Empire

by Rachel Van Dyken

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tattered piece of paper. “I always kept it close to my heart, in my inside pocket, but when I was driving, for some reason it was on the dash, I wouldn’t be so careless to leave it there. To this day I have no idea how it got there.”

  “What is it?”

  “Read for yourself.” He handed it over to me and pointed at the grocery store. “I think I’ll go inside.”

  “But—”

  His door shut, blanketing me in silence as I glanced down at the piece of paper.

  99 Things to do on my honeymoon!

  1. Go to Tokyo.

  2. See the London Eye.

  3. Learn how to cook!

  4. Pet a giraffe—feed one too.

  5. Learn Origami.

  6. Twirl in the rain—as many times as I can.

  7. Get kissed in the rain by a handsome man (doesn’t have to be Sergio!)

  8. Jump out of a plane

  9. Bake a cake and jump out of it.

  10. Get a really kick ass tan.

  11. See the Swiss Alps.

  12. Pet a dolphin.

  13. Sing karaoke.

  14. Have lots and lots of sex.

  15. Go to a Broadway show and sing along even if it sounds horrible.

  16. Sing at the top of your lungs — badly.

  17. Make a baby.

  Tears splashed the page as I kept reading. Some of the tasks were crossed off but most of them were still waiting to be accomplished. A few had been underlined like maybe she thought they were more important or she wanted to do them next. Or… perhaps that meant Sergio had done them or was getting ready to do them? There were only ninety-nine different things she had wanted to do, sex was listed more often than necessary

  It might have been titled honeymoon list.

  But it was a bucket list. Anyone with two eyes could see that.

  My heart hurt — for this girl — for the one that Sergio loved, for the time they didn’t have, hadn’t had. But most of all, I was thankful, because this small scrap of paper had saved his life.

  Probably more than once.

  She’d saved his life — even without being here to do it.

  Maybe it was my turn to pull the weight.

  Not that I was going to make it easy on him, but it did help me understand just a little bit more — why he did what he did.

  And why it was necessary that I help him stop the cycle of madness and live.

  I left the note in the car and made my way into the grocery store. I finally found Sergio in the baking aisle looking about as confused as I’d ever seen him.

  “They’re chocolate chips,” I said from behind him. “Not ammo.”

  “But there’s a billion different flavors, and this one says soy free, this one says dairy free, and it just…” His frown deepened. “…stupidly occurred to me that I know nothing about you, do I?”

  My stupid heart melted a bit. “Well.” I reached for the dark chocolate chips and slammed them against his chest with a small smile. “Now you do.”

  He grabbed the bag and looked at it. “Dark Chocolate?”

  “I like the way the bitter taste makes your mouth water. No matter how many times you eat dark chocolate, your mouth always waters.”

  His eyes hooded. “Does it, now?”

  Oh, crap. He was looking at me. I take it back. He shouldn’t say hi, he shouldn’t even be near me, because he was dangerous when he was nice, and I was defenseless.

  “Promise me something,” I blurted.

  “Anything,” he said without hesitation.

  “Don’t run.”

  A pained expression flickered across his face. “I won’t.”

  “Swear to me.”

  With swift movements he pulled something metallic from his pocket and made a quick slice across one of his fingers, then grabbed my hand, the one not holding chocolate and pricked my pinky. My breath caught when he pressed his bloodied finger against mine. His grip tightened as he pulled me against him. “I promise. I won’t run.”

  “Blood oath, huh?” I whispered. “Aren’t those serious? Like deathly serious in the mafia?”

  “This means…” His eyes searched mine. “…that if I run a second time, you have permission to kill me or send someone to do it for you.”

  “Maybe that’s what you want,” I countered. “You know, part of your plan.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart.” His breath fanned my face as he leaned forward, his lips grazing my ear. “You’re stuck with me. Till death do we part. And it won’t be because I’m stupid enough to turn my back on you a third time.”

  I exhaled in relief, but he didn’t release my hand.

  Instead he took a step back, lifted my finger to his lips and sucked the blood from the tip, his eyes locked on mine.

  Paralyzed, I dumbly watched him — and most definitely felt him as his tongue swirled across my wound, his lips closing over a part of my body I’d never given a second thought to — until now.

  When he was done, I was breathing so heavy that it was embarrassing.

  “You completely and utterly undo me,” he admitted. “It’s not a comforting feeling, knowing I have spent this much time with you without ever even finding out your favorite color, and one look from you sends me into a fit of rage, lust, anger, passion — it’s unsettling and even more horrible admitting it out loud — admitting the truth, that when I touch you — I will always want more.”

  He sighed and linked our hands tightly together.

  “So.” He grabbed two more bags of chocolate chips. “What are we baking?”

  I finally found my voice as I shook my head out of a stupor. “Well, I’m baking cookies. You’re just the driver.”

  “Ouch, not even sharing with the help.”

  “I may give you a crumb.”

  “Tease.”

  I smiled, unable to help it. “I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of that.”

  “Probably because guys never got close enough to you to say it.” His shoulders straightened. “What else do we need?”

