by Sadie Grubor
He's halfway to the food tray when I decide to use his own words to taunt him, "I do believe I like your jealousy."
Saint stops and turns to face me. The light of the fireplace casts shadows across his naked body. Between the tattoos and lack of light, it's difficult to make out the scars marring his skin. Straightening to his full height, he warns, "Careful of the game you play, doll. My jealousy comes with a death sentence."
Pushing to my knees, I place my hands on my hips, and retort, "After last night, are you so sure mine doesn't?"
A large, devious grin spreads across his face. Food forgotten, he stalks back to the bed, tackling me.
Saint
Three days and I still can't get it out of my head. The way she tore away her mask, released her darkest nature, and gave up a piece of her true self to me.
Finding her in the shower the following morning broken and punishing herself awakened a part of me I thought long dead. My chest felt as if someone carved out my heart and lungs, the ache growing and twisting my insides. Her mental break doing enough of a number on me to force out demands I knew she wasn't, isn't, ready for yet. Selfishly worrying she would be lost to a broken mind, or renew her efforts to get away from me, drove me to foolishly expose my plans where she's concerned.
Desperation isn't something I often experience, but when I do it's unpleasant for everyone involved. Having one tiny little woman possess every thought and desire, who stirs a million buried emotions, brings out the primeval male in me.
Well aware of the way I've craved her from the beginning. Now, after watching her come to life and embracing the deepest parts she hides from herself, I want her tied to me by lust, desire, marriage, children, and terrible deeds. But who the fuck tells someone they are going to get them pregnant just to make sure they're tied to you forever? An obsessed man afraid the person he wants most will disappear in a puff of smoke or puddle of blood.
Three days ago, she almost broke mentally. While she still struggles internally, trying to come to terms with this awakening, her sleep has become much less agitated. She's rising from the black pit of regret and shame, wearing them like her own personal armor.
"If you were anyone else…" Jacob says, taking a seat across from my desk.
Leaning back into my leather office chair, I steeple my hands touching the tip of my fingers to my lips.
"I wouldn't have believed it, but…" he starts again, staring, unfocused, at a spot on the desk.
The right corner of my mouth curls.
"You seem to have a hard time finishing sentences," I state.
His eyes snap to mine.
"Russ went down there."
At Jacob's words, all amusement drains from my body. Dropping my hands, I grip the arms of the chair. Every muscle tenses, preparing to stand.
He lifts a hand, palm out. "Stop," his tone makes me pause. "He heard her yell and only went down to make sure you weren't in any danger." A small smile spreads on his mouth. "That boy is more loyal than you deserve," he teases.
Settling back into the chair, I lift one brow.
"When you emerged from the basement…" he hesitates again.
This time I know it's because of the morbid picture Mei and I presented. Our bodies covered in blood and her wrapped around me, we'd emerged like something nightmares and horror stories are made of. The Saint and his Deadly Little Doll.
"Yes?" I press.
Our eyes meet and he confesses, "I thought she… that you may have killed her."
I stiffen at his honesty.
"But then she moved, wrapping tighter around you, holding on like you were the center of her universe." There's awe in his voice that I don't particularly care for. "And once you passed us, she glanced over your shoulder."
Furrowing my brow, I'm impatient for him to get to the point.
"Dante," he licks his lips, "Her eyes were so menacing." He shakes his head. "And that fucking smile..." he swallows hard, and finishes, "I've only seen that once before," he pauses, making sure I'm paying attention. "The day I watched you kill your mother. You wore the same look."
Leaning my elbows to the desk, I glance away from the intensity in his eyes. We haven't spoken of that day since he first came to work for me.
"I don't know if what you unleashed is a good or bad thing. I just hope you can handle it." I don't miss the scolding tone.
"Your concerns are noted," I state, staring off into the shadows of my office.
The moment I enter the living room, finding Mei burrowed into the sofa, her eyes move from the TV to me.
"You won't be going back to the penthouse, so get comfortable here," I order.
