by Mariano, Sam
We lie on the bed in the aftermath, my pillow growing damper by the moment, the luxurious sheets wet from the sheen of sweat that developed while he fucked me or the clean spray from the shower, I’m not sure. I try to brush off the lingering sense of guilt that I went along with all that, that I comforted the monster who murdered Declan when I should have let him suffer. I grasp for several defensive arguments to feed my conscience, but it’s fed up and sickened, disinterested in my lies.
I saw him hurting, and I wanted to make it stop. The end.
I hope selfishly that there is no afterlife, that Declan’s ghost isn’t standing at the foot of the bed, absolutely disgusted that he lost his life over me.
Before I can sink any deeper into self-loathing, I turn my head to look at Dante and focus on his pain. “Wanna tell me what happened?”
He looks more in control than he was a few minutes ago. Shaking his head, he counters, “Want to tell me why you’re feeling guilty?”
My eyes widen in surprise. I haven’t said a word to him about my conflicted feelings and I thought I was doing a decent job at masking my own distress while trying to help him with his. “What?”
“What?” he mocks, before rolling his eyes. “Don’t waste both our time with that bullshit. Tell me what’s wrong.”
I didn’t expect him to call me on it. I have to fight the urge to roll away from him and shut him out. I’d prefer to turn the focus onto his thing. “Nothing new. Tell me what’s up with you.”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. He stares up at the high ceiling, pensive but quiet. “My dad’s dead.”
My eyes widen. “What? When?”
His lips curve down as he shrugs his shoulder. “Mateo didn’t specify. Just told me he’s dead and we have to plan a funeral.”
“Was it his illness?” I ask gingerly, realizing I’m not even sure exactly what illness he had. Something terminal, maybe cancer?
“I don’t know. I was caught off guard, I didn’t even ask. He seemed good last time I saw him. Better than he has been, even. He seemed like things were looking up, you know?”
I nod my head sympathetically.
Dante shakes his head. “But now he’s just… gone.”
Wrapping my arms around him and snuggling up against his side, I tell him, “I’m so sorry, Dante. I don’t even know what to say.”
“My brother’s dead, too. Family members are dropping like flies, apparently.”
I blink in mild surprise, since none of Dante’s brothers are old. Clearly he’s not referring to Mateo since it was Mateo who delivered the news of his father’s death. “Alec or Joey?”
“Joey. Apparently he was behind the shot taken at Mateo. That’s what Mateo says, anyway.”
“You don’t believe him?”
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Dante states. “Joey didn’t hate Mateo and he wasn’t ambitious, so what did he have to gain by taking Mateo out? I take over the family, nothing changes for Joey.”
“Who does it change for?”
“Well, me.”
That’s obvious, but somehow I didn’t think of it until Dante spelled it out. Fear lances me at the thought of Mateo considering Dante a legitimate threat. “Mateo doesn’t think you had anything to do with that, does he?”
“I don’t fucking know,” he says, tiredly. “I don’t think so, but who knows what Mateo thinks. He was definitely holding something back, I could feel it. He’s not a fucking moron, so he knows as well as I do that it doesn’t make sense for Joey to try to get him killed. As paranoid as he is, I don’t understand why he’s so sure it was Joey and not Vince.”
“Why would it be Vince? Why would he want Mateo dead?”
“Mateo fucked Mia a while back. Kid’s resentful about it. He’s always been a hot-head and he just so happens to be Joey’s best friend, so you tell me how it makes sense that Joey—the biggest fucking slacker in the family—took it upon himself to get rid of Mateo, and Vince—the only one of us Mateo has been fucking with lately—wasn’t even involved.”
It doesn’t. And Mateo is among the most intelligent men I’ve ever encountered, not to mention the most paranoid of threats around him, so it doesn’t add up that he wouldn’t notice. “Is something distracting him?” I ask Dante.
“That fucking girl,” Dante says, shaking his head.
“Meg?”
