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“Angela Sigano?” I say the words like a question, but they're really a statement. “That’s what kept you from coming to me last night? Your long night? Angela fucking Sigano?” I cross my arms under my boobs and don’t miss how his eyes move there.
“What the fuck are you wearing?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
He doesn’t listen. “I told you, cover your tits.”
“From the looks of the photos the girls showed me, Angela’s tits were out and proud last night. Didn’t seem to bother you.” His lips tip up, the irritation at my outfit leaving almost as quickly as it came.
“Ah, the gossip mill has started. Good.”
“Good? Jesus Christ. I swear to fucking god, Dante. This game of yours? I don’t want to be playing it. I don’t want to be a part of it.” I turn, done with everything in this room, but his hand catches my wrist, stopping my retreat.
“Game?”
“This game where you tell me you have some plan, some kind of grand scheme to keep me quiet and amiable, then try to use my emotions against me. Yes, the girls are gossiping about how fucking perfect you two looked last night on some red carpet. Last night while I was sleeping in the fucking guest room of your house like a kept woman because I’m not allowed to go home. The guest room you’ve snuck into every night for weeks because you’re so obsessed with me and I’m meant to be yours." I wiggle the fingers of my free hand to show him just how much I think of his bullshit. "But here you are, off fucking some bitch.”
“Aww, baby, did you miss me last night?” he says, smiling.
“Don’t treat me like a child, Dante. This isn’t funny! You’re a fucking asshole, making this all a game. That’s what this is, isn’t it? Some fucking game to you? Another power play, fuel for your big fucking ego. And here I am, a piece of convenient pussy to entertain you unless you have something better to fuck? Someone more interesting, someone with better standing?” I try and twist my wrist from his grasp, ignoring his darkening face, and surprisingly, he lets go. “I’m done with this. I’m done with the secrets and the games and the mind fucks.”
“You’re not done with me.”
“Or maybe I’ll even the playing field,” I say, hands on my hips, fury burning in my veins. “Maybe I’ll go fuck Marco or Roddy. I’ll—"
He moves, his body herding mine backwards, barely touching me until I bump into the wall.
When my back is pinned there, his hand moves, starting at my belly, moving between my breasts, a thumb grazing my decolletage until his hand is at my throat, positioning my face until I’m staring into his angry eyes. It’s then that I’m reminded that this man is insane. He’s unhinged. He could kill me right here, and he has an entire crew of men that would help him clean up the mess without question.
“I’m saying this once and only once, Delilah. You are mine. Your mind, your body—your goddamned soul. They belong to me. Do not play fucking games; do not make jokes about fucking my men.” His head dips, and he runs his nose up my neck and over my jaw until his mouth is at my ear. “But it works. We work. Those scales are balanced, baby. I am yours. My mind. My body. My soul. Only yours. You need to trust that, know that to your soul.” A chill runs down my spine.
“How am I supposed to know that if you tell me fucking nothing, Dante? I’m in the dark! All I know is you didn’t come to me last night and you went out with some woman whose father, word on the street says, is very interested in building ties with your family.”
“My father wants me to marry Angela Sigano.” The blood stops in my veins. “He thinks it would create ties, yes. Strengthen families. But the reason I agreed to go last night, listening to her drone on about purses and manicures instead of eating your sweet pussy, is because the connection was suggested to him by Paulie.”
My body freezes.
I can’t quite decide why, can’t figure out which part of his little speech has my emotions stringing me tight.
“Paulie?”
“I told you, fiorella. He wants to prove his worthiness. He needs to be resourceful and he needs a way to take me out of the running for don. I marry a Sigano, I work for them. It’s an easy out for Paulie.” He breathes heavily in my ear, and it’s like his breaths have a direct line to my pussy, an electric shock going through me as each hits my ear. “I needed to go with her. I needed to show her a good time. It would have been too suspicious if I declined. Paulie’s already too interested in you, in your connection to me. He’s angry that you’re working for me, not on the stage.”
“For this to work, we have to be equals. You can’t know more than me. You can’t be sacrificing for me and letting me sit in the corner, no idea what's happening. Seeing those photos? Being blindsided by that? Fucking killed me, Dante. I hate that. I hate that you’re so deep in me that it felt like a betrayal. You had chances to tell me you wouldn’t come to me, that you had to go to some dinner."
“Would you have let me?” he asks, and the question stops me. “Would you have been okay with me going out with another woman, making it seem like we were an item. With me leading her on, flirting with her, letting her think there’s a chance?”
Having a better understanding of how the night had gone makes me sick.
“If I understood why, then yes,” I say, and I can’t tell if it’s a lie or not. “But I needed to know that. Otherwise, it feels like a cruel move an arrogant man makes because he doesn’t have to listen to the whims of the woman in his life.” His face looks sad when he answers.
The look is new for him, the sadness, the regret.
“Oh, my sweet Delilah. I can’t tell you. I wish I could. You know I’m crazy for you, would die for you—" I stop him.
I might be angry.
I might be sad.