  “You aren’t going to let go of my hand are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “And you’re going to keep pestering me until I feed you?”

  “I’m a guy. Next to sex, food will always be a close second.”

  We rounded a corner. “So if I just give you sex, I can eat all the cookies?”

  Sergio stumbled into a lady passing us with her shopping cart and cursed while she scurried out of harm’s way. “Don’t tempt me. I know exactly what I’d rather eat and it isn’t a damn chocolate chip.”

  His grip tightened and didn’t loosen until we were back in the parking lot.

  A lover, that kills himself, most gallant, for love. –A Midsummer Night’s Dream

  Sergio

  I LET HER drive.

  She was horrible.

  As in, one of the worst drivers I’d ever had the misfortune of meeting; even worse than Bee, and that was saying something. She’d already taken out three mailboxes since being married to Phoenix, may they rest in peace.

  It takes some scary shit to scare that man.

  Every time she asked to drive, he would go horribly pale, like it might be the last question he answered.

  “So.” The car jolted to a stop as Val put it in park. “Thanks for letting me drive!”

  Poor car.

  “Yeah,” I managed to croak out as I opened my door and touched the ground with both feet. Solid ground. Thank God. “Anytime.”

  Val burst out laughing. “You’re such a liar!”

  “Hmm?” I turned to face her, my face carefully void of emotion. “What do you mean?” I casually leaned my arms across the top of the car and folded my hands.

  “I’m the worst driver ever.”

  I fought to keep my laughter in. “What makes you say that?”

  “You made the sign of the cross over your chest, and had you had rosary beads, you would have been clutching them and mumbling pray
ers.”

  “No,” I lied more. “No, it wasn’t that bad.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “So you don’t mind getting back in.”

  “Cookies,” I blurted. “We have butter in the back seat and we don’t want it to melt.”

  “Huh, butter does that? In a temperature controlled environment.”

  “Yup.” I nodded and moved my hands to show her. “All over the seat, impossible to get out, like bacon grease, so…”

  “I think I’ve finally found someone who’s a worse liar than I am.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of being a bad liar. Oddly it feels offensive.”

  “That’s how you know you’re mafia. When someone says you’re bad at lying or killing, you actually get upset and feel the need to prove yourself.”

  I smirked. “Fine, you drive like hell. Blind grandmas with blue hair drive better than you do. A horny tom cat who couldn’t reach the pedals would be a better choice.”

  Val grabbed the bags from the back seat. “He’s horny why?”

  “All tom cats are horny.” I shrugged. How did that slip? Because I was pent up with aggression toward her, and all the wrong kind of aggression, the kind that had me thinking about stupid shit, like chocolate chips.

  And them melting on different parts of her body.

  A wave of heat boiled beneath the surface of my skin, sizzling, warning me that I was in danger of seducing her again. I gulped, the need to run was so strong, so intense that I nearly doubled over.

  My body’s physical reaction was that terrifying.

  Forget guns.

  War.

  Blood.

  Torture.

  Dismemberment.

  Val. Was. Terrifying.

  Fingers shaking, I grabbed the last bag and stood as she walked briskly into the house.

  I stared.

  At the house.

  My fingers clenching the plastic bag. I gave myself a few seconds to just breathe without the choking sensation of her nearness taking over. Because at times, that’s what it felt like, as if she was everywhere, and I couldn’t escape her, and the more I felt her, the more I was driven to want to be near her.

  Running. It sounded easier than walking into that house.

  Running. It would always be easier.

  If I ran, would she get over it? At this point, my attachment felt stronger than hers, but I had no idea of knowing. All I knew is that I had made her a blood oath, a promise, and it was one of the hardest things I’d done, because I wanted to do the opposite.

  I wanted to be the liar.

  The one who betrayed her again.

  Because easy had swiftly turned into comfort. And I was so damn sick of feeling discontent.

  Over Andi.

  Over my changing feelings toward Val.

  Co-exist. That’s what Val had said. By taking a step toward my house, by going into my kitchen, I wasn’t pushing Andi out.

  I was simply… letting Val in.

  With a deep breath, I walked in through the still-open door and slammed it behind me then made my way into the kitchen where Val was already pulling out a shit load of stuff I’d never once in my life used.

  From measuring cups.

  To a bad ass pink mixer I don’t remember buying.

  To cookie cutters that were in the shapes of guns. Huh, who knew?

  “Where did all of this come from?”

  Val froze, her body hovering over the sink and she washed her hands. “The store.” She turned off the water and grabbed a towel.

  “The store.” I nodded slowly. “Could have guessed that. Did you buy it?”

  “Maybe?” Her face scrunched up and then her face turned threatening, I took a step back. “Look.” She pointed her finger in my direction. “You wouldn’t even talk to me. I almost starved to death! Once my credit card came, I went… shopping.”

  “Let me get this straight.” I ignored the starving dig since it made me feel like shit. “You just turned twenty, and your very first purchase with your shiny new card — the one without a limit — was a pink mixer?”

  “And cookie trays,” she grumbled.

  “And—” I pointed “—measuring cups?”