“Mia. Meg’s a smoke screen. I don’t know what he’s doing with her, but it’s Mia he’s interested in. I don’t know if he’s literally blinded by her and can’t see what’s right in front of his face, or…” His voice trails off with a hint of dread, like he doesn’t want to consider it might be whatever else he’s thinking.
“Or what?” I ask, curious as an ill-fated cat.
His voice hardens. “Or he does know, and he’s letting it go for her.”
“You hate that idea,” I surmise.
“It’s not good. Doesn’t bode well. When Mateo’s in control of himself he’s fine, but when he falls in love, he can do some stupid shit. Look at Beth. That bitch could have knocked our whole family down like a line of dominos, and all because he fucking trusted her and didn’t see what she was doing. I’m getting the impression he trusts Mia, and he knows better now. He knows you can’t fucking trust anyone but family in this life.”
Those words surprisingly hurt, and it takes me a minute to understand why. Dante always trusted me, and to hear him say that now, to hear the cynicism in his voice, his disapproval at the idea of his brother falling in love again… I put it there.
Despite how wrong his response was, despite the chaos he has wrought and pain he has caused, I have to acknowledge that I caused some, too.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I tell him, softly. “It’s not always a mistake to trust someone, and it’s hard to give your heart to someone you don’t fully trust. If I damaged your ability to trust, I guess I can see why you didn’t fall in love again after I left.”
“I didn’t fall in love again because I never fell out of love with you, and you can’t be in love with two people at once. Well, I can’t. I guess you managed it.”
He doesn’t bother hiding his disdain, but I can see right through to the hurt underneath. I’m sure I’ll regret saying this as soon as it’s out there, but whatever lapse in judgment I’m currently experiencing, I can’t help telling the truth. “I wasn’t… in love. I mean, I loved Declan, but it was nothing like what I felt for you. He was safe and comfortable and couldn’t hurt me if he tried; it was nice to feel that way after the intensity of us. I didn’t really want to find that again with anyone else. When I left, I was looking for something completely different. I never tried to replace you, Dante. I knew that would be impossible.”
His eyes lock with mine and we just lie there for a moment, looking at one another. After a minute, he rolls onto his side so he can lean closer to me, then his massive hand cradles my face and he pulls me in for a kiss. This one isn’t brutal or aggressive, it’s not an act of jealousy or a stamp of possession. It’s tender and soft, his lips caressing mine gently, lovingly. I get the impression if I pushed him away right now he’d let me, but I don’t want to. Kisses like this one are rare from Dante, they were even back when we were together and things between us were magnificent.
Normally it’s the hard, possessive kisses that get my heart pumping, the ones that convey without words that he owns me, body and soul. But this soft, sweet kiss gets my heart racing for another reason entirely; it feels like asking instead of demanding. It feels like he’s coaxing my heart back into his hands. I don’t have a choice in the matter, but it’s not because he isn’t giving me one this time. It’s because I can’t say no. It’s because no matter how awful the things he has done are, some part of me doesn’t want to. The temptation to sink back into him and let him obliterate every legitimate objection I have is strong, and although he’s the one who started the kiss, I’m the one who rolls closer into his embrace. I’m the one who won’t let go.
W
ith his free hand, he reaches down and spreads my legs. I open them willingly, then lock them around him as he moves on top of me. He reaches down to guide himself inside me and I sigh with relief, closing my eyes and pulling him closer.
His sensual lips brush my cheeks, the tip of my nose, my eyelid, then he presses them against my forehead. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore,” he says quietly.
Neither do I. The words get stuck in my throat, though. I don’t know if I’m not there yet or I just don’t want to be. I don’t want to desert Declan’s memory or accept the horrible things Dante has done. I desperately want him, but I can’t let myself have him. I just can’t.
“Just forgive me,” he says, causing my stomach to plummet and my eyes to open.
Looking directly into his dark eyes as he moves inside me, I ask, “Is that an apology?”
