Sick Bastard, page 23
“Why?” He asks as he does it. Still wrapped around him, I reach over his back for the shampoo. “Because I’m gonna wash your hair.”
He looks confused. “You’re gonna wash my hair?” He asks me skeptically.
“I am.” I tell him squeezing some shampoo into my hand.
“But why?” God, he asks a lot of questions.
“Because I want to, that’s why.”
He does as I ask. He rests his forehead against my chest and lets me have my way with him. Running my soapy fingers through his hair, I slowly rub it through his soft locks, rubbing along his head as I go.
“Fuck, that feels really good.”
“No one’s ever washed your hair before?”
“No. Who would’ve done it?”
“A wife or girlfriend?” I say, but it’s more of a careful question.
“I don’t now, nor have I ever, had a wife.” Well that’s a relief
“Girlfriend?”
“There is only one, London, and that’s you.”
“So you’re saying that I’m your girlfriend?” I laugh. I’m not going to make an issue out of a word. This time with him is just too perfect to ruin.
Nodding his head, he kisses my chest. “I would think so, although I’ve never had one. What else would you be to me?”
“A friend?”
“Try again..” The sincerity of his confession melts a little part of my heart. I may not like all the bad he is, but I love how he is when he’s with me.
“You want me as your girlfriend?” I ask running a hand through his hair.
Shrugging, he doesn’t remove his head from my chest when he speaks, “Yes, I want you in my life. Whatever you want to call it or however it is, I’ll take it. I just want you.”
~~~~~~
We spent one more wonderful, lazy day in London, mostly in bed, before I was plunked down on his plane, bound for the States. Matt stayed for the remainder of the vacation, sending me on my way with a kiss and a warning to be careful. Maybe he saw something different in me and was letting me know that he knew.
I wasn’t sure what I was going to get when we touched down in NYC. Would things change or stay the same? Do I want them to change? I’m not exactly sure what I agreed to. When I asked what he was expecting to happen once home, his response was, “You belong with me, and you always will.”
Pulled away from the routine of my life, I’ve been thrust into Dante’s strange, yet comforting one. Two weeks back from Europe and we’ve been inseparable.
He’s still all the things he was when I first met him. He still stalks me and I don’t know why. I mean, he’s got me, right? He’s still bossy, pushy, and guarded. His personalities are still very much alive. He’s exactly the same and completely different at the same time. We don’t discuss the night I left his father’s house and what went on. He only told me that he was more than upset and took it too far, and that he’d never hurt a woman or a child, but the man was another matter. I left it at that since the man and his family, according to Dante, were fine and would remain that way.
The now familiar crinkle of the newspaper pulls my attention up from my donut, mid-bite. I look and catch Dante staring at me like he always does. Licking the frosting from my finger, I smile around my finger. “Yes?” If he’s staring, there must be a reason. I’ve learned that there is always a method to his madness.
Clearing his throat and adjusting the neck of his black button up shirt, he shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “Do you have a black dress?” Well I wasn’t expecting that to come out of his mouth. I stare at him, unsure about what’s going on. “Right. Unnecessary question. Of course you do.”
“Why?”
“You’re accompanying me to a funeral.”
“Excuse me?”
“A funeral, London. You know―caskets, graves, grieving families.”
“I know what a funeral is, smartass, but why am I going? Who died?” I don’t recall him mentioning a death and he hasn’t acted like someone’s died. I would’ve thought he’d mention something like that to me.
“No one important.”
~~~~~~
The next morning, Dante leads me up the steps of a beautiful, cathedral style church. I’m not nervous, but I’m definitely hesitant. Why is he bringing me to a funeral?
We’re here and I’m still as uninformed as I was yesterday morning. After Dante’s curt invitation, I was only told that the funeral we were attending was for one of his employees. He said he needed to make an appearance, but that was all I was offered. I didn’t ask anymore because I knew that was all I was getting.
