Angel In The Mafia’s Hell
Tashir pulled him into a hug, smothering him affectionately and leaving a bright red lipstick mark on his cheek.
“Ew, Mom!” he exclaimed, wiping his face. “Gross,” he muttered, making us burst into laughter.
“My turn,” I declared, teetering toward him in my heels, trying not to stumble like a newborn giraffe.
“No!” Tristan shrieked, giggling as he tried to hide behind Emily, who doubled over in laughter.
“Fine,” I conceded, feigning defeat. “How about a hug?”
He peeked over Emily’s shoulder, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. He propelled himself off the couch and leaped into my arms.
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