"Hmm, what would you recommend," the man asks.
He looks to be in his early twenties, with curly brown hair and dark eyes.
"We have a steak special," I point to the menu, going through my rehearsed lines of praising the food.
"I didn't ask what the special menu was. I asked what you would recommend," he turns his eyes towards me, and the perusal in his gaze makes me slightly uncomfortable.
"I like the steak," I strain a smile.
"Then I'll have the steak," he answers smoothly. And when I take the menu from him, he brushes his hand intentionally across mine.
Almost as if burned, I pull my hand away, still maintaining a pleasant smile.
"Right away," I say as I scurry away.
It's not as if it's the first time that a customer's hit on me. But no matter how many times it happens, I can't help but feel put on the spot, a sliver of panic threatening to overtake me.
Since I no longer have money to buy Xanax without a prescription, and I have no health insurance, I'd had to resort to some cheap alternatives—usually combinations of magnesium and valerian. While not as effective, they help me stay afloat. But there are moments when I feel like passing out, my mind closing up to the outside world and going into overdrive.
It will be a long time until I get used to being on my own and vulnerable—the perfect combination to get me primed for a panic attack.
But I'm tackling it one day at a time. I'm not going to let my issues define me or enslave me to a life of what ifs. Because I've seen how it goes—how living but not really living hurts worse than any panic attack. You're just watching your life pass by you, standing on the sidelines and seemingly unable to interfere.
It's my life. And I need to take the reins.
The shift continues and the man from table five keeps on trying to engage me into conversation.
I do my best to deflect the more personal questions, happy when he finally pays the bill and leaves.
"He was quite taken with you," Marie, one of my coworkers, comments.
"I'm sure he was just being nice."
"Nice? He left you a hundred dollar tip, girl. I want that kind of nice," she laughs.
"I tried to tell him it was too much, but he wouldn't have it." I explain.
"Lara, girl, are you for real? You get a hundred bucks, you don't ask questions. Go get yourself something nice," she winks at me and I give her a smile.
I'd felt a little uncomfortable taking that much money because I didn't want to give him the impression I was beholden to him in any way.
Getting my bag, I exit the restaurant through the back, pulling my hoodie over my head and trying to look as low-key as possible.
I have a small knife in my bag for emergencies, but I hope I won't have to use it. One attempted murder is enough on my conscience—though I wish it had been actual murder.
As I walk towards my apartment block, I can't help but feel that I'm being followed, the shadows playing with me and making me think there's someone behind me.
Turning around, I see a dark figure a few feet away from me and panic takes hold of me. Without even thinking, I start sprinting, running towards my apartment at full speed.
It's in vain, though, as the other person gives chase too.
But just as I think he's going to catch up with me, he stops.
Breathing harshly, I look back, noting there's no one behind me at all.
"Am I going crazy?" I mutter to myself, shaking my head.
I don't linger, though, running the remaining distance and closing myself in my studio, happy to have made it home in one piece.
Damn, but I need to be more careful.
"Isn't this the guy from the other night?" Marie asks me as I put on my uniform. I lean forward to look at the newspaper in her hands, noting that there is a picture of that man.
"Yes. I think so,' I nod.
My eyes widen when I see the headline. His body had been found in a nearby park and he'd been stabbed to death, his hand cut off from his body.
"Good God," I mutter, horrified by what had happened to him. He might have come across as a little creepy, but that is too cruel a death for anyone.
"Poor guy. The police doesn't have any suspects yet either," she shakes her head, pursing her lips.
"I hope they catch whoever did it," I add sympathetically.
That night, when I go back home, I instinctively know something is wrong. I don't even have to turn on the light to realize that someone is inside.
My first thought is that my father's men have found me, and I quickly grab my small knife, ready to fight to the death for my freedom if need be.
But as I click on the light switch, it's to find the one person I didn't expect.
"What are you doing here?" The words tumble out of my mouth, my fingers tightening on the hilt of my knife.
