by Jaci J
I have to get back now. I need to pick up what little pieces of my life that are left and move on with them, no matter where they take me, but the idea of going home sends a dreaded chill down my spine. I need to get past all the shit and move the fuck on, but that’s easier said than done when I have nothing to go home to … Absolutely nothing. Everything that I’ve worked so hard to achieve was for nothing. So, do I go back and take what little I have left of my dream, or do I re-evaluate and start from scratch? Even after six weeks, I still don’t have the answer, but going back will force me to make a choice, so it’s time to go.
I haven’t spoken to my grandfather since I left the city and I have no plans to in the immediate future. The only explanation I was given about why he would knowingly hand over his company was that, and I quote, “Mr. Marcello was the lesser of two evils.” I’m not exactly sure what he meant by that, but I have my suspicions.
My grandfather is an “associate” of the mob. Things were going bad for him in the company so he went to them for help. I can’t say that I understand why he would go to the mob for help, but he made me a part of it, knowingly, and it makes me sick that he would do this to me, but it’s obviously irrelevant at this point. I’ve been lied to so much and I can’t trust anyone. My own Grandfather blindsided me and hung me out to dry. It’s all so sad, really.
As for Dante, I’m just as confused about him as I was the day I left him standing on that sidewalk. I know I’ll have to see him. Hell, I may have to speak to him, and the thought makes me physically ill. I don’t know how I should feel about him―this situation and what he did―but I know how I do feel about him, and I hate him. I want him to hurt as badly as I do and that’s my single-minded mission—to make him suffer. As for what I should do, it’s still up in the air.
“Why are you over here growling and glaring to yourself?” Matt asks as he slides back onto his lounger. I’m full of anger and hate, that’s why.
“I’m plotting revenge and murder,” I tell him truthfully.
Sipping his drink, he nods thoughtfully. “Any good ideas yet?”
“Not really, but it may involve the removal of testicles.”
“Can I help?”
“This is why we’re best friends.” I say with a smile on my face.
~~~~~
Home doesn’t really feel like home anymore. It could be the jet leg, or it could be melancholy setting in from missing the beach and sunshine. On the other hand, I could just be lying to myself. It could be because being back in the city and at home reminds me that I’m a miserable spinster with a heart full of hate. Either way, being back at home does little to dull the ache. I should just start adopting the cats now.
Chucking my suitcase down the hall towards my room, I sprint to the couch and hurl myself onto its comfortable and familiar cushions. It’s already taking over. I can feel it taking hold and pulling me under. That self-pity is strong, and she’s a mean bitch.
“Seriously, you’re already on the couch?” Matt groans, emerging from his room with an armful of dirty laundry. Oh yes, I am.
“If you need me, this is where you’ll find me.” I drag my finger around in a lazy circle, outlining my new home that consists of this couch, and maybe a small space near the fridge. I’m well-aware that life will continue on as if nothing ever happened. Babies will be born and people will die, and I’ll be over here in my four day old sweatpants, eating from Styrofoam and making friends with reality television while breaking into tears every now and again at sad commercials. This will be my new reality.
“London, you’re gonna have to get over him. You’re gonna see each other every day.” I know, and I’m already plotting and scheming for it.
“So?”
“So, you need to start pulling your shit together.”
“Nah,” I say. That sounds like an awful lot of work.
“Oh my God, you’re impossible!” he says as he rolls his eyes. “I’m going out for a bit. You’re more than welcome to come.”
“Unless it’s out for tacos, I’m not interested.” I could go for some tacos … or a pizza. Oh, I’d love some ice cream.
“I’m not going out for tacos. What are you gonna do, hole up in here ‘til you’re forced out?”
“Yes.”
“You’re impossible,” he mutters as he walks over to check himself in the mirror before leaving. “Text me if you need me. Oh, and will you throw my clothes in the dryer when they’re done, if you can manage to pull yourself off the couch?”
“Maybe. Let me see where the day takes me.”
“You need help, my friend.” No, what I need are tacos and some fucking compassion, but it’s clear I’m getting neither from him. His babysitting duties are now over.
~~~~~
Who knew how cathartic it would be to get rid of clothes. I’ve always done some spring-cleaning and the occasional closet sweep, but I’ve never actually filled bags and boxes with so many clothes. Six boxes and two bags litter my bedroom floor and I’m ecstatic about it. I pulled myself off the couch long enough to pack and start my piles of hate.
I’m tossing out anything Dante’s touched, looked at, seen me wear, or bought me. Everything from skirts, jeans, dresses, tees, and shoes—it all goes.
“You are not getting rid of the Lou’s,” Matt demands as he holds up the now offensive shoe wear. Oh, but I am. Those are the shoes I wore the night Mr. Personality took me back to his place. Hell, I should drown them in holy water, but they’d probably burst into flames. Considering they cost me a fortune and someone else could benefit from them, I’ll send them to their new home, unscathed.
“I am.”
“Ugh, you’re killin’ me.”
Flopping down on my bed, Matt asks the dreaded question. It’s a topic that’s eaten up quite a bit of space in my brain since coming home, but I knew it was only a matter of time before it was asked out loud.
