. “I will-a help-a you. Anything. No-a elope.”

Here we go.

“I don’t mean it, Nonna,” Amelia reassures her with a gentle hand on her arm. “I’m just feeling stressed. I’d love some help... As long as you really will just do what I say.”

“Of-a course!” Nonna breathes a sigh of relief and presses her hand to her chest.

And we wonder where my dramatic flair comes from.

“Let’s go sit down...” Alison says, grabbing Amelia and pulling her toward the dining room.

Good choice, if I’m honest. No Nonna, no men, and no children.

We all sit down at the end of the table. “So, without Nonna to interrupt,” I say, “what’s really up?”

“Your brother is the laziest organizer I’ve ever met,” she rambles out. “I swear we’ve never fought, and chances are, we never will because I’m going to kill him before I marry him.”

“Well, now,” Alison sputters. “That’s a one-eighty from the Amelia I know.”

Amelia groans and rests her chin in her hand. “This wedding planning thing is crazy. Trying to accommodate Italian traditions with Southern and Catholic is just about the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Do you know we have two menus for dinner and two caterers so Nonna doesn’t have a brain aneurysm about having to eat steak or pie or something non-Italian?”

“Wow. That seems like overkill but, at the same time, equally normal,” I muse.

Nonna would have more than an aneurysm—she’d drop dead on the spot.

“Yes. I have no idea what I’m doing and when, and Dev isn’t helping. I know he’s busy right now, but I keep telling him that he should be focusing less on helping his brother prosecute his potential brother-in-law’s mother and more on his wedding.”

I choke on my wine, and Alison pats my back.

“I’m okay,” I reassure her scratchily. “Go on, Amelia.”

“Sorry.” She winces. “Didn’t think much about my wording there.”

“Nope. It’s okay,” I rasp. “Just fine.” I finish my wine.

Fuck it.

This is escalating pretty quickly. Even if I do agree with her about the focus thing.

“Dinner!” Silvio screeches, running into the room. He stops between Amelia and Alison and looks at them both until Amelia moves up a seat with a smile on her pretty face.

Dad is the next to enter, and as he promised, he sits next to me, leaving everyone else to filter in around the table. By a lucky twist of fate, Trent and I end up at opposite ends of the table, even if he does shoot me a glare as he sits down.

I poke my tongue out in a spectacular show of my maturity. Whatever.

Nonna and Mom bring the food in and serve it in silence. No one speaks, and the family tension is palpable. Ugh. I want to go home right now. I don’t want to sit through the awkwardness I know I’m the center of.

“So...” Dev starts, breaking the silence. “Noelle, how’d Bek’s date with Jason go?”

Brody’s knuckles whiten as he grips his fork.

“Uh... It was interrupted, obviously,” I answer vaguely. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Like what?” Trent asks. “People who stick their noses where they don’t fit?”

“Aw, are you trying to sniff your own underpants again?” I shoot back.

“This is great, Mamma,” Dad interjects. “Did you do something new on the seasoning?”

“Depends,” Trent snaps, lifting his beer bottle. “Are you doing something shitty?”

“You’d know. You define it right now.”

“Good Lord,” Mom mutters. She reaches for her wine glass but grabs the bottle instead. She holds it for a moment before begrudgingly putting it back down and getting her glass.

“How’s the wedding planning going, Amelia?” Drake asks.

“About as well as dinner,” she replies.

“What do you mean I define it?” Trent looks at me. “I’m doing my job.”

“No, you’re being an asshole.” I fill my wine glass. “And you know it. That’s why you’re being defensive.”

“I’m not being defensive.”

“No, not at all. That’s why you went on the attack before retreating like the wimp you are.”

“Noelle,” Dad says. “Trent. That is enough.”

“I have no idea what you mean. I can’t refuse to do my job, Noelle. Everyone here seems to understand that but you,” my eldest brother continues.

“I understand it, but I don’t like it.” I punctuate my words by stabbing my fork into my lasagna. “There’s a difference. Learn it when you’re not too busy framing innocent people.”

“Fucking hell,” Drake mutters.

“Who is-a framing who?” Nonna looks up.

“No one is framing anyone, Nonna,” Brody assures her.

“Riiiiiight.” I sip my wine. God, this isn’t strong enough for tonight.

Vodka? Does anyone have vodka? Hello? Mayday, mayday. Houston, we have a problem. The alcohol fairy did a shit job.

“I’m not framin’ her!” Trent says loudly. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to see her go down for this, believe it or not.”

“I don’t.”

“No, really? I didn’t guess,” he spits. “I’m doing my job, Noelle. I don’t know how many times I need to tell you that. It’s not my fault all the evidence points to her.”

“To-a who?” Nonna looks at everyone.

“I don’t want it to, but I can’t fudge this stuff..” Trent rubs his hand across his forehead. “It’d be dishonest and disloyal.”

“Disloyal. Right.” I snort.

“Noelle,” Drake says softly.

“You’re the only person with a problem with it,” Trent continues. “What do you want me to do? Give up on my career like you did?”

The room goes so silent that you could hear a pin drop.

And his words go straight to my heart.

They’re like poison-tipped arrows as the sheer nastiness of his statement hits me where it really hurts. My heart, my soul, my very being. Because he knows that giving up isn’t what I did, yet he’ll throw those words at me so easily.

“Noelle.” He takes a deep breath, dropping his fork with a clang. “I’m sor—”

“No.” I slam my own fork against the side of my plate. “I don’t want you to give up like I did, as you so kindly put it. I want you to open your goddamn mind and see that it isn’t as simple as you think. But I also want you to practice what you preach. What was your motto six months ago?
La famiglia e tutto?
Well, guess what?” I shove my chair back, stand, then grab the edge of the table. “Gianna is Drake’s family, and he’s
my
family. That means he’s yours too, which means she is as well. Not that it matters to you, right? Because you’re so fucking sure.” I shove my chair out of the way and storm to the door.

“I’m not. The evidence is.”

“Yeah?” I turn to him. “‘Cause I have a seven-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar insurance policy that says there’s more than circumstantial bullshit to this case. So kiss my ass, Trent. Screw you.”

I stalk out of the house, slamming the back door behind me. The chilly evening air hits me, burning my cheeks as tears hit my eyes. I don’t know why I want to cry, just that I do, so I go to the place where I know happiness is: the illegal range Dad will never be arrested for because Sheriff Bates uses it.

When I get there, I pull my Glock from my thigh holster and check if it’s loaded. It is, so I throw caution to the wind and line up in front of the target. I get into position, aim, and shoot.