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“Get yourself a drink,” Antonio tells Joseph, releasing him from duty as he flicks his hand to summons our server over. “You four enjoy your drinks. I’m going home to enjoy my wife.” He stands to leave.
“It’s one-thirty. Her ass is probably sleeping,” Giovanni chirps from his seated position next to him. He’s the only one who jokes with Antonio about Lilah. I could, but I don’t. He’s a possessive bastard when it comes to her. Both Antonio and Giovanni are possessive over their woman. But they are not me. I am covetous. An avaricious motherfucker. What is mine is mine. It is the reason why I have never taken on a permanent lover.
“If she knows what is good for her, she better not be. She received strict orders earlier this evening that her ass better be up waiting for me when I get home. Literally.” Giovanni chuckles and uncharacteristically rolls his eyes before sipping his drink, knowing what Antonio is saying is true to his word, but also knowing Lilah holds his balls in the palm of her hand. Antonio turns to walk around the table then stops and glances at me. “I would tell you not to shit where you eat, but I know you already tasted the buffet of many here.” He raises a dark brow and glances at our server. “She’s a good employee. Don’t make her quit, or worse, I have to fire her because she can’t handle your rejection come morning. There is only one that gives as good as she gets from you and my right-hand woman isn’t going anywhere.” He turns and walks out leaving the four of us to our drinks.
I smirk, glancing around for Talia, Temptations head manager, Antonio’s right-hand woman. She is usually hovering somewhere close in case Antonio needs her. When I don’t see her anywhere, I look to our server who is cleaning up the bar now that the crowd is starting to thin out.
I relax back in my seat, spread my legs, and begin to wind down. I’m never one hundred percent unguarded. I will always have my defenses up. I must. If I don’t, my days will be numbered, but at the end of the night like this, as we sit in our private lounge, I let go of some of the stress on my shoulders and appreciate my time with the guys I spend most of my day with. I glance at my watch. It’s fifteen minutes before two. I shake my head, declining Giovanni’s offered cigar, and grab my smokes. I bang out one of my tightly compacted sticks against my palm. I’d love nothing more than to enjoy one of his Cohibas, but my testosterone level doesn’t need to be elevated any more than it already is tonight. The three of them are talking around me. I’m listening but the agitation from earlier starts to settle back in now that the night is over.
Little Miss Haven McKittrick. She dipped out on me while my attention was elsewhere. I would say it took balls to walk out, reneging on our bet, but the fact of the matter is, she didn’t know any better. She’s never had to suffer the consequences of retribution when a deal is agreed upon and then payment is denied. I’m sure of it. I’m certain that tonight was the first time she has ever made a wager if I go by her show of jubilance. Then to walk out, her naivety making her believe she was being sneaky has me worked up. I would never concede to anyone with low moral standards to stand by my side, male or female. Since she is so inexperienced, I will give her this one allowance. I lean back and dig my phone out of my pocket. Her small window of gloating has come to an end.
ChapterNine
HAVEN
Unknown Number: Where I come from, when you make a bet, you see it through, cucciola. You should have come to my office so we could hash out the details. Now, you are to be reprimanded for your indiscretion.
Me: I’m sorry. I think you may have the wrong number.
Unknown Number: Ah, I see. You want to play games. I like games. However, in this instance, there is no game to be played, giovane cucciolo. You know exactly who this is, and you know exactly why you are receiving this message. That is, unless you have another man reaching out to you this late in the evening demanding you uphold a wager you agreed upon.
Me: Go call someone else a dog, Demetri. Because this woman isn’t one. She is of superb pedigree but not of the furry kind or the kind that has no self-respect. How did you get my number?
Unknown Number: Woman? A young one. I’ll give you that. However, only a girl would renege on a bet she had no intention of satisfying. Especially with a man like me. Although, no woman I know would. They always satisfy their debt.
“I’m sure they do, Demetri,”I voice my annoyance at how quickly and accurately he came back at me. I should have never left. It shows me as weak and untrusting. I hold the phone in my palm, my fingers curling and gripping the edge as I read through his message again. It only succeeds in exasperating me more.
Unknown Number: I see you know how to search google translations. Do not be offended, cucciola. It is a term of endearment, not an insult.
Me: I see I have graduated. Now you’re just calling me pup. Sure sounds like an insult to me.
Unknown Number: Trust me, if it was, you would know. If I had a reason to insult you, then I would not give you the time of day, anyway.
Me: Is that what you are doing? Giving me the mere few minutes of your day? Am I supposed to be grateful that you are?
Unknown Number: You should be… flattered. I have a beautiful woman standing in front of me, offering herself, yet here I am messaging a naïve young woman who likes to play games. Be ready tomorrow night by eight. I will send a car to collect you.
“Collect me?” I voice with shock at the dark empty room. “Flattered?” I sputter nonsense in outrage to my pillow then shoot up like a burning corpse in my plush bed. He will collect me? Like I’m some inanimate object that can be borrowed and given back? I’m agitated. He has me ruffled and flushed with anger. “How dare he? He can piss off for all I care,” I rant to the empty room. Then I suffer from something I have never felt before. “Who’s the beautiful woman?” I sputter to myself, my stomach churning.
The phone stays silent for a few moments because my response is one that may be inappropriate. Saying feck off would make me feel so much better, but this is my brother’s new business associate. My anger gets the best of me at times. I don’t know the details, but I have overheard Cillian telling my bodyguard, Finn, that this deal is crucial for our family’s future.
Me: Have you spoken to my brother?
I change the unknown number to “sir” just to be a smart ass.
Sir: Have you? See you tomorrow. And Haven? Where a dress. Preferably a red one.
The audacity of this man to tell me what to wear. I’m boiling inside. My sarcastic snark backfires on me once again when I message back.
Me: Yes, sir.
Sir: You just made my dick hard. Good night, giovane cucciolo.
It’s a quarter to three. My phone is still in my hand. I can’t sleep. I haven’t been able to shut my eyes for more than a few minutes. I have tossed and turned since our sparring match through text messages. It’s the last message that is sticking in my overactive brain. That and the one before it. I turned him on. Because I called him sir? I cannot believe how egotistical this man is. I’m heated but I’m not so sure it’s in a bad way. Yes, he has frustrated me, but my raised body temperature is coming from thoughts of him being aroused. Then there’s this nagging side emotion that is harassing me. I turned him on and there was a beautiful woman offering her body to him. I’m sure there is a plethora of suggestive women propositioning themselves to him daily. I think my troubled sleep is being fueled by something I am not acquainted with. Could it be jealousy? No, more like interest. Thinking about him being with someone else is intriguing. I think?
I shut my makeup free eyes and curl to my side after throwing my phone onto the nightstand. Agitation is the factor that graces me with a restless sleep. One hour passed. Then two. When three a.m. ticked off, I climb out of bed knowing nothing will calm me but the tips of my toes and the exhaustion they cause in my body.
I make my way downstairs to the first floor and proceed in the dark down the long curving staircase to the basement. I flick on the overhead lights and dim the harshness to a dull glow. I don’t need the light to know how my body moves or the space I claim while contorting it. I walk over and turn on the surround sound.Traitorby Elley Duhé comes to life throughout the sparse space. The room may not have the bars needed to stretch my limbs to their breaking point, but the space is wrapped with wall-to-wall mirrors.
