Page 42 of The One Night Match
These people are assholes.
I thought the organization my family is a part of was bad, full of catty bitches and men who think they’re God’s gift to the earth. But Jesus, nothing prepared me for just how entitled the people in this room are.
I’ve never been particularly possessive of anything. I’m the middle child, so it’s not like I ever got any preferential treatment growing up when it came to toys. The boyfriends I had made it clear that they would do what they wanted, when they wanted, and I would accept it or fuck off. And I’ve just never had a jealous bone in my body.
Until tonight.
If Malibu Barbie puts her hands on Cruz one more time, I might just cut one of them off.
I swallow a bite of my roast beef, smiling at Angela as she rattles off some gossip I don’t care about, all too aware of the fact that her daughter is feeling up my husband under the table. Well, she has her foot in his lap from across the table, and no matter how many times he pushes her away, she just comes right back like an annoying fly.
Cruz holds my free hand on top of the table, a clear sign of possession for us both, but no one here seems to give a shit about it.
The lack of respect these people have for Cruz is blowing my mind, and I’m more than a little curious about how any of them are still breathing, let alone still holding their relative positions within the family.
If my father acted like this to Sergio Perez, he’d be six feet under, and our entire family would be banished from the organization if we’re lucky.
So why does Cruz let this fly?
Especially considering he killed his own father.
He’s not a weak man, nor is he a weak leader, but letting this kind of disrespect go unpunished is a recipe for disaster.
I stab into a piece of potato a little too hard and garner the attention of my least favorite person at this table.
“Should you be eating that?” Monica sneers. “If you want to keep your man, you have to take care of yourself.”
I sigh. I’m very new to this family, to the point I don’t know the names of at least three people sitting at this table, which means technically, going by everything I was taught growing up, I should grin and bear the insults. But I don’t know if I can do that.
There’s a reason I never wanted to be a part of the Mafia, and it’s because I don’t have a very good handle on when to keep my mouth shut.
“Thank you for your concern, Monica.” I shoot her a fake smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Cruz tightens his hold on my hand, and I realize he’s struggling just as much as I am to keep his mouth shut. He’s in an awkward situation between wanting to defend his wife, while also trying not to show the people sitting around us his weakness.
Monica brings a single piece of lettuce to her mouth and takes a small bite of it. “You could do with losing a few pounds, if I’m honest. I’ll give you the number of my trainer.”
“No, thank you.” I shake my head politely.
“Fine, suit yourself. When you get too fat for Cruz, I’ll always be…” She shrugs.
I nod and take another bite so I don’t throw my knife at her face. It’s a really good thing Cruz has held onto my free hand because it’s definitely saved her from several pieces of cutlery being thrown across the table.
“Riley will be beautiful no matter her size. It’s not something that will impact how attracted I am to my wife,” Cruz says, not bothering to give her his attention, and I can practically see the steam billowing from her ears.
He may be saying all the right things to keep us both safe from the men around this table, but he’s painting a pretty big target on my back with the women.
I carefully place my fork down and dab at my lips as the maid starts collecting the plates. “Where can I find the restroom?” I ask Angela quietly.
“Just down the hall on your left.” She smiles, and I carefully slip out from under the table, giving Cruz’s hand one last squeeze before heading down the hallway for a few blissful moments of peace.
These dinner parties are always insufferable, but Jesus, I’m excited to get back to the house where I can stop playing the perfect little Mafia wife.
In the family I grew up in, the women were catty to an extent, but never so openly in front of everyone, and the men had a little bit of tact. The creeps in that room haven’t been able to take their eyes off the slight dip in my neckline, and I add full-coverage dresses to my list of things to purchase on Cruz’s account.
I close the door behind me and revel in the silence as I do my business and quickly touch up my lipstick and powder.
Once I’m finished and I can’t dawdle anymore without it being weird, I pull the door open and come face-to-face with the woman who is quickly becoming my mortal enemy.