"And my chosen prison guards will be?"
Her bold question makes me smile. Moving to the small liquor shelf, I take a tumbler glass in one hand and a bottle of Vodka in the other. I pour half a glass and respond, "They're for your protection."
Turning around, I find Mei watching me from a knelt position on the sofa. Her elbows resting on the top of the back cushions. She pulls her lips to one side and lifts one brow over a disbelieving eye.
"Is that what you tell yourself to feel better about keeping prisoners?"
I step up to the back of the couch, slide my free hand into her hair and fist. Tugging her head back just a bit, I bring the tumbler glass to her mouth. When I press the edge to her lip, she opens and accepts the clear liquor.
"Don't swallow."
Her face scrunches in confusion at my demand.
Taking the glass away, I crush my mouth to hers and drink from her mouth. When I pull back, she sways forward wanting more. I lick my bottom lip and grin around the glass as I finish the last of the Vodka.
Releasing her head, I return the glass to the shelf, turn around, and tell her, "You are free to leave whenever you want."
Her eyes narrow and she voices her skepticism, "What game are you playing now?"
"It's not a game," I admit.
"I'm free?" She asks, adding, "To leave and not come back?"
She pushes off the couch, standing with the large oversized piece of furniture between us. Apprehension flares to life in my veins making me feel overheated and tense.
The silence stretching out between us becoming too much for me to bear, I ask, "Where would you like to go, Mei?" Before she has time to even think, let alone answer, I add, "Back to your apartment where the first doll arrived?" She visibly tenses. "Back to the club where the second doll was delivered?" This time is a noticeable swallow. "Or do you still have plans to hop on a bus and run?"
Fisting her hand at her sides, she lifts her chin defiantly. Fuck, if she isn't a gorgeous contradiction. Small, but deadly. Scared, but fierce. Free, but mine.
"My ticket is exchangeable," she states. "I could —"
"How far do you think you'll get?" My question is harsher than intended, but her just thinking about leaving is enough to provoke my creature.
"From Chicago or from you?" She presses, again reading me too well. I'm not sure when this particular shift in our interactions occurred. Nor am I sure why it doesn't bother me more.
"You already know the answer to that," I say much calmer than I feel.
"Then I'm not exactly free, am I?" She challenges.
Moving around the couch, I stand before her once again.
"Do you want to be free of me?"
Her eyes soften at my question, telling me just how much I've given away.
"It's you who may want to be free of me," she says, looking away.
"You mean free of Dahlia."
She snaps her eyes back to me at the mention of her real name. A mix of fear and concern swirling in them.
Reaching up, I cup her face. "Tell me who he is and it will all go away," I promise.
Pulling away from my touch, she shakes her head.
"Doesn't it bother you how…" she pauses, turning a hard glare on me, "Just how easily I… You have no idea what you're unleashing." Turning away from me, she moves to the French doors, staring outside.
> "Then tell me," my words more demanding now.
Her body shakes and, on a humorless laugh, she says, "I wish I knew."
"Sir?" Jacob appears in the open entry.
Without taking my eyes off her, I answer, "Yes?"
"You have a call," he states.
Moving my eyes to him, I furrow my brow.
"Tell them I'll—"
"You'll want to take this," he insists. "It's…" his eyes shift to Mei and then back to me.
I nod, giving him the okay to speak.
"Angelo."
"Wow, that news traveled quickly," Sketch says, leaning against the frame of the door. "I bet you are on the naughty list now," he teases.
Shooting him a glare only brings a smile to his face.
I glance back to Mei and tell her, "We aren't done with this conversation."
Her body tenses, but she says nothing.
Ending my verbal reprimand with Angelo, I squeeze the phone until I hear it crack. Having basically threatened me for disobedience, he'd ended the call issuing orders. I'm supposed to apologize to Arman's uncle – publicly – and to bring the woman who has me pussy whipped to Felix's upcoming birthday party. Whatever he has planned, I need to figure out and do it quick.
