by Sam Mariano
Since when does Dante give a fuck about anyone having their head fucked up. “Fucked up how? Did someone die?”
“His wife of forty years.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
Dante nods gruffly.
I narrow my eyes as he avoids my gaze. “What’s on your mind, Dante?”
He scowls and meets my gaze this time. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been off this week. You’re always an asshole, but you’ve been a bigger asshole than usual toward me. Now you’re going soft on Enzo because he lost his wife. What’s going on with you?”
He’s silent long enough that I don’t think he’s going to answer me, then he unlocks his jaw just long enough to clip, “Colette is getting married.”
I don’t bother to hide my surprise. “She’s getting married?”
He nods once, tersely, like the movement is costly and he’s on a fucking budget.
“Well, shit. I’m sorry to hear that.”
He and Colette have been broken up for some time, but letting go isn’t a skill Morelli men tend to excel at. Once we write our name on the bottom of our favorite toy, it’s pretty much ours for the rest of its existence—for better or worse. Dante wasn’t ready to let go when Colette decided to, but he always figured she would come back.
Her marrying another man is probably not a step in that direction.
“Who’s the guy? Why don’t you send someone to talk to him? See if you can’t persuade him to look elsewhere for matrimonial bliss?”
“He’s a fucking lawyer,” Dante states. “Mr. Straight and Narrow.”
Colette was a little priggish for my tastes. I imagine Mr. Straight and Narrow is probably a better fit for her than Dante ever was, but I obviously don’t say that.
“Ah. Well, that makes it slightly more complicated.”
Dante shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “Doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t be letting this shit get in my head.”
I shrug, more forgiving today than I might have been before Mia. “It happens to the best of us.”
“I’ll get over it,” he assures me.
“I know you will,” I tell him.
---
When I enter the bedroom, Mia is still curled up in bed, looking like the light of her life has been extinguished. She normally brings me up, but that’s a bit of a downer. Perhaps this will cheer her up.
Draping a garment bag containing the white dress my shopper picked out for her, I tell Mia, “Time to get up.”
She frowns at me, like this is an unreasonable expectation. “Why?”
“It’s family dinner day,” I remind her. “Mandatory.”
“Still?” she demands.
I offer a faint smile and leave her to get ready. It’ll be the first time she’s left my bedroom for anything since Vince accosted her in the hall, and now she’ll have to see him again. I haven’t seen him yet today, myself. I’ve been busy. Now I pop into my surveillance room and pull up his room to see if he’s home. His closet door is open, so I guess he’s inside getting dressed.
I’m already bored. He’s so boring to watch without Mia.
I flip back to my bedroom to see if Mia’s out of bed yet. I wish I had made her go down to dinner yesterday, instead. I would have liked for her to be slightly less miserable with me the first time she had to see Vince again.
Even though it broke her a little, I replay her coming this morning. My cock stirs to life at the thought. I want to make her come again tonight, but after that, I should probably give her another day. I’ll go easy on her tonight, then tomorrow after dinner, Mia can be my dessert.
Yes, that’s a lovely plan.
Mia’s changing in the bathroom, so my bedroom is boring, too. I don’t have Adrian guarding the door though, so I wait until Mia comes out of the bathroom to make sure she’s coming down. She looks stunning in the white dress Claudine picked out for her. She wanders over toward the bed and stares at it for a moment. I zoom in, trying to get a clearer look. I can’t be certain, but I think she looks a little haunted.
I grimace at the realization, but she doesn’t linger long. She finds her shoes, slips them on, then leaves my bedroom and heads downstairs.
Since there’s no one accompanying her today, I head to the kitchen once she’s had enough time to show up. Vince was still in his room last I checked, so I shouldn’t have to worry about him running into her, but I’ll still feel better if I see her in my kitchen, preparing my dinner.
