Page 11 of The Queen's Denial

We catch up on our lives for a while, talking about the new gash she has through her thigh, and the annoying side-effects of the concussion I’ve been feeling. We graze the topic of my father, who is just about to be discharged from the hospital, but I know that Mara won’t ever push further than asking about him and his recovery.

Even though she was the friend who saved me from being raped on the floor of my own mansion, she’ll never bring it up or expect any sort of appreciation. In fact, it would just make her embarrassed. She would help me through anything, and when I approach her with the need to talk, I know she’ll always be there for me, no matter how awkward it makes her feel. That’s the type of friend she is, which is why I love her so much. To both of us, this is just the everyday life of two daughters of billionaire criminal masterminds. But at least we can find some solace in having each other.

Finally, she’s done with the small talk and wants to get down to the good stuff. “So? Andy?” She asks me with a sharp smirk and a dot of cheese above her lip.

“Nope, nothing to tell about that,” I say with a smile. “You’ve got some cheese right here.” I use my face as a map for her to figure out where to wipe her own.

She reaches up with her tongue to get it. “Nothing yet?” Her smirk widens into a devilish smile.

I usually love talking about my extracurricular activities in the sack. I have fucked some very hot, super average, big and small guys. I’ve been through multiple different ethnicities. Every one of them had plenty to offer and plenty to joke about in equal measure, and I had a lot of fun dissecting my time with them.

But with Andy, I just don’t want to discuss it. I’m sure he’ll be great when it finally happens, and I definitely want it to happen, but with him it feels different somehow. It feels like something to be private about. I don’t want my thoughts running away with me, and with Andy I feel like they could.

“No, nothing yet.” I shrug and feel obligated to say something more. “He’s super hot.”

Mara seems to be weighing this observation. “I guess he’s good-looking in that classic dark Italian bad boy type of way. All mysterious. Dark hair, eyes, stubble, and skin.”

“Yeah, anytime he holds a gun, I’m like… ‘Hello, Mr. Luciano.’”

Mara thinks for a moment, a slight crease in her forehead.

“Lucky Luciano? The famous Italian mobster?” I prompt, trying to jumpstart something in her brain.

She looks at me sheepishly, and I have to laugh. For all of her bluster and insistence on playing the dangerous games that Cas and Andy play, she’s still incredibly ignorant to many of the facts of this life. Probably because she’s never really tried to understand it. Maybe she’s been too busy and doesn’t watch as many History Channel documentaries as I do, but I’m always shocked by how little she knows.

She’s also told me that she got her first gun from Cas just weeks ago. Although I’ve seen her skills firsthand, she just started learning how to shoot. I’ve known how to shoot since I was a teenager, and I study other methods of self-defense and hobbies.

I let it go for now; she never really wants to talk about it anyway. I ask about how Cas is doing and she seems uncertain.

“What? Isn’t he, like, basically a bull? Whatever, he got stabbed in the shoulder, it’s good. He’ll just keep running around the ring, swinging the matador in circles for fun.”

Mara’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Well, he definitely thinks of himself that way. So does everyone else, I guess.” She puts down her tots and looks up at me, taking a deep breath, and then exhaling in one long sigh. “But he’s just a man, Chi.”

I smile and cock my head. “I know. Maybe you should remind him once in a while that he’s not Superman.”

“Well, I think everyone knows he’s not Superman. Maybe… what’s his name? The Punisher?”

I smile at the analogy. “You’re right — antihero. How’d I miss that?” I peek at her and smirk. “Someone’s been brushing up on their Marvel trivia.” She smiles back but says nothing.

I consider her assessment of her huge, violent, homicidal boyfriend. “Even if he were The Punisher, that guy is just a man, too. He cried about his wife and kids being killed. He gets hurt. He can be killed.” I give a genuine smile now. “Actually, maybe you guys should start having a Netflix and chill night where you watch that show. It’s so fucking good.”

Mara laughs. “Only you would suggest something like that while we’re in the middle of a mafia war and one of us is recovering from a bullet rip in her leg, while the other is still having migraines from the concussion she got last week.”

“When is a better time to watch great TV than when you’re recovering from wounds you got fighting mafia criminal masterminds?” We both laugh. This is what I love about Mara: our biggest similarity is our ability to turn huge, traumatic events into hearty comedy.

Andy drives up as we laugh, and I give Mara a flat look. We’re not stupid — we have Massimo with us today. We know it’s a good idea to have backup and guards if necessary. Mara even has the little gun Cas gave her just a couple weeks ago, and I know from watching her shoot that she can use it if necessary. But still, the men feel this ridiculous obligation to follow us and watch us everywhere we go.

“Party time’s over,” she says with a smile.

“Seriously, these men are starting to grate on my last nerve.”

Mara laughs. “Try being thrown over The Punisher’s shoulder and locked in a room in his house for a week.”

I raise my eyebrow and smirk. “Oooh, kinky.”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head at me, but just laughs.

“Seriously, though, they treat us like we have no idea what we’re doing.”

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