Shouting, I release my pent up rage and frustration. My office door jerks open, Jacob filling the doorway with Sketch on his heels.
Focusing on nothing, I order, "Get Felix."
"On it," Jacob says, ducking out of the room.
"Bad call?" Sketch asks, sarcasm thick.
Snapping my head in his direction, the look I give is enough to wipe the smirk off his face.
"Don't you have research to finish?" I remind him of the information I recently handed over.
Not wanting to share her with anyone, not even something as simple as her name, it had taken until this morning for me to give Sketch Mei's real first name. His victorious grin made me believe it wouldn't take much longer. Soon I would know her past and strip her down to each secret she harbors.
"The searches are running," he says, quickly adding, "It's still not much to go on, but I'm sure we'll get hits soon."
"For your sake, I hope so," I growl, pushing out of my chair and stalking to the neatly lined liquor bottles.
"I'm working with what I've got," he argues.
"You're running out of time," I tell him, giving him my back.
"Time for what?" He presses.
"Next weekend is Felix's birthday celebration," I inform. "Family is expected."
Sketch snorts.
"I'm positive Aunt Rosario would rather drink poison than have me show up," he says around a laugh. "It's almost tempting, just to see how red her face can get. Plus, there is the sick joy I get calling Angelo Uncle Angie."
Turning around, I lock my eyes on him and tell him, "You'll be attending."
"What?" His brow furrows.
"Angelo is up to something."
Taking a seat once again, I motion for him to sit. When he does, I give him a recap of my call and end the conversation with, "So, I'm going to need you there."
"And you're bringing Felix on board." He nods his head toward the door where Jacob left moments ago to track down Felix.
I nod.
"What the fuck is the plan here, Saint?" He runs his hand through his overgrown hair. "You're already pushing Angelo to the edge and bringing me will definitely be another insult. This game is going to get bloodier and I'm still not sure what the ending will be, but I don't want mine to be at the hands of those fucking cunts."
Sketch, the bastard son of Maurizio Bianchi and nephew of Angelo's wife, has plenty of reasons to hate our aunt and uncle. His revenge had been elaborate, sick, and compelling enough for my services to be requested—to erase the black mark on Rosario's family.
"Sir," Jacob enters with quick strides, "Felix." He hands me another burner cell.
Taking the device, I bring it to my ear.
"Things are escalating," I say in place of greeting.
"Well, what the fuck did you expect when you slice and diced Arman?! Christ, Dante, what were you thinking?" He shouts.
"That the asshole touched something that belongs to me," I say, making it clear I regret nothing. "And he was dealt with accordingly."
"Fuck," he exclaims. "You of all people hooking up with a whore."
"Careful, Felix," I warn.
"Did you learn nothing from my situation with Vicky?"
"This is nothing like your penchant for gold digging women who will let you degrade them for your own satisfaction." I keep my tone even, without any emotion.
"Fuck you," he growls. "Don't act like I'm the only one with perverse preferences."
Sighing in frustration, I rub the bridge of my nose. Getting into a pissing match with Felix isn't exactly my goal. And getting into what he thinks are his preferences, because they really aren't. Sure, he gets off on the sexual games he likes to play, but if it was truly his thing he wouldn't be so goddamn miserable with every woman he beds.
"Have you thought about our conversation?" I reroute the conversation.
"Feelers were put out," he confides.
"Really?" His response surprises me. I expected him to think it over, mull on the details, and perhaps do some of his own investigating.
"Don't sound so fucking shocked," he snaps. "I know damn well that your information is thorough. Your little cyber-pet knows his shit."
"I'd like to know where you stand on the obstacle." I don't have to say Angelo for him to know exactly what I'm referring to.
"This isn't going to happen overnight, Dante," he states.
"I realize this."
"Do you?" He presses. "Even if my inquiries draw him out," he refers to Evgeni, "It's a very real possibility that he'll think I'm Angelo's spy or even consider me a lost cause since I belong to this syndicate."