A sea of men and women dressed from head to toe in black, pack the church halls and aisles. Some are sobbing quietly into handkerchiefs, while others talk quietly to each other or are praying.
I feel out of place. I feel like I’m an intruder and I don’t like it. This is their time to grieve a loved one and I shouldn’t be here, but I know that Dante isn’t going to let me go.
Following dutifully behind him, I watch what happens everywhere we go. The room’s soft murmurs and voices die into an eerie quiet when he walks into the room. People stare, men nod in respectful bows, women smile, and some people look down, not daring to look him in the eyes. It’s so goddamn strange.
Dante makes no effort to return smiles, nods, or any other forms of acknowledgment. He doesn’t pass out condolences or offers any sympathy for the death these people are here to grieve. Dante hasn’t uttered a word or shown any sign of emotion for anyone here.
“Here,” he stops at the first row of pews. Nodding to the long wooden bench, he pushes me towards it. Is he kidding me? This is where family sits. Why the fuck are we sitting up front? He’s this dead person’s boss, so what makes him think this is okay to sit right here?
“Dante.” I protest.
“Sit down, London. Please,” He asks. Fine, fine. I sit, but feel so wrong for it.
I sit and listen to the wife of the dead man ooh and ahh over Dante as she sobs into his chest. She clutches his suit jacket, crying while thanking him repeatedly, but he’s uninterested and uncaring.
“Signore, I’m so thankful to have you here. My husband would be so honored to know you were here. He loved you very much.”
“Antony was a good husband, Maria.”
Prayers, sobs, kind words, cries of agony, poems, more sobs, and memories are shared while I try to think of anything other than the dead body a few feet away.
“… In company with Christ, who died and now lives, may they rejoice in Your kingdom, where all of our tears are wiped away. Unite us together again in one family, to sing Your praises forever and ever. Amen.” The priest finishes with a soft smile.
Finally, we’re all asked to rise. “Dante?”
“No, amore mio, go to the back of the church with Vinn. I’ll be there momentarily.” I nod and start to move, but not before he places a kiss to my forehead, lingering longer than I’d expect from him, and walks away with the family.
Leaving is the same as when we arrived. It’s the same wherever I go with Dante. Women are in awe of him and men give him looks of respect. Everyone is so fascinated by him. I know he’s not a goddamn celebrity, and he sure as shit ain’t the President, so who the hell is he to these people? Does he pay great wages and have amazing benefits packages?
“Who are you?” I watch his face pale ever so slightly when he looks down at me and immediately starts to mess with his watch.
“What are you asking me?”
“Why do people stare at you? Why do they seem intimidated, even awed by you? Hell, some even look scared shitless of you.” He almost looks relieved.
“I’m the Boss.”
“That’s not why.” He’s lying to me again.
“What do you expect? I’m rich, powerful, and I’m important. Some people don’t know how to deal with that.” Some people? Try everyone.
“I do.” He’s a lot of things to me, but someone to bow to or fall over is not one of them. Leaning into me he places his hand on the back of my neck. His fingers rub small circles on my skin and I watch as he smirks.
“I know, and that’s why you’re here with me, in my bed, and in my life, London.” Leaning closer, he puts his lips to mine. “Lets go home.”
Sliding into the limo, I take a final look at the breathtaking church across the street. Life with this insane man is anything but average. I don’t see him ever changing his ways. I’ve learned to see the positive in his peculiar traits. The stalking’s become companionable and comforting, knowing he’s always close. His life is shrouded in mystery, like on those occasions that he leaves and never tells me where he’s going, but he always comes back. He’s open about his feelings for me. Every once in a while he’s dark and scary, but I find his brooding sexy and alluring.
I get his humor and laughter often. He always gives in when I want something, even when I know he wants to argue with me. I never have to ask him for attention because he’s always there, giving it to me at every opportunity. He’s kind and caring. For all the dark in him, there’s also light. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that Dante adores me and makes no secret of it.
