“Drop him off at the vet before Ma’s.” Everyone in my family knows someone. My vet was a wonderful addition to my contacts. If you can cremate a hundred and fifty pound dog, you can cremate a hundred and fifty pound corpse.
“You really wanna push it? You know your Ma hates it when you’re late.” Johnny talks while he wipes up the blood. I flip the scrawny bastard over and pull him by his feet away from the mess.
I don’t answer Johnny. I’m always fucking late. She’d be surprised if I showed up on time. I stare at the rag in Johnny’s hand that's soaking up the blood. Damn, it’s a lot of blood. Never gets old. I stand up from the dead bastard and head back to the bar for a drink. Our glasses are somewhere else, but there’s plenty of new ones to fill. And plenty of liquor to fill them with.
This is why I’m the bookie in the family. I didn’t really want to be a part of this shit. But with a name like Valetti, this shit tracks you down. “Yours is up here when you’re ready, Johnny.” As soon as I set my glass down, there’s a knock at the door. Fucking perfect.
I walk over to Johnny and pick up Marco’s legs while he gets his upper body. This fucker looks small, but his dead, limp body is fucking heavy. We’ll dump him in the corner for now. I take a look at Johnny and straighten his jacket.
“You look good, just wipe your face,” I tell him and return to my glass.
“Uh, Dom?” Johnny asks while another knock echoes through the suite.
“What?” I tilt my chin to the door. After that shit, I’m not opening it. I smirk at the thought.
Johnny motions to his hips while looking at mine. I take a glance down. “Fuck!” Motherfucker; fucking Marco ruined my Brioni suit. It cost more than that dumb fuck had in the bank. I look over to his carcass slumped in the corner of the room behind the pool table as Johnny opens the door. With one hand positioned firmly on the butt of my gun, and the other on my drink, I'm listening but I keep my eyes on the dead body in the room.
I’m vaguely aware of the transaction as the pit in my stomach sinks and blood rushes in my ears as their voices turn to white noise. I fucking hate that I was born a Valetti. But it’s sure as shit better than being born Marco.
Becca
The car door shuts as Sarah gets out of the car. It closes lightly. I’m surprised the fucking light isn’t flashing to tell me it’s not closed all the way. Too gentle. Sarah is too gentle, too nice. We spent most of the car ride in silence. She kept opening her mouth like she was going to say something, but never did. What is she really going to say?
I swallow the lump in my throat and dig through the console for some tissues. I swear to God if his cum has leaked onto this dress I’m going to be mortified. I don’t have a change of clothes, and it’s not like I can just hide in the car. It’s Jax’s first game of the season. He may only be three and never remember this, but I will.
I close my eyes and wipe myself, feeling like a dirty slut. I’ve only ever been with one man. Rick the prick, as I’d recently started calling him. Until he died, anyway. I shake my head and shove the used tissue into the leftover paper bag from Dunkin' Donuts this morning. I crumple up the bag and toss it onto the passenger’s seat. Taking a few deep breaths, I open my door and slide out of my seat. No one knows. I keep repeating that to myself as I turn my head to take a look at the back of my dress. Thank fuck there’s no mark. Honestly, they’d probably believe I sneezed and pissed myself a bit over me actually having had sex with… him. Tears well up again, and my throat closes. I don’t even know his fucking name.
I start walking along the tree line, looking over at the soccer fields. A loud whistle blows through the air and practically scratches my eardrums like nails on a chalkboard. I wince and rub my temples. Jax is at the very last field. Fuck these heels. I feel like a damn moron walking in heels on grass. I nearly topple over pulling one off, but the second is easier. I shake out my fears and anxiety; no one knows.
My heart clenches in pain once again. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it. I can’t say I never fantasized about being taken like that. Ruthlessly. Being devoured by a man consumed with lust. My cheeks heat with a violent blush. I need to get my shit together. I can’t let these bitches smell any blood in the water.
“You’re late, Becca,” Cynthia says in a singsong voice, but there’s a ring of disdain on the end. I hope she’s fucking burning up in that strawberry tweed Chanel skirt suit. Her blonde hair is in a perfect bun, showing off her too fucking large diamond earrings. She’s a picture-perfect housewife. The kind of twig who doesn’t even finish all of her salad and knows exactly how everything is supposed to be done and doesn’t mind chiming in to correct others constantly. Yeah, she’s what Rick thought he was getting when he married me. Fuck her.
My eyes drop to her heels. All the moms are wearing heels even though they’re digging slightly into the dirt. I don’t know how they don’t fall down on their asses. I tossed my pumps into my bag, and now I’m walking barefoot. As I come up next to them, their lips turn down in frowns. Zero fucks given.
“I had an errand to run. How are our boys doing?” I give her the same fake smile she’s giving me before turning to face the field.
“They really need to step up their defense. How is Marshal ever going to score when the defense is this poor?”
They’re three years old, for fuck’s sake. I don’t even try to hide my eye roll, not that she would see anyway since now she’s texting away on her phone.
I spot Jax running after a boy who’s kicking the ball. I pray to God he doesn’t just push the kid over and pick up the ball with his hands. Rick and I decided it would be good to get him into sports early. One sport, one language, one instrument. But for fuck’s sake, he’s only three. I am glad I got him into sports to work off some of that excess energy, but these people drive me up the damn wall. I didn’t come from daddy’s money like these other women. I worked hard to get my restaurant up and running. I put everything I had in me into this industry. It took ten years to get to this point, and at thirty-one I’m the proud owner of an award-winning Italian bistro.
Jax kicks the ball, thankfully misses the kid, and runs down the field. “Go Jax!” I can’t help screaming excitedly and hopping up and down on the balls of my feet. My voice gets the attention of the other moms. I see them smirk and look at each other from the corner of my eye, but I learned to ignore them early on. Mommy playgroups are cutthroat in this social group. I know they talk shit about me. That they defended Rick cheating on me because I work too much, and didn’t make enough one-on-one time for the two of us. But they’d be fucking stupid to say that shit to my face.
The thought of Rick hits me hard. My chest hurts, and my heart twists in agony. He may have been an asshole of a husband who was going to try to get every cent from me that he could in our divorce, and try to take my baby away from me, but he was also the father of my baby boy. I smile weakly watching Jax in his little black and blue striped jersey. Number three, because that was Daddy’s number. Tears well up in my eyes, and my throat closes as a bastard lump forms. I shake my head and try to think about happy times.