Page 28 of Runaway in the Mafia
With a laugh and acan’t take a fucking joke, he zigzagged across the room.Jesus.How the fuck did he get so drunk? At his cousin’s engagement party at that.
My eyes crawled back to the temptress across the room. A frown marred my forehead. She was surrounded by my cousins. Male ones now. Antonio’s fucking brother, Angelo and Battista, were talking to her, standing too close, acting too familiar. The thing about Angelo was, he could charm the panties off a nun. I didn’t care for it. I’d pitied Battista. The bastard of Endrigo and the official son of Marco. But now he just pissed me off.
“You’ve kept him hanging long enough.”
My annoyed gaze rolled back to the specimen next to me. “Who?” I growled.
“Andrea,” he exclaimed and caught himself at my death glare.
I was about to retort when movement around the magnet to my dick caught my attention. Fucking Romeo was all over her. I could only see his back and her front. But I imagined his beady eyes sliding across her glorious body. My hand fisted next to me. That just wouldn’t do.
“I’d keep my eyes off her if I were you.”
My head rolled to his in disbelief. “Did you just warn me?”
Remigio visually took a step back. Unfortunately, Endrigo was really that stupid. “I am just giving you advice,figlio mio. Fuck her if you must, but she’s not marriage material. She’s not one of us.”
Couldn’t say I didn't see it coming. Neither did Remigio. But the jackass didn’t, I guess. Because he dropped like a bag of cement when my fist met his face.
The sound in the room dropped. That’s what happened generally when a man was down. All eyes darted to me, but I was only aware of the shock of one. She looked like death had pinned her down. Not a peep squeaked, not even from Mamma, who stood just behind Remigio. Her expression was something I didn’t want to read. But I knew she would have heard Endrigo’s words before I took him down. I couldn’t bear to be in the room anymore. Grabbing a champagne from a passing server, I stalked off. I wasn’t going to cross the line of killing family. In front of the family. But that line had blurred just a tad today. I brought my scuffed fist up to blow lightly. I could get a taste for this.
AHANA
Divine intervention.
It was nothing but that. An omen warning me not to get involved with that man. If there ever was a red flag, it was his fist on his uncle’s face. The crack of his bones was all too familiar. The figure on the ground, too chilling to forget. Once you’d taken a punch, it never washed off your memories. It wasn’t for a lack of will. I wanted it to be like a faded memory. One that edged the tip of my tongue but was too deep to pull out from the hollow of my brain. But if I slipped my tongue out and licked my lips, I could still feel the split cracking it like it was yesterday. The memory of the taste of copper was too recent. I knew the spectrum of a bruise like I had a Master’s in it. Pinkish red to a dark green, to a dark yellow, until it finally mellowed down to a dull yellow, and a clean slate. Ready to be painted again.
Four months. Six different times. I took it the first time, and I thought it was all in my head. The second time, I did it for my family. But the third time, I did it for Papa and him alone. Because when I had finally called Maa and sobbed out the whole truth, her only response had been to suck it up like a grown up. She thought she knew what it was like. Even if Papa had never hit her, she thought she knew all about it. Bullshit. She couldn’t lose face with a divorced daughter. Wouldn’t. She put the blame on Papa’s health because she knew. Of course, she knew I’d sacrifice anything for him. Even myself. But I guessed she was wrong. She had overestimated her eldest daughter. I was selfish. Because the sixth time he called me a whore and his rage flew hard when his dick wasn’t and his fist painted my skin in a rainbow of colours, I decided no more.
Beyond all doubts and his expectations of me, I walked out. Well, ran more like it, but it didn’t matter anymore. Just before the sun went down and he came home from his million-dollar office, I grabbed my papers, crept out the lone laundry room window, and walked out. Couldn’t afford bread, he had said. Who needed bread when I had a will? With only that, thesneakers I had bought over from Delhi, and armed with the few rupees he’d never found, I took off. He should never have underestimated a woman scorned.
I’d made a promise to myself then. I’d never let a man touch me like that. He may have called me a whore for trying to make something out of this marriage, and he may have tied me to the pillar in the cellar when a neighbour’s eyes fell on me, but I wasn’t taking it anymore.
Which is exactly why I should stay away from the man who punched his uncle and celebrated with champagne. I was rebuilding my life. I could count on only myself to do it.
The air stiffened around me with memories and a hot flush for a man I shouldn’t care about. The room floated with fear and tension. Even if he’d stepped out, he’d left his nasty impression behind. The vibrance of the party dimmed out with an awkward cough to highlight the silence. Suffocation crawled up my throat. I grabbed the empty bowl, muttered something about getting more olives and ducked in search of the storeroom.
My footsteps were hurried. The room behind the kitchen was my sanctuary. It was as dark as my mood. Wine red walls and dark oak shelves that had no doubt seen the war. The rush of panic in my chest faded away as I walked across and reached up on my toes to grab a jar packed with olives. I would have combusted if I’d stayed in there. But when the door clicked shut behind me and the smooth, mellow scent of rich spice whiffed in, the weight of a wrong decision sank into me.
He confirmed it. “Should have stayed out there.”
My hand tightened around the jar like it was a rope hanging off a cliff.
Shit.
One heartbeat and he was three steps in.
“I have to say I’m disappointed.” His voice draped over my back like a winter coat on a chilly night. Warm, familiar,comforting. “When I told you to hide…” Another step, and his heat brushed my back. My eyes fluttered shut under the burden of his delicious scent. “I didn’t expect you to obey.” His hand curved around mine, wrapped around the jar. Smooth, rough, and intensely warm. He carried the weight and brought both our hands to the counter, setting the jar in front of me. “Are you going to listen to me now?” His hand clasped my clenched fingers. His thumb rasped along it. I didn’t give permission, but goosebumps reverberated along my arm. His heated breath touched the back of my ear. I bit the moan crawling up my throat. “Just when I thought there wasn’t an obedient bone to be found in your body.”
There was something to be said about his arrogance.
I yanked my hand away and spun around. I stumbled when I found him closer than I had thought. He was two feet away from me, leaning forward with his upper body and arms caging me. My hip hit the counter. My breath was shaky.
He was in all green again, but his eyes were nearly black. Dark and edgy. Like the lunatic he was. I worked my throat, trying to push sane words out of my mouth.
“Aren’t we a tad obsessed?” My tone was as firm as fresh jelly. I pushed through. “My actions have nothing to do with you.”
“No?” He tilted his head and cocked one brow. “So, you are just an arrogant girl who likes to disobey everyone?”
