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And then I remember his plea to let him do what he needs to do before I start my retribution.
Fuck that.
Fuck. That.
And fuck being shy, fuck being quiet, fuck letting this relationship run under the radar for a while.
If he gets to be psychotically possessive over me, telling me to stop dancing and to change my outfits and to stop flirting with his men, I should be able to do the same right back.
Decision made, I walk. I start for the back office, zigzagging through customers and waitresses with speed, my heels clicking as I do.
“Lilah!” I hear from behind me, but I ignore it and keep walking, my eye on the door that says Private.
“Lilah!” the voice bellows again and again, I ignore it.
“Lilah! Stop!” A hand is around my elbow, and I spin, coming face-to-face with Marco. His hand instantly drops, probably not wanting to have his hand on his boss’ girl for more than a few moments.
But what does it matter when you’re one of many, right? What right would Dante even have to be annoyed with him or me?
“What?” I spit at him, venom that shouldn't be directed at him spewing.
He doesn’t even flinch.
“Saw your face. Sure you heard about Angela, girls have big fuckin’ mouths. Know about . . . you two.” I scrunch my nose, trying to fight the stark laugh that tries to fly out at how uncomfortable Marco looks. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“God, all of you assholes are the same, living by the same fucking bro code. But heads up, Marco. I’m not a bro. I live by my own code.” He sighs.
“There’s no code, princess. See your face. Know you’re mad. Trying to save myself the headache of you two fuckin’ going at it.”
I ignore him, as he deserves.
“Is Paulie in today?” I ask pointedly.
Marco looks to the ceiling, probably bartering with God to help him handle yet another crazy woman.
I wonder if Angela Sigano is another crazy woman he has to deal with. She’s probably sweet and docile, smiles when she’s told, and sits quietly in the corner.
She definitely doesn’t plan revenge.
“No,” he says under his breath, as if he knows that’s the only thing that could hold me back and he wishes the man were in today, even though he doesn't like him much.
“Good,” I say, a cat-like smile on my lips as I turn back the way I was going.
“Jesus, fuck. Lilah! He’s in a meeti—"
I twist the knob on the door leading to Dante’s cushy office and surprise even myself when it’s unlocked, but I push it open anyway.
“So you see—" a balding man starts to say, but Dante’s eyes are already moving from the man sitting across from his giant mahogany desk, his fortress, and moving to my own.
I find joy in the fact I can read the emotions flashing in his eyes, the man of ice that it seems I can thaw temporarily.
Frustration, intrigue, joy, confusion, and then settling on something I can’t pinpoint, not exactly. Admiration, maybe. A hint of entertainment.
“I have to talk to you,” I say, crossing my arms on my chest.
“I’m in a meeting, Delilah.”
“I don’t fucking care, Dante,” I say in the same tone.
