by Xavier Neal
Beni’s expression remains stoic.
God, it’s like arguing with that marble statue of the Roman Emperor Augustus of Prima Porta.
Except without that creepy Cupid, baby thing attached to his leg.
I take the half of the everything bagel Miko’s just finished smearing scallion herb cream cheese all over while I snap, “There’s no fucking way I’m doing that.”
He extends his arm along the back of the leather couch he’s leering at me from and continues to silently disagree.
“It’s stealing!”
“It’s compensation.”
His nonchalant attitude about the action he’s insisting I take has me violently chomping into the breakfast bread.
“What Phillip did was stealing-”
“You mean taking money that didn’t belong to him?” I promptly taunt. “The very thing you’re telling me to do.”
“No.” He lifts a finger to cease me from interrupting. “Phillip ciphered funds that he had no rights to. Quei soldi non sono mai stati suoi.”
That money was never his.
“This money is owed to me…to us…for what was lost due to their reckless decisions.”
“Okay, but they didn’t form a ho’ hit squad. Their daughters did.”
“Their daughters are their responsibility until they are married off and bear the last name of the next family of which they belong to.”
Through mumbled bites, I gripe, “That’s all very old world, have my daughter for a goat logic I don’t like.”
“I don’t a give fuck if you don’t like it, Mia Bella. Those are the rules.”
My lips press together to stop myself from snapping back.
“Your family is your unit. Your pack. When you are head of that family, you are the alpha. You are responsible for those that are in it. To keep them safe. To keep them fed. To keep them protected. Their mistakes are your mistakes.”
“One for all and all for one,” Miko mocks next to me.
Beni waves a hand in his best friend’s direction. “Esattamente.”
There’s barely time to roll my eyes before he’s continuing.
“What these young women have cost me needs to be returned. First, financially. Next, physically.”
Part of me is afraid to know what that entails.
The other part?
Oddly excited.
Revenge was never really something I personally saw myself needing to participate in; however, after being molested, almost raped, partially tortured while pregnant, it’s not only become something I want to do but need to do to restore a sense of balance that I don’t feel can be restored any other way.
It just so happens I’m marrying a man who doesn’t believe in an eye for an eye when it comes to the woman he loves, so much as an eye for the entire left side of your body.
Good luck living through that.
“Hours of searching. Tracing. Training – new recruits and old recruits. Pockets that had to be padded in order to provide information that, ultimately, led to dead ends. Travel expenses to traipse around the globe hunting you. Hunting the man who took you. Having members of my team transporting suspects. Providing them with tools for torture. Disposal of said tools as well as bodies. Need I continue to illustrate, or has my point been made?”
A small, reluctant nod is given.
“Buono.” Beni props one leg on the other. “You ran the numbers from a completely objective standpoint. From that data I provided you with, you gave me a fair and complete cost analysis of the hit their irresponsible behaviors caused.”
That reminds me.
Note to self.
Always get as many details as possible whenever my future husband requests non-company related numbers to be processed.
“That money is rightfully ours. And, we are going to spend it.”
After sucking cream cheese off my teeth, I let out a heavy sigh on a shake of the head. “Yeah, I don’t think I can spend that much money.”
His expression remains the same.
“You’re not asking me to spend a couple thousand dollars, Benicio. You’re asking me to spend millions.”
“You could always buy something for me.” Miko tosses me a teasing smirk. “You know like a going away, we’re gonna miss you making our arguments more interesting present. Maybe like a Maserati.” He has another large bite of his breakfast. “Or a Bugatti.”
I divert a hopeful gaze to my fiancé, who immediately shoots me back one of disapproval.
The expression on my face grows in levity. “It could be a fun way to show how much we value him…”
“He is invaluable, therefore, there is no gift that can be given that matches his worth.”
“Do you have to be a philosofucker right now? Couldn’t you just get me the car instead?”
Benicio’s displeasure moves to his cousin.
“Eh,” Miko chuckles to himself. “It was worth a fucking shot.”
When my fiancé resumes staring at me, he begins, again, “I’m not asking you to spend millions, so to speak, I’m simply asking you to choose whatever your heart’s content is for this wedding without regards to the price tags that accompany each individual decision.”
There’s no stopping the mental swaying the statement accomplishes.
“That’s all you need to do, Mia Bella.”
“What about the money we don’t spend?” I steal another nibble of the bagel. “Can we donate whatever’s left to charity?”
“Sono la carità,” Miko snickers.
I’m charity.
“Sei un dolore nel culo,” Beni instantly retorts.
You’re a pain in the ass.
“Maybe give what we don’t spend to organizations that help women who suffered like I did? Or, military vets that suffer from PTSD? The statistics regarding those that it affects are alarmingly high. Dad never had an issue; however, Uncle Lucius wasn’t so lucky. It wasn’t exactly severe…but…”
“We will donate to those organizations regardless of how much is spent on the wedding.” Beni’s words are soft. Warm. “La mia parola.”
My word.
I offer a kind smile that prompts him to return to talking, “Your secluded spa day with Mamma, Aunt Felia, and Cerise will come from those funds.”
