Other than me. I was, in fact, truly fucked today. I turn off the water and step out. The bathroom is chillier than I like it to be, but it was a quick shower. I grab a towel and quickly dry off. I need to get to bed. I take out my face moisturizer and the serum for my hair and apply both. As I shut the cabinet, I catch sight of the spot where my birth control should be. I haven’t had any for months.
Thank God I took the morning-after pill. And just like that, every bit of desire and heat leaves me. I don’t have time for fantasies. I don’t have time to indulge in something that would destroy the small piece of me that survived Rick.
I huff and throw on a nightshirt to quickly get into bed. Today was a one-off. Whatever I did today – I shake my head with my eyes closed – it doesn’t count. Sarah will never mention it again. I wish she hadn’t been there. I wish she hadn’t seen me after that. After him. Fuck, the thought of him lights every nerve ending in my core aflame. FUCK!
I bury my head into the pillow and try to forget the shameful desire burning deep down in my core. It only takes the thought of him closing the door on me without a second look to shut down my longing. What a fucking prick. He may be hot and powerful and he may have fucked me like he owns me, but he’s still an asshole. All men are fucking assholes.
It’s wrong to want a man like him. But I can’t lie to myself; I really fucking want him.
Dom
“So tell me what you know about her.” I question Tony as soon as I get him alone. De Luca’s fucked. He’s been fucked. We gotta keep our heads low. Yada yada. Same shit as last week. Motherfucker came for me; I took care of it. Pops is proud, and he’s sending a message. Beyond that, I don’t want a damn thing to do with this shit.
Back to making bets and hunting down my doll. Just thinking about her owing me makes my dick grow rigid. I shift my weight to cover it up, waiting for Tony to get all the info on the iPad. He takes that thing everywhere. I don’t really like the idea, even if it is password protected and encrypted. I told Pops, I told everyone. Apparently this technology is fine, and it doesn’t have everything on it. Still, I don’t like having a device with any information on it pertaining to the business.
I have to admit though, when he hands it over to me and my doll’s picture looks back at me, suddenly I don’t really give a fuck about the iPad. I read the description and go through the photos.
Rebecca Lynn Harrison. Maiden name: Bartley.
Thirty-one years old. Birthday: January 2nd 1985.
Widow to Richard Francis Harrison. Married: December 14th 2011.
Died of heart attack at thirty-four years old. Birthday: May 12th 1982.
Mother to Jax Liam Harrison.
Three years old. Birthday: April 5th 2013.
My jaw tics as I read that part about a son. Kids complicate shit. I can’t just keep her to myself whenever I want and expect her to submit without any question.
Owner of Marcello’s Italian Bistro.
127 Pattinsons Plaza. Value: Two million.
Owner of two-story family home in Harmony Place.
42 Hills Lane. Value: 600,000.
Recent Legal Action
Divorce and distribution of assets – dismissed
Questions regarding custody – also dismissed
“What the fuck is this about?” Anger rises in my chest. Is she not a good mother? I won’t fuck with someone who doesn’t take care of their own. That’s not the kind of woman I want.
“Her husband was a piece of shit. I’ve got his info on there, too.” He motions to the iPad, and I suck in a deep breath.
I scroll past a few pictures of my doll in front of her restaurant. Marcello’s Italian Bistro. I’ll have to see about that. I doubt her meatballs are as good as Ma’s. I smirk, taking in the façade of the restaurant. I’ve never been there; never even heard of it. We have our own upscale bistro. But the people who come to us are looking for an experience, not necessarily our food. It’s not like Pops isn’t known as the head of the mafia. The cops have been on him throughout the years, but they’ve never been able to get anything to stick. The papers crucify him any time there’s bloodshed in the streets. Most of the time it’s got nothing to do with us though. Sometimes it’s deserved, but it’s a rare day the papers get their information right.
So when people come into our bistro, they’re hoping to see some shit from the Sopranos or something. The thought makes me chuckle. I stare at the picture of her restaurant. Of Rebecca’s restaurant. I like that name. Rebecca. It feels good on my tongue. It looks like a nice place. I bet it’s decent inside. But Italian? Real Italian? Nah, I doubt it. I smirk and keep scrolling. I’ll have to go in and find out for myself.
I stop on a picture of her holding a little boy in her arms. He must be her son. I look past the kitchen doorway to the den and take a peek at Gino.
“What’s Gino now? Is he three?” I ask him as I lean against the granite countertops.
He shrugs as he says, “No clue, Dom.”
“Ma!” I yell through the kitchen to the dining room where her and Jessica are having a cup of tea. I know I’m interrupting them, but Ma won’t mind.
She walks to the doorway with her hands on her hips and her lips pursed. “Why do you have to yell, Dom? Huh? You can’t just walk into the room like a normal person?”
“Sorry Ma, just wanted to know how old Gino is.”
“He’ll be three in June.” She narrows her eyes at me and says, “Why are you asking?”
I shrug as I reply, “No reason.” I don’t lie to my Ma, not ever. But of course the one time I do, she sees right through me. I guess I don’t lie 'cause I’m a shitty liar. Her eyes focus on the iPad in my hands. “Not now, Ma,” I warn her. Her lips part and she takes a step back, giving me a look of disappointment.
“I wanna see, Dominic.” She puts one hand on her hip, and the other is palm up, extended in front of her. Fuck me.
“Ma. It’s just a girl; she doesn’t even know me.” Well, she kind of knows me, in the biblical sense, but Ma doesn’t need to hear that.
“There’s a lot of broads out there, Dom,” Pops says as he comes up from behind me and takes the iPad out of my hand. He’s the only one in here I’d let get away with that shit. He chuckles. “You always go for the challenge, don’t you? You can’t be happy with a nice single twenty-something. You wanna go for a chick with baggage.”
“Dante! A child is not baggage!” Ma looks pissed. I raise my eyebrows and stare past my ma to the dining room. My parents don’t fight. Never. Can’t tell you one time they ever got into an argument. But Ma sure as shit likes to beat up on Pops. She doesn’t let him get away with a damn thing.
“Oh hush, I’m only saying having a kid creates extra work.” He hands the iPad back to me and adds, “If he’s not looking for anything but a good time, there’s no reason to go after a broad who has to worry about a little one.” I nod my head, hearing what my pops is saying, but I don’t fucking like it.
“What you need to do is knock it off with all the girls and find a good woman to settle down with.”