“No,” he tells me, not breaking my gaze. “I’m not sorry for what I did. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I’d kill him with my bare hands. I would never let you marry another man, Colette. You know that. I am sorry it hurt you, though. I’m sorry I let you leave in the first place.”
Tilting my neck as he moves to start kissing it, I murmur, “That was a terrible apology.”
“I can apologize for the things I’m actually sorry for, Colette, nothing more.” He leaves a trail of aroused senses as he drags his lips up the sensitive column of my neck. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’ll always be sorry for that. But I’m not sorry I killed the asshole who took what was mine. I’ll never be sorry for that, and if you need me to be, you’re always gonna be disappointed.”
I sigh, torn between loyalties. It’s shameful, but I’m sorely tempted to give up my ground and come back to the dark side. What Dante did to Declan was terrible, particularly if I’m looking at it like an outsider, but if I look at things from his perspective, it looks much different. It’s clear now that regardless of how crazily inaccurate it is, Dante views my relationship with Declan as a betrayal. To him, I may as well have cheated, because once I promised myself to Dante, it was a binding contract, whether I physically left the relationship or not. I know he never would have, but if Dante had ever cheated on me, I would have wanted blood, too, and I’m not even a violent person. If I looked at some strange woman and saw her as the obstacle between myself and Dante when we were together, I would have been able to stop looking at her like a person long enough to do something horrible to her. Not that I ever had a real reason to be, but Dante and I have always been intensely territorial over one another, and how dare anyone else touch what belonged to me.
I would have felt that way, and I grew up like a normal human being. Dante grew up in a crime family where they take what they want without apology. It’s in his nature to do what he did, and if I had realized how deeply he loved me, how attached he really was even after I had left, I would have known that.
Maybe he’s bad, but he’s not entirely to blame in this. I should have known better.
“Can you at least promise you would never do anything like this again?”
Dante’s lips drift away from my skin long enough for him to make eye contact. “Only if you never give me another reason to.”
I swallow uneasily, holding his gaze. “That sounds an awful lot like you want a commitment.”
Dante’s lips curve up in faint amusement. “You’re committed to me whether you want to be or not, beautiful. All you gotta do is accept it and no one else has to get hurt.”
I shake my head as I snake a hand up to caress the strong curve of his jaw. “You’re a bad man.”
Dante shrugs, unconcerned.
“When I was younger, I didn’t really think about what that meant, but now…”
He gives me a moment to finish my thought, and when I don’t he prods, “Now, what?”
Meeting his gaze, I ask, “Does loving you make me a bad person, too?”
Dante catches my wrist, his long fingers curling around it like a shackle. “Better question. Who cares? Who do you have to answer to but me?”
A reluctant smile pulls at my lips. “I like how you added that in there.”
“You’re worrying about shit that’s irrelevant to us, Colette. Who gives a fuck what anyone else thinks about it? This is our life, no one else’s.”
“I know, but…”
“But nothing.” He drops tender kisses to my restrained hand, telling me, “I’m yours and you’re mine. Nothing else matters.”
Declan mattered. I’m tempted to utter the verboten words, but I don’t want to rile Dante up again. Rather than stoke that fire, I keep my mouth shut and let myself enjoy this rare pocket of tenderness.
24
Dante
“Well, this is morbid.”
I glance over at my brother in his black suit and crisp black dress shirt—outwardly, the picture of mourning, but we’re standing here picking out our dead father’s casket and his tone is fucking light as can be.
Making it worse, he adds, “If you wanted to spend more quality time together, you could’ve just joined us for a drink in my study.”
“It’s not fucking funny,” I snap, glaring at him.
Our younger brother Alec attempts to intervene, pointing to a sleek brown and white casket open in front of us. Addressing the salesman lingering nearby rather than us, he asks, “We don’t have to get this hokey embroidering on the interior part, do we?”