Secluded means he shut the entire business down for everyone that isn’t with me.
It was sexy at the lingerie shop.
Get the feeling it’s going to become too much very soon.
“Everyone is allowed to be pampered to the fullest. The secluded shopping at the bridal boutique also comes from the collected compensation. Your gown, your best friend’s gown, our mothers’ gowns,” he motions to him and his cousin, “will be paid for using the same monetary means. While your mind perceives millions of dollars being difficult to spend, Mia Bella, luxury adds up quickly.”
“I’m sure it does for you, Bridezilla.”
Miko erupts into laughter so hard he nearly chokes on his bagel. The chuckle coughing fit doesn’t end until he’s given his chest a few heavy pounds and gagged up the bite, he immediately re-swallows. Afterwards, he lets loose one more snicker, “Bridezilla…”
“Highland happens to have a one-of-a-kind bridal district that has served other prestigious names such as billionaire Weston Wilcox, of Wilcox Whiskey, and actual royalty, like Kellan Kenningston, Second Prince of Doctenn.” Beni gives his black and white-patterned tie a smoothing. “Making arrangements there will be efficient and esteemed.”
“How are we a thing?” I taunt on my final chunk of bread.
“I asked myself a similar question the day I found you trying to have Walter sneak snotdogs into our home.” He twitches me a disapproving glare. “Snotdogs, Mia Bella. È vergognoso.”
It’s shameful.
We exchange playful grins that melt into eventual laughter.
We’re a thing because we keep one another on our toes…
Something tells me the little bean inside me is going to give us both a run for our m
oney.
“I’d like to run a quick details check regarding the wedding before you leave, per favore.”
Taking the freshly opened bottle of water out of Miko’s possession, I retort, “Make it painless.”
Miko quietly grumbles, “Quello era mio…”
That was mine…
“Our official announcement and press release have been set for this coming Friday. You approved the chosen photos on the plane. Have you changed your mind since then?”
“Nope.”
“The invitations are to be finalized this morning so that they may be printed, stuffed, and sent. Would you like your middle name included in the announcement?”
“Is yours?”
“Sì.”
“Then shouldn’t they match for aesthetic purposes?”
“Oh, ora, le importa dell'estetica…”
Oh, now, she cares about aesthetics…
“Where was that attitude when I tried to discuss table arrangements?”
“Will you be fitted for your veil today, too, Princess, or is that scheduled for another time?”
There’s another round of laughter out of his second that’s retrieved a new bottle of water.
Beni tosses his annoyed grunt Miko’s direction, “Continua così e non sarai invitato.”
“Don’t threaten to not invite him.”
The good-natured scolding receives an eye roll. “The invitation…Let’s talk date. It’s currently set for the Sunday before Christmas. Ti fa piacere?”
Do you like it?
His choice in choosing a Sunday, a day of the week that was always sacred to me and my dad who will be missing, has me wanting to smile in both happiness and sadness. Not wanting my voice to reveal those truths, I merely nod.
“Champagne gold and deep reds for the primary color pallet?”
“Sì.”
“Cibo dalla terra o dall'oceano per cena?”
Food from the land or the ocean for dinner?
“Tutti e due.”
Both.
Beni doesn’t fight the smile he gets anytime I continue a conversation in Italian. “E per dessert?”
“Anything that’s not apple.”
He slowly shakes his head on a snicker. “E la musica?”
“No string quartets or giant harps.”
“Harpies,” Miko wrongfully inserts into the conversation.
I shoot a jovial finger point his direction. “None of those, either.”
More chortles are presented prior to him stating, “Notato.”
Noted.
“Anything else I should note? Any special requests?”
“One.”
His chin is kicked my direction.
“I would like Miko to walk me down the aisle.”
It’s unclear whose reaction is more comical. Miko, who does a literal spit take or Beni, who bumps his leg on the coffee table during his dart to the edge of his seat.
Like a pair of twins paid to talk in sync, they shout, “Che cosa?!”
“Should I be ear muffing my stomach?” My teasing is accompanied by a wide smirk. “I feel that was a little loud for the baby.”
To my surprise, Miko leans over closer to my stomach and apologizes, “Sorry, godkid.”
The love of my life, on the other hand, lifts his eyebrows in a serious search for more information.
“Dad is…,” a pause is taken despite all of my efforts not to, “gone. Uncle Lucius is, too. Miko is the only other man – besides you – I really trust. Don’t get me wrong. Sherrod’s kind of like having a big brother around sometimes, but I don’t trust him with my life.” My face turns to meet Miko’s touched gaze. “I don’t need him in it the way I need you. The way I want you.”
A deep, dark growl is expelled from my fiancé.
“Sei una famiglia per me.”
“You’re family to me, too,” Miko quietly coos back. “Shitty accent and all.”
I make a disgusted gag in his direction and return my stare to Beni.
He offers me an adoring smile proceeded by a slow nod of acceptance.
As much as I want my dad there, as much as I always pictured him being at my side if I ever did something like this, I know it’s not possible.