"What does it look like I'm doing, sunshine?"
He turns slightly towards me, and I get a good look at him. There are a few new marks on his face and his nose seems a little crooked to the right. Other than that, though, he looks exactly the same.
"Get out," I tell him when I've managed to recover from my shock.
"No," he replies, standing up to his full height, and I'm once more taken aback by the discrepancies in our sizes.
He could crush me.
A sad smile forms on my lips. He did crush me.
"What are you doing here, Bass? Need to add something more to your revenge? What is it this time?" I raise an eyebrow. "Want another video? A close up porno?" I snicker at him, infuriated by his audacity.
"No," he repeats, coming closer to me.
"Stand back," I wave the knife in front of him. "Or I'll stab you."
"I don't care," he says, continuing to advance towards me.
Those steely eyes of his are watching me with a crazed intensity, and for a second, I can't help the fear that passes through me—but not because he might hurt me. No, the fear is because I might soften towards him. And after everything he did to me, he deserves to rot in hell.
To show him I'm not playing around, I hold on to my stance, watching him approach before I stick the blade in his shoulder.
He doesn't even wince. In fact, there's no expression in his face save for a savageness that seems to be barely contained.
My mouth parts, my eyes wide with shock.
"Stay... stay back," I whisper when I see it didn't affect him as I'd wanted to.
"No."
I step away from him until my back connects with the door and I realize I have no way out. I feel his breath on my skin as he's almost flush against me. Keeping eye contact, he brings his hand up to remove the knife, throwing it to the floor with a thud.
"What did I tell you, sunshine," he tsks at me, his deep voice caressing my senses.
I turn my head away, not wanting to lose myself in his hypnotizing gaze.
"You're mine. You were mine from the beginning. And I. Don't. Share." He enunciates each word, taking a strand of my hair and bringing it to his nose, inhaling.
He looks almost feral as he studies me, his nostrils flaring, his breath coming in short spurts.
I feel entranced as I look at him, and for a second I feel rooted to the spot as I lose myself in his gaze. It's invitation enough for him to bring his mouth to mine.
His hand on my nape, he holds me captive as he seeks to ravage my mouth, his teeth nibbling at my lips and urging them to open up for him.
I push my hands against his shoulders, trying to get him to release me. But he's unyielding in his attempt to get me to submit.
My body is flush against his, and I feel him hard and ready against my stomach. It should make me sick. It should make me turn away and run. But if anything, it reminds me of the ephemeral happiness I found in his arms.
And just as that melancholy seeps into my body, my mouth softening against his, I'm also reminded of his perfidy and the way he'd sold me out, causing me such immense pain I'm still reeling from that hurt
.
So my struggle begins anew as I bite and claw at him, trying to get him to release me. Clamping my teeth down on his lip, I'm happy to feel his blood hit my tongue—evidence I'd bit hard enough. Still, he doesn't let go. No, he only leans back, watching me with hooded eyes.
"That's it, sunshine, hate me!" he rasps, his tongue peeking out to lick the blood from his lip. "Hate me, and take out on me all that anger you have inside," he takes my hand and brings it to his cheek, making me slap him.
Wide eyed, I watch as he folds my fingers in a punch, telling me to hit him.
"What... I'm not going to hit you," I mumble, shocked he'd resort to something like this.
"Do it! Make me hurt as much as you did. Because I know you did, sunshine. I know I bruised that beautiful heart in your chest and I'd do anything to soothe it," he looks so lost, his eyes two empty circles as he keeps hitting himself with my hand.
"Stop it, Bass. This won't solve anything," I say softly.
"Yes, it will. Fucking hit me, Gianna. Hate me, hurt me, fucking destroy me," he breathes harshly, "do whatever you want to me but understand you're mine. And I'll never let you go."
"You're insane," I shake my head at him.
"No. I'm desperate," he simply states.