"It's all a significant risk," I admit. "But I can't stand by after all he's done and still doing. We're supposed to be family, in blood and honor."
"And his selfishness and greed have even corrupted the most corrupt of us all," Felix adds, letting me know he understands. "We're all at risk until the obstacle is dealt with."
"Agreed," I say, giving a nod.
My eyes move between Sketch and Jacob before I say, "However," I pause. "I can tell he's planning something for your birthday celebration. I'm not sure, yet, what it is."
I focus on Sketch who nods understanding the silent order I've just given him. Glancing back to Jacob, I watch him straighten to his full height and cross his thick arms over his chest. He may not always approve of the things I do, but the stance he's taken on the matter is clear.
"But I plan to know as much as possible before the party," I finish.
"I'll let you know if anything comes my way," Felix says and then adds, "You know he has loyal followers and this could cause a massive war that splits the family, right?"
"Yes," I admit.
"Alright then," Felix sounds resigned, like he just made his final choice. "I'll see you this weekend and remember I like gifts that give oral."
I toss the phone to the desk.
"He contacted Evgeni?" Sketch asks, eyes wide.
Shaking my head, I explain, "No, made inquiries to draw him out."
"I can't believe Evgeni's never been suspicious. I mean, Felix doesn't exactly resemble the rest of you guys. He has to hold some resemblance to his wife or other family members."
"I never paid much attention until learning the truth and I'm not well versed in the looks of Evgeni's wife or family. Besides, Angelo's a bastard, not stupid. Felix was never really involved with Evgeni. He kept it that way as much as possible. Looking back, I can actually see how well he orchestrated and maneuvered Felix."
His tone disbelieving, he asks, "So, they've never met, at all?"
I shrug, "Maybe once, briefly. I'm called in with most of the international negotiations and I maybe remember once Felix was involved, but Evgeni was barely around. Felix was most
ly involved with our southern associates," I explain.
"The Cartel," Sketch says, unmasking my vague reference.
"Yes," I confirm, releasing a sigh of annoyance, "Until a misunderstanding left his brother a captive."
He nods, remembering the month-long ordeal of getting Cosimo, Felix's brother, back and the missing drug shipment straightened out. Sketch had been a major player in getting Cosimo returned.
A beep pulls Sketch's attention away from the conversation. He takes out his cell phone and taps the screen. When his body stills, I study him.
"We have a hit," he practically purrs.
Pushing out of the chair, he focuses back on the screen of his cell phone.
"It's a hit on a Dahlia Dandry," he says, a broad grin on his face.
A smile of my own starts to form until his eyes snap back to mine. All triumph gone, replaced with shock and disbelief.
Heart racing, I rise from my chair. "What is it?"
"She…" he pauses, rapidly scrolling through his phone.
"She what?" I demand, my patience evaporating into a cloud of annoyance.
Dropping his arms to his sides, his rounded eyes come back to me.
"Dahlia Dandry is the daughter of Gilbert Dandry," he says, like I should know who that is. In a jerk of movement, he hurries to the corner table of computers in the office. Dropping into a rolling chair, he starts tapping away on his laptop.
Furrowing my brow, I focus on the name. It's vaguely familiar. Pressure builds at the base of my skull and a memory lingers at the edges of my mind.
"Who is Gilbert Dandry?" I tense at Jacob's question.
So caught up in this new discovery, I forgot he was in the room.
Moving to Sketch's side, I look down at his laptop, trying to focus on the image he's pulled up. He glances up from the screen, catching the confusion on my face.
Sketch leans back in the chair, shakes his head, and motions to the screen.
"She's the daughter of Gilbert Dandry, otherwise known as The Dollhouse Killer."
Mei
Having not seen or heard from Saint, Sketch, or Jacob, I help myself to the contents of the refrigerator. On a tall stool at the far end of the large kitchen island, I sit on one leg while the other dangles along the side.