Alpha of Nightmares
Tie stood behind Katrina’s chair, one hand on her shoulder, wearing the expression of a male wisely staying out of all D’Amore-Fayte culinary politics.
Papa sat at the head of the outdoor table like a king pretending not to notice blankets, baby bottles, and emotional nonsense had invaded his kingdom.
Perfect time for gifts.
I slid a box across the table with a flourish. “For you, Papa,” I said brightly, my tone wickedly pleased. “A token of my endless devotion.”
Darren stiffened beside me.
That should have warned me.
Papa opened the box and lifted out a black ceramic mug with silver lettering that read “Papa of Nightmares.”