  She huffed. “I live dangerously.”

  “Yes. That was my exact response, in my head, holy shit, she’s a risk taker. How much did that mixer set you back? A hundred dollars, two?”

  “Six.” She grinned, while I nearly choked on my tongue.

  “For that?” I pointed at the pale pink contraption. “That’s—”

  “What?” She cupped her ear. “You don’t want any cookies?”

  I glared. “It’s a beautiful… cookie maker.”

  “Mixer.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Okay slave, I’ll bake, you get the super fun job of cleaning up.” Her grin widened as she sidestepped me on the way to the fridge. “And I’m really, really messy.”

  I swallowed.

  Twice.

  And then counted to ten so I wouldn’t tug her backward and kiss every inch of her exposed skin.

  “Noted,” I finally coughed out. “Do you need an apron or—”

  “Nope.” She thrust the egg carton into the air. “The dirtier, the more fun. Baking should never be clean, Sergio.”

  I couldn’t look away from her vibrant face as she started tossing ingredients into the mixing bowl, humming to herself while she bobbed her head around, every few minutes she’d stop and turn in a circle around the kitchen like she was confused.

  I had work to do.

  Correction, I had work I should do.

  Important work.

  Life and death work.

  Hacking work.

  Instead, I stayed glued to the barstool and watched while more and more flour made its way onto her cheeks rather than the mixing bowl. As she dumped in chocolate chips, she started swiping handfuls until it was apparent that at least half of the bag was never going to make it into the dough.

  When she turned around, I dipped my finger into the mixing bowl, and swiped a glob of dough and licked. Damn, it was amazing.

  She turned back around and narrowed her eyes. “You did something.”

  “Nope.”

  She crossed her arms as a piece of hair fell across her face and kissed the flour on her right cheek. “I think we’ve established you’re a horrible liar. Did you steal dough?”

  Shit. I gulped. “Define steal.”

  “Really doubtful that I need to explain stealing to someone who’s a part of organized crime.”

  “That’s harsh.” I smirked. “I’m the good guy, remember?”

  “If the good guy kills people then marks them on his body, sure, you’re the good guy.”

  “They deserved to die.”

  She shrugged and examined the bowl. “Fingerprints.”

  “Those aren’t mine,” I kept lying. I don’t even know why the hell I would lie about something so stupid, maybe I liked her reaction. Holy shit, who was I kidding? Arguing with her was better than being ignored any day of the week.

  Folks, Sergio Abandonato has officially reverted back to the first grade.

  Up next watch how he steals all her goldfish and stuffs them in his mouth then pushes her down by the merry-go-round.

  “Right here.” She pointed with a knife. “One very large finger, accompanied by two scratches from the lazy knuckles on the side.”

  I rolled my eyes. “My hands aren’t lazy. Believe me.”

  “If memory serves…”

  My jaw dropped. “Are you shitting me right now?”

  Her expression was complete innocence. “What?”

  Was she talking about sex? Or was I just reading into things. Did it matter? I narrowed my eyes as I slowly made my way around the counter and dipped two fingers into the dough and shoved them into my mouth.

  Her face quickly went from innocent to horrified. “You don’t put your fingers in food!”

  I burst out laughing. She didn’t. />
  “Val…” I tried to keep myself from laughing harder. “Do you have a food thing?”

  “I d-don’t.” She crossed her arms. “I just. It’s gross when people shove their fingers into fresh food. I mean who knows where your hands have been?”

  “They’ve been on you.” I moved a hand to her hip. “Is that gross too?”

  She glared. “Yes.”

  “Now who’s lying?”

  “Still you.”

  I moved my other hand so both were bracing her hips. “So, you don’t like people touching your food while you bake. Anything else I should know?”

  “I like to wait.”

  “Hmm?” I was beyond distracted by the way she felt between my hands. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t cheat. I never taste my own cooking until the finished product. It builds up the taste more… it gives you something to salivate over… something to be anxious for.”

  Shit. I was so screwed where she was concerned.

  “I promise, I won’t do it again without permission.”

  Her smile about knocked me over. “Thank you.” She reached up and kissed my cheek, then jerked back as if suddenly realizing what she’d just done.

  I gripped her wrists holding her right in front of me so I had easy access to her lips.

  “Please don’t,” she whispered.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re going to kiss me. And I’m going to forget to be strong, because your kisses make me forget. And I’m already having trouble remembering why I hate you. It was only a day ago that you forgot my birthday. You can’t just kiss me and make it all better.”

  “I know that.”

  “No, you think you know that. I can’t… we can’t.” She jerked her hands free. “From here on out, your kisses have to be earned.”

  “Are we going to get some sort of sticker chart for this, or am I on my own?”

  Her lips twitched with a smile. “I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

  “Let me know when the cookies are ready…” I wiped some flour from her nose. “And Val?”

  “Hmm?” She touched her face where my fingers had grazed.

  “What’s your favorite color?”

  Her cheeks blushed bright red. “Pink.”

  “Pink,” I repeated. “Okay.”

  “Sergio?”

  “What?” I turned back around.