Page 17 of Caesar DeLuca
…wait. What mistress? What wife? Is he married?!
“I’m my own person,” I repeat in a defensive tone. He’s started for the stairs. “And there is no man, by the way. So no use insulting him. He doesn’t exist.”
He stops on the spot, then directs a slow look over his shoulder at me. The shadows make it so I can only see the silhouette of him this far away, but I can sense the narrowing of his glare.
“You… live here all alone? And there’s no man in your life?”
“Yes. Is that so strange?” I fold my arms as if providing a shield for myself.
“How old are you?”
“I thought it was common knowledge not to ask a woman her age.”
“You should be married by now,” he says. “Life will be much harder for you this way. You know that, right?”
“Not sure if you realize this, but it’s the twenty-first century. I don’t need to be married by any age.”
He gives a short laugh. “Independent woman, is that right? Be careful. Once people know they can take from you, they will, and who’s going to stop them?”
I can’t decide if he’s giving me genuine, although antiquated, advice or if he’s fucking with me. I take a second longer to make up my mind.
“I’m doing just fine.”
“If you say so. But get a better camera system. And buy a firearm. At least.”
Those are his parting words. He disappears upstairs, the door to the guest bedroom snicking shut not long after.
I remain where I am, still stunned by what he’s said.
Caesar DeLuca’s more than dangerous. He’s possibly the most confusing man I’ve ever met…
8
CAESAR
There is no man.
So she says. She just so happens to have men’s apparel readily available.
I head up to the guest bedroom and don’t come out for the rest of the night. The threat accomplished what it set out to do—it spooked us in the middle of the night and made us more paranoid than ever.
I may return to the privacy of the room Ari’s providing me, but it doesn’t mean I return to bed. I stay awake through the night, acting like some dumb, valiant soldier standing guard over a house that’s not even mine.
Yet I can’t let myself sleep. I can’t let myself slip when something—or someone—could be lurking.
Ari was really about to confront the threat alone. With nothing but that damn baseball bat she can’t even swing (she’s broken two of her belongings at this point). She didn’t want or need my help.
She stubbornly resisted when I tried to give her advice.
Advice she didn’t want to hear but that’s no less important.
My traditional advice offended her—a woman like her shouldn’t be alone like she is; she should be married by now, being taken care of.
My advice was traditional because my beliefs are. I was raised in the lifestyle, brought up to believe certain things and follow certain rules. My father might’ve been a savage mafia boss, but he made sure I understood the basics of life.
Nothing’s more important than family. Loyalty is life or death. Women are to be wives and mothers. But love isn’t like what they write in the storybooks. It’s more practical—a business partnership of sorts.
She does for me as I do for her. She gives me things I need, and I give her things she needs.