I also know he’d approve of Miko being the one to take the place in his absence.
They were oddly similar, sometimes.
Too similar.
“Very well then,” Beni sweetly concedes. “Miko will walk you and then at the end take his place at my side.”
“Can I wear the pinstripe suit Al Pacino wore in Scarface?”
My fiancé answers immediately, “No.”
Knocking on the door has him moving that direction to open it. “Can I wear the blue one he wore?”
“No.”
“What about the tan one?”
“No suits from that movie.”
I quietly tease, “At least you know it’s a movie…”
Beni’s frown snaps my direction.
“What about a top-hat?” The pestering pauses for him to check the peephole. Once it’s clear, he twists the handle to grant the guests entrance and resumes the verbal poking, “People wear them to royal weddings.”
There’s no opportunity for my future husband to answer thanks to his mother scolding during her saunter into the room, “Smettila di aggrottare la fronte, figlio mio.” Stop frowning, my son. “You look like your father when you make that face.”
“But not this one,” Antonio playfully adds on a finger point inward.
“Buongiorno!” I happily greet the two of them.
“Buongiorno!” They lively reply as Miko begins to shut the door.
“Dov'è Dario?” Irritation is instant in Beni’s tone. “He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. I was under the impression perhaps he had breakfast with the two of you, granting him the leeway I do not want to become accustomed to granting.”
An unexpected grunt comes from the doorway where he’s planted his foot to halt Miko’s actions. “Here!”
My fiancé grouses and glares together. “You’re late.”
“Pretty late,” Beni’s best friend openly mocks while he adjusts his hold to not only let Dario inside but to expose the dainty strawberry blonde lingering behind him.
Isn’t that the lingerie shop girl from yesterday?
“Dario?” The female innocently calls out.
Surprise springs into his expression and spins him around.
“You um…forgot to get my number.” After a flirty hair pushing behind her ear, she pushes a folded piece of paper his direction. “Call me whenever…” There’s a small bite taken of her thin lips. “For whatever.”
Dario doesn’t retort positively or negatively.
She hurries along down the hall while he steps inside to return to apologizing. “I’m sorry I’m late, Capo. It won’t happen again.”
Miko successfully shuts the door on a chuckle. “Oh…Oh, it’ll happen again.” He folds his arms across his light blue button-down shirt. “She might not be the same Twizzlers twig size, or the curtains might not match the drapes on the next one, but there will be a next one. There will definitely be a next time.” His smile transposes to something impish. “There’s always a next time.”
Dario’s brow twitches in confusion.
“You’re being trained as much as your dick is.” Amusement dances through his blue eyes. “In this position, you gotta get them in any position, you have a free moment to.”
“So, it’s a requirement for the second to be slutty?” I casually insert into the conversation.
Miko throws a taunting grin my direction. “Does requirement mean reward?”
On a loud gag, I look back at the man I’m going to marry. “Is it too late to take back my previous request?”
Beni arrogantly smirks. “Sì.”
“Figured,” my mumble is proceeded by me exiting the kitchen.
Post delivering a small reprimanding to Dario, Beni expresses his security exp
ectations for the team he’s leading in the outing, kisses me, and promises to only send photos of the purchased choices versus all the options.
It’s quite a relief to not have to deal with the stress of planning a wedding.
According to the groom, I’m not allowed to stress.
I’m not allowed to do anything that might cause me bedrest again or increase the chance of a miscarriage.
In fact, if it wasn’t for me insisting that I would rather bring this child into the world as husband and wife, I’m fairly certain we wouldn’t be getting married until long after he or she was born.
Once we grab Cerise from her room – where she’s still sleeping – and Aunt Felia from the bar – it’s never too early for mimosas – we are ushered to the SUV to be taken to the spa. Our time at Hugs & Kesses is magical. We receive tailored massages by world class trained masseuses and masseurs. Nails – fingers and toes – are scrubbed, cleaned, polished, and painted. Head rubs are as personally customized as the facials, and my leg treatments are as soothing as the light body buffs. Despite my initial apprehension on being touched by strangers, Gia’s encouragement and constant presence has an effortless way of easing it. She’s almost like having a female member of security around, something I’m wondering why we don’t have.
Something maybe we should have for exactly situations like this.
By the time we’re finished at the spa, I’m the most relaxed I’ve been in months. While I love Benicio in ways I still have trouble processing – according to the pages and pages I’ve written about it and am still writing about it – being with him hasn’t exactly allowed for true moments of leisure in our latest stretch. Being locked up around the clock and watched like a pot that had no intention of ever boiling wasn’t really calming. And, as much as I love puzzles and numbers, it’s nice to, occasionally, silence my mind along with everything else.
Playtime accomplishes this serene state of mind, too, but even that had slightly changed due to the death threats and the unknown enemy.
Enemies.
I wonder if maybe we can work routine spa days like this into our next phase of life.
Maybe one Saturday a month, he stays home with the baby for a bit of father, child bonding.
Teaches him or her about…ties?
Seasonings?
Do I really want to torture my infant like that?