I go the back way to the kitchen, through the hallway the servants use instead of the dining room. That one is lesser used, especially by me, so I’m able to get an uninterrupted glimpse of Mia before she sees me. She still doesn’t look happy. That’s an understatement; she looks miserable.
Maybe I should come up with some excuse for her to leave the house tonight. She needs to be out of the house for the guys to approach her, but if I could send her somewhere after dinner, maybe we could get this all over with tonight. I could hold her tonight and chase away the misery I caused myself, tell her why I had to do it and get things on track a little bit sooner.
That’s maybe too obvious, though. Going to school is a normal part of her routine, she shouldn’t think anything of a cop approaching her that way. If I send her out on some random errand—after days of never allowing her to leave my bedroom—and then two cops showed up asking questions, she might get suspicious.
Probably better to leave it. I pull back my sleeve and check my watch.
Just a little over 12 hours.
I look back at Mia, watching as she chops up a pepper. She pauses and glances straight back at me, like she can feel my gaze on her.
That’s not true, though. If she could feel my gaze on her, she’d feel me all the time.
I catch Francesca’s gaze. Her brown eyes narrow at me like I’m the devil. I nod for her to come join me in the hall and step back out.
She comes out glaring, one hand propped on her hip. “What?”
“She only serves me now,” I inform her, so she can make the necessary arrangements.
Francesca regards me like I just slaughtered an entire cat family, right here before her very eyes. “You’re taking that from him, too?”
I roll my eyes at the thought of that little bastard. I may not deserve Mia, but he sure as hell didn’t. Picking fights with her over insignificant shit—he could sure learn how to pick his battles. Leaving her unattended over night when he knows I live here.
He never appreciated what he had, and Mia should be appreciated.
“I’ve already taken everything else,” I tell her. “Why not?”
Her lip curls up with disgust. “She shouldn’t have to serve you at all after what you’ve done to her. She’s not your woman, she’s just your prey.”
Well, that’s not true. Or, it won’t be soon. By next Sunday, Mia will be my woman; no one will have any questions about that.
Francesca can’t read my mind, so she goes on, still thinking to protect Mia from me. “Just let her serve Vince and I’ll bring you yours.”
“Nope.”
“You’re a sick bastard,” she flings back.
“I know,” I reply, growing bored of this interaction. “Just tell her so she knows—unless you’d rather I go tell her myself?”
Unguarded resentment passes across my sister’s pretty face and she shakes her head at me. “I’ll enforce it if that’s what you want,” she states, but unhappily. “I don’t understand why you made her come to dinner at all.”
“I’ve given her all week to myself,” I state. “Time to get back to normal.”
“Normal is her with Vince.”
I cut her a look of mild annoyance and turn away, tossing over my shoulder, “Not anymore.”
Instead of letting me go to my study, she calls out, “Why are you being so awful to her?”
I pause, giving her a chance to elaborate.
“If you like Mia, this isn’t the way to show it. I
f you don’t, this is just a horrible thing to do. That girl hasn’t done a damn thing to deserve your wrath.”
Up to this point, my sister is absolutely correct. Mia hasn’t done a damn thing to deserve any of this.
Hopefully, after tomorrow, I can say the same thing. Then I can pursue her with a clear conscience, unworried that she’ll ever harm any of us out of spite—aside from a good neck scrape, perhaps, if I piss her off.
I shouldn’t smile faintly at the memory, but I do anyway. She’s so sweet and loving, but the thought of my cock inside another woman makes her want to literally scratch my face off.
I can’t wait to tell her that was bullshit. I don’t like her thinking I did that—not after she made it so clear it would upset her. It would have been inexcusably dickish; I don’t blame her one bit for wanting to scratch my face off.
I remember Francesca is still standing behind me, waiting for a response, so before I head to my study, I offer back, “We’ll see.”
---
Dinner is served.
Well, the salads, anyway.
