Page 114 of Bitter Poetry
I’ve just been inside her. He made it happen. Then he came and watched.
I punch him. Either he didn’t see it coming, or he let me. His head snaps around, and blood arcs from his mouth. I shake out my hand. “I want to kill you.”
“I know.”
I round on him again. “You know? You fucking know? Is that all you have to say?”
He looks hurt.
The feelings kind, and it really fucking throws me.
“You know I used to hate needles,” he says.
I blink, trying to work out where the fuck this is going.
“I’ve come to crave them and the pain they bring. Carmela is a lot like that. I used to want to end her for all the misery she brought you. But you love her. And I love you, and I’ll always have your back. Taking my retribution out on her pussy helped me manage my rage.” He shrugs. “For the record. So you know. Being inside her feels fucking amazing.” His eyes skip over my shoulder and settle. They hold a distinct air of possession. He turns back to me. “But from the looks of it, you’ve already worked that out.”
I turn. And there she is, Carmela, the woman who should have been mine and only mine. Her lips are parted in shock. She’s close enough to see the blood on Christian’s lips and the red mark around his throat.
Close enough to hear what he just said.
Knowing my brother, he realized she was there and decided to fuck with us both again.
“Next time, hit him harder.” She turns and stalks away.
I guess she was here for the whole show…
Christian chuckles.
My scowl shuts him up.
His eyes dare me to hit him again.
“Something happening here?”
The sound of Ettore’s voice wakes me up to the bigger picture and present danger. I share a brief warning look with Christian, smooth out my face, and turn to face my don. “I was just thinking it’s about time Helena and I left.”
“You’re heading back tonight, I hear.” His eyes linger on Christian before turning back to me.
One thing becomes apparent. I might want to strangle my brother, but no one else gets to threaten him.
“Yes.” I start walking, leaving my brother behind, guiding Ettore back into the reception room where the guests linger. Somehow, I keep it together, and as the well-wishers gather to see Helena and me off, a different discussion awaits me.
I slide into the back of the Bentley beside my wife, and we pull off.
“What a fabulous day. Thank you, Dante, for making my dreams come true.”
I smile, suffering her hand sliding over my chest for what I promise is the last time. The gates and Ettore’s security are up ahead. The driver is mine, but still, it’s better if I keep up appearances for now.
As we pull out of the driveway, her hand slides down to squeeze my cock through my pants. I peel her fingers off with a scowl.
“Ow, you’re hurting me,” she says, confusion and hurt in her eyes.
I loosen my grip and put her hand away. “Let’s wait until we get home, hmm?”
Her return smile is cautious. Maybe she senses I want to snap a lot more than her wrist for the way she spoke to Carmela today. I fucking hate that she bears my name, even for the good of the cause.
“I didn’t know you’d be such a prude, Dante,” she says, recovering quickly. “Making me wait until our wedding night.”
