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I have to keep reminding myself about this. None of it is my problem anymore. I’m happy being Pavone’s hired gun. I don’t give a shit what he’s doing to Nico’s—Victor’sorganization. I don’t care if Lucia ends up in the unhappiest and possibly shortest marriage. I don’t care if Pavone ends up killing Lucia for being a bit less meek and docile than she’s pretending to be.
Except I do, and the knowledge is eating me up inside.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Lucia finally breaks the silence, looking up at me from the invitation she’s been carefully writing on for the past few minutes.
I grunt, not wanting to give her the courtesy of a spoken response. I didn’t ask for this shit. I don’t want a constant reminder of what I lost because of her.
She starts working on another invitation, staring back down at the paper. “Look, I don’t understand why you’re angry. This is easy work, and it’s probably only until the wedding anyway.”
Theoretically, yes, watching Lucia is easier than going out and murdering somebody. It’s better, too, not having to worry about being told to kill somebody I actually know. But it isn’teasierto have Lucia just across the room from me, the desire to fuck her and hurt her warring inside me. I’d much rather eviscerate a man than deal with all these emotions.
“You just love sitting in the frying pan that much?” I say, and I hate that I don’t sound angry. I sound amused.
“What else am I supposed to do, Angelo?” she asks. Unlike me, she sounds pissed off. “Let some random guy come in and keep hitting on me so Pavone can blame me for it? You’re the only safe option for me.”
“Safe?” I laugh at her, crossing my arms against my chest as I lean against the closed door to the dining room. “You think I’m safe?”
Lucia hesitates, her eyes on the invite instead of on me. “Yes.”
“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you bailed on us,” I tell her. I want to feel smug that she’s realizing her mistake, but what’s the point? It’s not going to change anything. I won’t get to have her just because she knows she fucked up now.
“Oh, please,” she says, finally looking back up at me. “Safe here and safe in general are two entirely different things. Stop trying to pretend you’re such a gentleman.”
“I’m no gentleman, Princess, and I don’t pretend to be,” I correct her. “But I wasn’t the worst option.”
She sighs. Maybe she agrees, or maybe she doesn’t, but it’s her turn to be silent. She works on a few of the invitations, putting them all aside with their matching envelopes into thecompletebox.
On top of having to be in close proximity with Lucia, this job is alsoboring. Despite Lucia’s claims, I don’t think she would have had much to worry about from Pavone’s men after yesterday’s scene. I’d made sure to let plenty of the men see me wander the hall with the blood splatter and made a few comments that would have them rethinking any actions that would give Pavone an excuse to call on my services again.
It’s funny, how fucking terrified they all are of me. Not because of how violent I am—but because they know I’m into men. It pisses me off too, but I’m willing to work with every advantage I can get.
I guess that’s not so different from how Lucia operates.
After another slew of invitations, Lucia sighs and puts the pen down, shaking out her hand.
“You almost done with the invites?” I ask her, mostly because of my boredom.
She glares at me. “No. But I’d be closer to done if you hadn’t ruined a bunch yesterday.”
I roll my eyes at her. “Nope. That was you. Poor Stevie might have lived to see another day if you’d kept your cool.”
“I kept my cool just fine,” Lucia says with wry amusement. “It’s not my fault he stuck his hand down my shirt and got caught doing it.”
“Oh, please,” I scoff at her. “Like you couldn’t have dissuaded him on your own? All you’d have had to do was remind him you’re Pavone’s piece of meat and he’d have backed off.”
Disgust simmers in her expression. “I’m not a fucking piece of meat,” she hisses at me. “And I tried to get him to back off. He wouldn’t. It’s his own fucking fault.”
“Guess he’s regretting it now, huh?” I drawl. “Oh, wait. No. He’s dead. He can’t regret anything.”
Lucia huffs at me. “Regardless, what’s done is done. Why don’t you make yourself useful and come help me with the invitations?”
“How about no,” I tell her, but I do cross the room to sit down at the table with her. “Unless you mean you want me to mess some more up. I can do that for you. Besides.” I grin at her. “My handwriting would embarrass Pavone. I don’t do little hearts over the i’s like you girly types do.”
“There are no hearts over my i’s,” she mutters, but she’s clearly trying to suppress a smile.
I pick up one of the invitations and look at it. “You’ve still got pretty handwriting. I’m sure everyone is going to appreciate getting hand-written invitations.”
“Oh, fuck off,” she says. “You know they don’t care. No one cares but Pavone. He’s driving me crazy over this fucking wedding.”