The old man looks perplexed at being told his ornate gold embroidering of a cross and a loving inscription is hokey. “Most people like the opportunity to share a few last words about their departed loved one.”
“And I’m telling you we don’t,” Alec throws back easily. “Can you knock off a few dollars if we nix the embroidery?”
My jaw locks and my fists curl until my knuckles are surely white. “Who fucking cares about a few dollars?” I murmur. It’s bad enough Mateo skipped the top of the line models and brought us to the middle of the road casket instead. More than any of us, Mateo has money to burn. It wouldn’t kill him to at least put up a pretense of honoring our father by ensuring he has a burial appropriate for a man of his stature.
Alec shrugs. “We’re just gonna bury it in the ground, why not save a few bucks?”
“I’d bury him in a cardboard box pissed on by a homeless man if I could get away with it,” Mateo offers.
Losing my cool, I burst out with, “What the fuck is wrong with you two?”
The old, rotund salesman jumps at the sound of my raised voice. He quickly looks between the three of us, then tells us he’s going to give us a minute to look and hauls ass away from where we’re standing.
“He was our father,” I remind them. “Regardless of anything else, the man was our father. Show a little fucking respect.”
“We’d show respect if he deserved any,” Mateo says, meeting my gaze.
“Yeah?” I ask, my eyebrows rising. “I think a lot of people will feel the same way about you when it’s your turn. You want people to bury you in a fucking pissed on cardboard box? Or you want to be buried like a boss deserves to be?”
His brow flickers for just a split second before he clears it and resumes looking at the caskets, but I think he gets my point.
“All right, let’s…” Alec trails off, sighs, then glances between us. “Fuck it. It doesn’t matter. Let’s just go look at the nice ones. What’s another thousand dollars? I’ll pay for it myself, if it’s that big a deal. This isn’t worth you two fighting.”
I straighten my jacket and roll out my shoulders. I can feel the need to hit something moving through my veins, but this is neither the time or the place. Last thing we need is the cops called on us—not because we’re fucking criminals, but because my brother and I can’t even do one simple, civilian task without it ending in violence.
“I think he would’ve liked the gray one,” I state, trying to keep cool as Mateo and I start to follow Alec over to the nicer caskets.
“It doesn’t have any of that bullshit embroidery, eit
her,” Alec says with approval, as if the unimportant stitching is some kind of dealbreaker for him.
“You two can pick, I don’t care what we get,” Mateo states.
“Yeah, we know you don’t,” I tell him, making my opinion clear with the way I’m looking at him.
“Don’t worry, I’ll pay,” he says with a faintly snide half-smile.
“Don’t fucking hurt yourself,” I mutter.
“This is fun. I don’t know why we don’t do this brother thing more often,” Alec states sarcastically.
“At least we’ll never have to do it again. We don’t have any more parents to bury, thanks to the man Dante insists we should mourn,” Mateo states.
Alec sighs. “That was rhetorical. All right, I’m calling it. Let’s go tell this guy we want the gray one so we can get the fuck out of here.”
“Maybe on our way home, we should stop along the roadside and collect some dandelions to scatter across the casket,” I say, scathingly.
Mateo’s lips curve up faintly. “Your captive girlfriend is a florist. I assumed she would take care of the flowers.”
“You paying for it?” I ask.
“Of course. I’m always happy to support Colette.”
He says it just to piss me off, I know he does. My hands fist again and Alec steps between us this time, breaking our eye contact on the way to fetch the salesman.
“You two don’t kill each other, all right? I’m not trying to shop for a second casket.”
Once Alec walks away, I tell my older brother, “Watch it, Mateo. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today.”
At that, he laughs, like he finds me so fucking harmless. I’m ready to punch him in the goddamn face, but before I can, he knocks me for a loop, asking, “Why was Mia at your house?”
It’s such a hard turn, he knocks the wind out of my sails. “What?” I ask, completely baffled.
Mateo sighs. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Dante.”