Dante
I left a sleeping London in my bed, locked away in my apartment. The doors are locked from the outside and have a guard at each entrance. I hate to hold her prisoner … shit, that’s a lie. I love the idea of her locked tightly and safely away for me. I’m not trying to keep her in as much as I’m trying to keep the bad out. I’m a paranoid asshole these days so fucking sue me.
A slightly inconvenient twist of circumstances has brought me to one of my abandoned warehouses at one in the morning on this fine night. I’m not happy that I’m here, but there’s not a whole lot I can do about that now. Of course I’d rather be at home in bed, but this is the life – the business – that I deal in.
“What do you want out of him?” Cam asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Whatever he has to offer.” Everything.
“I’m not giving you shit.” I’m gonna clean that spit up with his face if he does it again. Of course he’s not gonna give me anything. I’ll have to pry it out of him, and I’m okay with that. I don’t mind working for my information.
I’ve removed my jacket, my watch, wallet, and phone, setting them on an old desk before I roll the sleeves up on my shirt.
The familiar sound of plastic under my feet gives me the feeling of coming home. I miss the smell of gunpowder, the feeling of rubber gloves, and the sounds of screaming and begging. I’ve spent weeks trapped in an innocent bubble with London, and as much as I love being wrapped up in her, this is who I am. This is what I know. This is my very own, personal shrink, and it’s also my high.
“Boss?” Rocco says hesitantly from the other side of the room. My new little party favor whips his head up to look at me in surprise.
“You-you’re the boss?” His voice shakes on a sharp inhale of breath.
“I am.” I nod and offer him a charming smile. Might as well put my best face forward considering it’s the last face he’ll see. I’ll make it a pretty one.
“What is it, Rocco?” He looks nervous, which is never a good thing.
“Miss London rang.” Of course she did. Normally she’d sleep all night, but the first night I slip out in weeks, she wakes up. Fucking figures. She’s so fucking nosey.
“I’ll call her later.” I have shit to deal with first and my beautiful girl will just have to wait.
I hate to be this close to them, but really there’s no other choice. His arms aren’t long enough for me to have him reach, and truthfully, I don’t want him bleeding all over me anyways.
We started with the questions, which took a while. I’d ask and he’d deny, but I exercised his aversion to my questions out of him. After some strong persuasion, he gave in.
We then moved into the barter portion of my evening. He offered information willingly, offering his life and services to my cause, his first born for my mercy, and his wife to my men in return for his life, but I graciously declined his offers. Now we’re onto the root of the problem―why they want what’s mine, and this topic is a little messier.
“So what is it that they want?” I ask calmly. Losing control never served me well. I’ve broken his resolve down and now he’s seeing things my way. There’s no need to exert more energy than needed.
“Th-the business. The connection.”
“What business connection would that be exactly?” I know the answer, but what I need to find out is if their plans have changed. If this is the case, I need to know what they are. I need the information he has, and I need him to confirm it before I tear his fucking head off for poking his nose into what’s mine. I’m looking for any details I can get from him. How the fuck am I supposed to take care of London, look out for her, if I don’t know what moves are being made against her at this very moment.
I know about her father. I know about his ties with the ‘Ndrangheta, a mafia-type criminal organization based in Italy who deal in extortion, blackmail, kidnappings, and most importantly, the import and export of large amounts of cocaine. I know why he wants her in his clutches so desperately. He needs her to get to her grandfather, therefore getting that business.
I also know she has no idea that her father and I have rubbed elbows, and he’s the reason I sought her out to begin with. Those are details she doesn’t need to know.
After learning of her and the plans for her to take over her grandfather’s business months ago, my paranoia had me seeking her out to see how invested she really was in her family’s dealings, and what I found was a smart, sweet, innocent girl who was fucking clueless.
Her father wants what I want. He wants what belongs to me. Where as I’ve invested time and money, he’s invested blood, sweat, and tears, but fuck him. I don’t give a fuck what he’s done.