Tonight Mia brings out only one—only mine. She stops beside me, a vision in the beautiful dress I bought her, and puts the plate down in front of me. I look up at her to offer her a faint smile in thanks, but she isn’t looking at me. Her gaze is locked on Vince, so I turn my attention to him as well. He looks like he could snap at any moment. His jaw is locked, he grips the edge of the table. I glance down at Adrian and see he’s keeping an eye on the situation, too.
Mia flees back to the kitchen. As soon as she’s through the doors, Vince tears his gaze from her and glares daggers at me. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something snide, but I bite it back. No point pushing the kid. It’ll be hard enough for him to sit through this dinner with her serving me. The important thing tonight is just to get through this. Next week the standards will be a little higher. I might actually tell him not to come to the nightly dinners this week, just send him out on his own. He can come back next Sunday and we’ll see if he can make it through dinner without making Mia uncomfortable. I’ll move him next week, too. She hasn’t been at the table for a few days and I’ve been distracted, so I didn’t think about it. Probably should’ve moved him down by Alec so Mia would’ve been alone up here by me.
Oh well, next week.
Mia comes back to the table with her salad and takes a seat. She stares at her salad plate like it initiated a staring contest and her life’s dream is to win. Francesca takes a seat, casting a worried glance at Vince and Mia, then a nasty look for me. I wink at her, just to be a dick.
“You look pretty.”
Alarm courses through me and my gaze snaps to Vince. I didn’t expect him to address her. I thought perhaps he might make a passive-aggressive dig, but a compliment? I didn’t expect that at all.
Mia steals a tentative glance at him. “Thank you.”
Unease moves through me. I’m not a jealous man, I didn’t expect to be remotely bothered by sitting here at the table with the only other man Mia has ever fucked, but I also didn’t expect them to be stealing glances at one another and conversing in hushed, agreeable tones, like two prisoners talking through the wall to keep each other company while the warden’s away.
Perhaps it was a mistake to make her come to dinner tonight. I could have let her sit this one out. I could have left her upstairs in my bed, away from Vince. Next week, when she knew her place, when she knew I didn’t fuck anyone but her yesterday, when she knew I wanted her to be mine… next week I could have brought her back to family dinner.
While I worry that I made a wrong move, a thoughtless, stupid fucking move, Mia picks at her salad and drinks her wine like a housewife at the end of a long day.
I’m tempted to engage her in conversation, to draw her back into me, but I can’t. I could, probably without much resistance, but I can’t because I need to keep a safe distance until tomorrow. The only problem is, while I sit here eating my salad and not forcing Mia’s attention to return to me, Vince keeps stealing fucking glances at her. I don’t think she catches any of them, but I sure as hell do.
I’m tempted to interrupt dinner and kick him out. Give him some cash and tell the little asshole to go grab a pizza. I don’t like him looking at her like that. I don’t want her to notice him looking at her like that. Not when she hates me. Not when she doesn’t know we have dinner plans after she gets off school tomorrow.
I devour my salad without tasting it, too distracted by Mia and Vince. Faint memories of eating salads for lunch with Mia yesterday float back to my consciousness, feeding her a bite off my fork.
Mia stands and grabs my plate.
Vince grabs her by the wrist.
I’m tempted to reach for my gun.
This little asshole grows a pair of balls and directly opposes the orders I gave earlier, telling Mia, “I want you to bring my dinner.”
Mia swallows and her gaze meets mine for the first time since she’s taken a seat at the table. I cannot believe the balls on this fucking kid. I clear my expression and look at Mia, waiting to see what she says.
There are two possible right answers:
1.) No, I only serve Mateo now.
2.) Mateo, am I allowed to bring Vince’s dinner out, too?
Mia says neither. Instead, Mia murmurs, “Okay.”
Okay?
Anger burns through my veins and I regard Vince with feigned curiosity. “Why?”
Even more anger brewing in his brown eyes, Vince shoots back, “Why not?”