His hand comes to rest against my neck, his thumb propped against my jaw as he tips it up so I'm looking straight into his eyes—witnessing the pure madness that seems to have made its home there.
"You might hate me. You might despise me. But I'm never letting go. And know this," he takes a deep breath, "you let any man touch you and they're fucking dead," he threatens.
"So that's it? You're just going to stalk me forever and kill anyone I come into contact with?" I ask, my voice unflinching.
"Damn right," he all but growls. "You're not getting rid of me. Ever."
"Really?" I roll my eyes at him. "See, that's your problem right here," I jab my finger into his chest, focusing on the area I'd injured earlier. "You were all too willing to believe I was a slut slumming it with just about everyone. But the moment you find you were the first to plow the field you turn all caveman on me. It doesn't work like that, Bass."
"Plow the field?" He repeats, amused.
"Sure, laugh about it. It doesn't erase the fact that you're a fucking hypocrite. I'm yours now, but what about before?"
"You were mine from the very beginning sunshine. Don't even think otherwise. I admit I messed up because I was too fucking jealous to see straight..."
"No," I interrupt him, my tone brisk. "You had your chance, Bass," I tell him, my expression serious. "And you blew it." I shrug. "You have absolutely no claim on me. Not after what you did."
"That's where you're wrong, Gianna. Did I fuck it up? Yes. I fucked everything up, and believe me that I know exactly what I lost. But I'm not giving you up. Not while I'm alive."
His fingers move up my jaw, slowly caressing it. His touch brings back memories—of tenderness, of love, but also of humiliation and deep betrayal.
"Stop touching me," I hiss.
"I told you, sunshine," he leans in, his lips hovering over mine. And as I quickly turn, I feel him smirk against me. "I'm the only one who's ever going to touch you."
"We said our goodbyes, Bass. Please just leave me alone," I take a deep breath as I say it, trying to maintain my calm. Because while I still feel something for him—my heart beating wildly in my chest at his proximity being proof—I can't trust him.
That's the crux of the issue.
He hurt me worse than anyone's ever hurt me. Because with others I'd expected betrayal at every corner. But with him? He'd been the only one I'd let my guard down with and he'd fucked me over.
"Why? So you can find that forever love with some polished little shit? That's what you want, don't you?" He grits the words, his fingers back on my chin as he forces me to look at him.
"So what if I want that? I think I deserve it after everything I've been through. I deserve someone who will never hurt me. Someone who will love me unconditionally. Yes. I want the forever type of love, and I will find it."
"Look no further, sunshine," he smirks and I roll my eyes at him.
But before I can reply, he's suddenly serious again.
"If you think to let another man as much as brush his hand against yours, I'll fucking chop it off. And next time I'll bring it to you in a box, just so you see I'm not playing around."
"Next time?" I frown, but he just lets his lips curl up in a satisfied smile.
"One already down," he whispers against my ear.
Then I remember the article. The man from the restaurant had had his hand chopped off.
"You..." I trail off, unable to understand him. "Why? Why are you doing this to me?" I ask softly, tired of heartache and tired of pain. "Why can't you just leave me be?" Tears coat my lashes as I look into his eyes.
"I just want to not hurt anymore," I continue. "Why can't you give me at least that?"
"Because I can't," he rasps against me, burying his face in the crook of my neck. I feel his breath on my skin, his lips almost touching my collarbone.
Goosebumps erupt all over my skin as I hold myself still. But the proximity is too much. My body is starved for him just like my heart is starved for love—so much so it's still looking in the wrong place for it.
"I can't let you go, Gianna. I can never let you go." He pauses, the heat of his frame engulfing me and cocooning me in a protective layer. "I love you, sunshine. I'm so fucking in love with you I can't function if I'm away from you. I'm fucking gone for you..."
"Bass..."