It makes this messier for London and I. Business is about to bleed over into my personal life, but it was only a matter of time before it all came to a head. It was gonna happen regardless. She’s more involved in the Cosa Nostra than I initially thought, but only by family, not by choice. It adds an element of difficultly to the situation, but it changes nothing of how I feel for her. In fact, it only fuels my desire to keep her clean and safe. Nothing I learn about her will change that.
Clenching the pliers tightly, I give them a good, solid tug. A scream bursts from his lips and bounces around the soundproof office.
“Dio mio, he’s a fucking screamer,” Cam complains around a yawn.
“Si.” I couldn’t agree more. “So, are you ready for a visit from the tooth fairy?”
“No! No more, please.”
“What do they want besides the business?” I scream in his face, my temper flaring.
“Please, stop!” With a quick twist of my wrist and a rough tug, the tooth pops out. “Fuuuck!”
“Let me ask you again, what the fuck do they want?” Putting the pliers on the next tooth, I twist and twist ‘til it gives way and comes out like the first. This shit is hard work, but rewarding.
“Her! The girl. They want the girl.” I was hoping he wouldn’t say that.
Setting they pliers down, I pick up my gun. Leaning in closely, I wrap a hand around his neck, pulling his dirty, bloody, tear-stained face closer to mine. This was a light lesson. Many get a far worse punishment. To some, this would be considered as too easy, but to this man, it was hell. Having each tooth removed and both hands smashed is never easy, but this is the life he chose. I didn’t force him into it, but for his choice, he’ll pay the ultimate price. “May God bless you.” The loud crack of the gun echoes around the room as his body slumps in close to mine. There’s nothing more fulfilling than eradicating a threat―nothing more enjoyable than winning this game.
“Clean this up.”
“Si, Boss.” They all say in unison. I peel off the gloves and leave them in the dead mans lap. Grabbing my phone, I find several missed calls and texts from London. Of all times to blow up my phone, it’s now. Fucking Christ.
“We good here?” Josh nods and Cam smirks.
“This is a mess, cugino.” Cam states the obvious.
“Do you think I can’t handle it? Are you second guessing me?” I yell.
“Not you I’m worried about. It’s her.” Yeah, me fucking too.
~~~~~~
Stepping inside, I hear outrageous noises coming from the kitchen. Walking through the living room, I stop when get to the door and see it. My kitchen is a fucking disaster. There’s flour on every square inch of working space. Bowls, spoons, and measuring cups are stacked to the brim in my sink, baking dishes and cupcake tins are everywhere. The food network channel chatters loudly in the background and I Care flows through the sound system over the TV. She’s pissed.
I step inside and into something sticky, but I could care less. The only thing I'm concerned about is getting my hands on the little tornado in my kitchen. My little tornado.
It’s not possible for her to be any more fucking perfect than she is in my eyes, but then she goes and does this, raising that bar. She’s standing at the counter in nothing but silk and black lace, and she looks amazing. Those small panties and bra leave little to the imagination and right now, it’s running wild. My kitchen smells like a home.
I watch her for a few moments and savor the calm before the violent storm. She doesn’t know I’m even here, watching her. Scooping something from one bowl and pouring it into another, she hums softly as chocolate drips from the bowl onto the counter. Some even spills from the side when she mixes it. I could quite possibly spend the rest of my terrible life watching her just like this.
I have no more patience. I walk up behind her and wrap an arm around her, tugging that soft body against mine and for one single moment, she melts into me before she catches herself. Spinning around, she shoves me off her. “What the hell, you fucking psycho!” She hisses, slapping a hand right in the middle of my chest.
There’s that Sicilian spirit. “Excuse me?” I know what she’s carrying on about, but why not let her get it out of her system. She’s already worked up, so I may as well let that fire burn until she burns herself out. “You locked me inside your dungeon!”