I offer up a nonchalant shrug. “Well, I’m the one fucking her each night. I’m the one waking up with her tangled in my arms every morning. Doesn’t seem to me there’s much reason to—”
Vince’s chair flies back, startling Mia. She gasps and her fearful gaze darts to me.
“Fuck that,” Vince says, meeting my gaze. “Fuck. That.”
Well, this was certainly not on tonight’s itinerary.
Mia’s tone is pleading. It almost soothes me—except it’s not directed at me. “Vince,” she says, but stealing a glance at me.
It’s not like the glances they were stealing, though. It’s a fearful glance—she’s just worried about what I’ll do.
Where did my Mia go? She’s not worried about hurting my feelings; she’s only worried about his.
Perhaps I overplayed my hand.
Vince seemed like a non-threat to me. In the days just past, Mia seemed to accept that she didn’t belong to Vince anymore—and if she didn’t belong to Vince, there was only one other pre-approved lifeline, and that was me.
Maybe it really was just that. I’ve had her closed up in a bubble—I was the only person she had to interact with. On rare occasion, Adrian, but she was mostly kept in her cage, kept away from Vince and anyone else whose company she might prefer.
I don’t feel humbled often, but in this moment as this fucking 18-year-old kid seems to be the preference of the girl I just spent the whole day planning to make mine… it occurs to me that maybe I was only Mia’s choice when I was the only choice.
She was willing to try to make it work with me, but maybe… just maybe… that isn’t her preference.
Maybe she prefers Vince.
Vince points at Mia. I missed whatever came before it, lost in my own thoughts, but now I hear him tell her, “You shut up.”
Rage pulsates through me, but I don’t respond. Not yet. I’m a little floored by the doubts that have just sprung up—and a lot pissed off—but I need to see how this plays out. I need to see what Mia does without my interference.
“Fuck this,” Vince is saying again, tossing his belligerence around for anyone who cares to see it. “She’s mine,” he tells me. “I never gave her up. I never said I didn’t want her.”
He mutters under his breath, his hand still locked around Mia’s wrist, and without another word, he hauls her out of the dining room.
I can only sit here, completely stunned.
I don’t know if I’m more sur
prised by him or her. I don’t know if it’s entirely hit me what just happened…
He just took Mia. I just lost Mia. She just let him drag her out of my dining room, barely into Sunday night dinner.
I steeple my hands on the table and try to get my bearings.
“Should I go after them?” Adrian asks, hesitantly.
“I’m not sure,” I reply, a little too honestly.
On the one hand, yes, of course, go after them. Drag her ass back in here so she can serve me my dinner and warm my bed. Kick Vince’s ass out of the house entirely for daring to take my new toy away from me.
But on the other hand, Mia went.
Mia wants to be away from me.
You like me begging? Well, I’m begging. Please, leave me alone.
Did I see something that wasn’t there? Did I see only what I wanted to see? I replay each memory, searching for holes, for another perspective. Her hand caressing my jaw in the shower when she thought I looked sad. Mia sitting on my bed, painting her toe nails and joking about her enrollment at Heaven University. The simple joy of curling up and going to sleep with her each night.
All gone, and her last memories of me are terrible. Would she have gone back to him before last night?
I guess it doesn’t matter. She left with him just now.
I realize everyone at the table is tense and waiting to see what happens next.
My tone much lighter than I feel, I look across the table at Francesca and tell her, “Well, I suppose I’ll need you to bring me dinner, after all.”
---
After days of looking forward to coming back to my room at the end of a long day—or at the beginning, or in the middle, really any part of the day, as long as I knew Mia was waiting inside for me—I return to an empty bedroom.
And it sure is empty.
It’s never felt so empty.
The sheets are still mussed since Mia spent the evening in bed before I came to get her for dinner. I know it doesn’t benefit anyone, least of all me, but I take a seat on the edge of the bed and run my hand across the sheets. Mere hours ago, Mia’s bare body graced these sheets.