"No, listen to me." He shushes me. "I know I fucked up massively. I know I broke your trust and your heart, and sunshine, it's been killing me inside. That day, I was ready to let your father's men kill me. I thought I could maybe pay for what I did to you with my life. But I didn't die," a sad smile spreads across his lips. "You didn't let me die. I don't care that you used me. I don't care that you had an ulterior motive. But you didn't let me die. And because of that, you're stuck with me."
"Really?" I raise an eyebrow at him. "What about your family? What do they think of this sudden change of heart you had?"
His family would never let him be with a Guerra. And from what I'd learned about Bass' real identity, he's nothing but loyal to his family.
"I don't care," he shrugs. "I stopped caring about them the moment they deliberately manipulated me into destroying myself."
Seeing my frown, he clarifies. "I renounced them."
"But you can't... It doesn't work like that." I add, a little flabbergasted at his claim.
"It did this time," he assures me. "I cut ties with them completely," he adds vaguely, without explaining how.
"Why?" I whisper.
Because I know men like him. I grew up with them. Their loyalty to the don is their entire identity. They would never willingly betray or leave the famiglia. And especially not someone like Bass. It's in his blood. He's a true DeVille and that means he was born and reared to do this.
"You don't know?" He asks, his eyes fixed on mine.
I shake my head.
"Because I can only choose one. You or the famiglia." He pauses and I can feel the intensity rolling off him. "And I chose you."
I'm simply stunned. That's the only way I could describe what I'm feeling when he utters those words.
"Bass," I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. "You hurt me. You betrayed me. And you think you can just force your way into my life? I don't think I can ever trust you again."
"I know." He nods, surprising me again with his easy acquiesce. "And I'll work for it. I'll show you that you can trust me again, and I'll show you just how much I love you, sunshine. Just... give me the chance to prove to you that it was a stupid mistake. Please," he rasps, looking as if he's in physical pain.
I shake my head, my own mind filled with jumbled thoughts.
"I'll be good," he continues. "I'll be fucking good to you sunshine. This time it's only us. Just you and I
. No more family rivalries. No more stupid revenge. No more lies."
His hand comes to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing over my lips.
"Just us," he repeats.
"I..." I trail off as I look into his eyes, recognizing the sincerity in them. Still, my heart is too wary, too raw from the last betrayal. "How will I know it's not another elaborate scheme? That you won't hand me to your family just to twist the knife further into the wound?"
He scowls at my words.
"I would never do that," he grits. "I'd never do anything to hurt you, sunshine. Not again."
Silence descends as we just stare at each other, our breaths coming in short spurts, the beats of our hearts seemingly in unison as thump after thump resounds in the air.
"Give me time. Space. I can't forgive you, Bass. I don't know if I ever will," I breathe out, surprised at my own words.
"I'll give you all the time you need, sunshine. Just... I need to be close to you. I need to know you're fine. I... fuck," he curses, and for a moment I get a glimpse into a hidden vulnerability. "I can't be without you. I just can't. This past month's been pure hell. I've been near, but not near enough and it's been fucking with my head. I feel like I'm on the brink of collapse..." he shakes his head. "Just let me protect you."
My brows shoot up at his request.
"Protect me?"
"Not from the shadows like before," he says and it dawns on me that he's been the one following me around all this time. My intuition had been on point. "I need to be by your side."
I blink away the wetness in my lashes, not wanting to give away how much his words affect me.
"You need to leave, Bass," I tell him firmly, pushing against him and heading towards the kitchen counter. The space seems to help clear my head a little, even though my heart is still beating wildly in my chest, the desire to nestle into his arms too overwhelming.
"This isn't giving me space," I motion to him coming into my personal space and messing with my head. "You may try to prove to me that you're sincere, but not by stifling me, or by being an overbearing boor."
His expression falls, his hands balled into fists by his side.
"I'm finally free, Bass. I'm finally living on my own terms. And I'm not about to let anyone take that away from me."
Frivolous: A DARK MAFIA AGE-GAP ROMANCE Page 29