The Mafia King's Regret
She listened, her eyes flickering between Eli and me, but her mouth stayed taught, her position tense.
She offered Eli a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. And by the time she turned it on me, it was barely a faded memory of joy’s imitation.
“It was my pleasure,” I said, utterly genuine. “He’s a good kid.”
She nodded, everything about her still drawn tight as a bowstring. But when she answered, her words were soft. “He’s a great kid. Thank you for helping him.”