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Michela resumes her seat and takes a sip of her martini, her smile wide. Looking like a fucking hyena.
My brother gets to his feet.
Did he know she’d do that? Did he orchestrate the spectacle?
I give him a warning glare, but he only has eyes for my wife.
My wife.
I feel Cristina tense and I know it’s taking all she has to stand still.
My brother takes his time, making a point of looking her over. The expression on his face makes me fist my hands, squeezing Cristina’s. If I let go of her, she’ll run screaming from this house of horrors.
Lucas stands a little too close. His eyes move a little too territorially over her.
My wife.
My fucking wife.
“Welcome to the family, sweetheart,” he tells her.
She leans away as he leans toward her, but instead of kissing her cheek, he kisses her mouth.
And I lose my fucking shit.
I pounce taking hold of my brother’s throat. His grin eggs me on as I back him into the wall and smash his head against it.
“My wife, bastard. My fucking wife. You touch her again and I will take off the other half of your fucking face!”
He glares at me, that grin gone, only hate remaining.
“I’m willing to share,” he says.
“I’m going to fucking kill you.” I draw one arm back to smash my fist into his face, but someone grabs it.
“Rules, Lucas,” my father’s voice comes out thick from years of smoking.
It’s Johnny who’s got my arm. I jam my elbow into his ribs.
Just as I’m about to punch Lucas, I hear my nephew cry out.
I stop.
Fuck.
I hadn’t seen him.
I turn to find Bennie hugging Michela, face buried in her skirt.
When I look back at Lucas, he smiles at me, adjusts his suit, and glances beyond me where I can see Cristina is standing, hands on the antique table behind her for support.
Elise enters the room with the sheet in her hands. I wonder if she was standing outside my door listening to me fuck my wife. She walks over to my father and I see Cristina’s face morph into one of horror and humiliation. Elise holds the bloodied sheet out for him and everyone to see.
My father makes a sound. I’m not sure if he’s pleased or not.
Something shifts in the room.
Lucas swallows his drink, looking from the sheet to me. “You win this round, Brother. She’s yours in the eyes of God.”
“Am I supposed to believe that will stop you?”
“Stop your goddamned fighting. You know the rules, both of you. Lucas, you don’t touch her now.”
Lucas raises his whiskey to his mouth, and as casual as he tries to appear, I see how his knuckles have gone white around the glass.
“Careful you don’t smash that,” I tell him, walking to the bar and pouring two whiskeys. I carry one back to Cristina.
She takes it and swallows a gulp. I didn’t realize she liked the stuff, but I’ll need to watch her. Pretty sure she can’t hold as much liquor as she may want to drink right about now.
My father rolls himself toward Cristina.
I put a hand at her lower back to keep her from bolting.
“You didn’t like my gift?” he asks her.
She looks from him to me and back. “Gift?”
“Annabel’s dress. Something old and borrowed,” he says.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I tell her. I turn to my father. “Welcome her and move on.” I hate this next part.
“Come here, girl.”
Cristina looks at me with horror in her eyes.
I nod.
“I said come here,” he commands. I’m surprised he still can, in his diminished state.
“Damian…” She’s shaking her head.
“Just get it done,” I say quietly enough only she can hear.
“What—”
I’m about to take hold of her, to push her to him, wanting this over with. But then, with a strength I don’t imagine him to have, he shoots an arm out and grabs her wrist.
Cristina’s whiskey glass slips to the floor and crashes against the stone as she lets out a little scream. She’s trying to twist her arm free, but he tugs her toward him.
“Be still,” he tells her as she struggles.
She has to put her free hand on the arm of the wheelchair so as not to fall over.
He looks her straight in the eye, their faces inches apart. “Welcome to the family, girl,” he says, and kisses her cheek.
When he releases her, she stumbles backward.
I catch her arm as she wipes off her face.
My father rolls his chair out of the room. Johnny follows and they disappear around the corner.
Good, at least he won’t be staying for dinner.
Cristina wipes her eyes, trying to hide her tears. I’m sure she doesn’t want this bunch to see her cry. Her chest heaves with her breaths, and I imagine her heart is racing.
“Bennie,” Michela says.
Bennie turns to face Cristina and I’m not sure who’s paler right now. I make Cristina turn to me, take her face into my hands, wiping smudged eyeliner off her cheek. “Get it together. You’re almost done. He’s a boy, younger than Simona. Then you can go upstairs.”
