Kingsley Salvatore
"I f*****g hate mornings..."
The morning sun was still weak, barely cutting through the gray haze that hung over the city.
I pulled the car up to the curb in front of the McCarthy mansion, engine idling low. Mariah... sat in the passenger seat, hands folded neatly in her lap, her cleaning bag resting between her feet like it weighed nothing.
She looked smaller today...older, somehow. The lines around her eyes deeper. She’d been quiet the whole drive, staring out the window like she was memorizing every tree we passed.
I killed the engine.
“You sure you don’t want me to walk you in?” I asked.
She shook her head, small smile tugging at her lips. “I’m fine, mijo. You’ve already done enough driving me around like I’m some fancy lady.”
“You are fancy,” I said. “To me