“What are you gonna do? You’ll have to work with the man. I mean, that’s not gonna be easy and Dante is insane when it comes to you. He’s not gonna make it easy on you.” Glancing over my shoulder at my closet, I eye a few pieces of my plan.
“I don’t plan on making it easy on him either.”
Dante
My ever-present hangover seems to be at its peak this morning. My head is throbbing so hard that I’m afraid my eyes might burst from their sockets, but I believe that I’m beginning to learn some self-control. I’ve gone from drinking all day to starting mid-afternoon and stopping when I pass out. I think I may be an occasional alcoholic because I’m jonesing for the cool burn only alcohol can provide me, like a fucking junky.
Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I try like hell to rub away the headache into something more manageable, but that’s just stupid. Leaning back in the chair at my desk, I try to ignore the throb in my head and the excited chatter leaking in under my door from the office personnel. The noise is like a bad smell I just can’t get rid of.
London will be back in the next day or two, and everyone is so fucking excited about meeting and working with her. They’re all insistent upon being the first to tell the new boss the amazing news.
Am I excited that London will be back within arm’s reach? Fuck yes. Just the mere thought calms some of the anxiety and tension that’s devouring me from the inside out. I want her close. I want her home. I want her where I her right fucking here, where she belongs.
The idea of her coming back also fills me with uncertainty. London’s not going to come back and fall right back into my arms. After everything that went down, it’s not going to happen.I’m just not that goddamn lucky. She is going to make me fight for it. I will have to work for her and her attention. She’s going to push me away and shut me out, but she knows better than that. I just don’t give up that easy. I will fucking work for it.
“Hey, you made it to work,” Cam teases and smirks knowingly while strutting into my office like he has the answers to every problem I’ve ever encountered. Yes, I barely made it
in, although I do wish I were dead instead.
“And you’re still a fucking asshole,” I tell him.
Shrugging carelessly, he slumps down into the seat in front of my desk, kicking his feet up on the edge as he adjusts his tie and whistles happily to himself. I’m not in the mood for his chipper attitude today, or ever. Brushing the nonexistent dirt from his jacket, he keeps up with the joyful humming and it’s making this hangover even worse. “Carmine, what the fuck do you want?” I know he’s here for a reason. Cam doesn’t go around, granting social visits―there’s always an agenda behind his seemingly relaxed smile. He has a reason for everything he does.
“If you’re going to get all snippy with me, I can take my information elsewhere.” He could, and I could also kill him.
“Don’t make me kill you. I just re-carpeted the floor.” It’s really up to him because I’m not above tearing his head off his neck at this point.
“You’re no fucking fun.” No, I’m not. This headache is worsening by the second.
“Cam!”
“Fine, fine,” He grumbles. “She’s back. Her plane touched down a little while ago.”
~~~~~
I’m not sure what I expected; maybe for her to show up in desperate need of me the moment she landed? I can’t really say, but what I wasn’t expecting was two days of silence―not a single word or appearance from my little monster.
Vinn said she went straight to her apartment and hasn’t left since. I wonder what the fuck she’s doing up there. I can’t function or think straight, knowing she’s physically here, yet emotionally still halfway around the world. I can’t reach her. I haven’t done anything productive within the past forty-eight hours. My nerves are shot.
On top of London’s inability to let me fix shit between us, I have threats beginning to trickle in. It’s never-ending and it’s getting old. I’m always trying to stay ten steps ahead of everyone else, and it’s exhausting. Everybody wants something from me; money, revenge, rise in power, you name it. So, here I am, ten steps ahead, wasting precious time staring at a black sedan when I should be kicking in her door and taking her away so she’ll have no choice but to listen to me.
This black nineteen ninety-nine Lincoln Eldorado has become a staple in my everyday comings and goings over the past week, and soon it’ll be nothing more than a distant memory; a mess for the fine city workers of New York.
“Who do you think it is?”
“I have no idea.” That not exactly the truth. I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s someone who’s found their balls and passport.
“It’s taking a long goddamn time,” Josh sighs, clearly bored already. I understand his impatience as I check my watch … again. “You sure they did it right?” he asks. Of course I am. I’m pretty fucking confident in who I pay for jobs such as these.
“Patience,” I mutter back, staring out of the window.
“Well, we can’t sit here like sitting ducks,” he points out.
“Yeah, I know.”
I finally start to pull out onto the road, slowly. It’s now down to only a matter of seconds as I look at my watch and begin the countdown―three … two … one …
The sound is deafening and the pressure immense. You can feel it from the outside in. Even as we’re pulling away, I hear the windows rattle and the car sways from the force. I look in the rearview mirror at the ball of fire that explodes at least seven stories into the air, along with a certain black Lincoln Eldorado.
Sighing a satisfied breath, I glance over at Josh who is staring through the rearview mirror in complete fascination. Blowing shit up and seeing the aftermath never gets old.
“It’s been handled,” I say out loud. Stopping at the red light at the end of the block, I look in the side mirror and watch as a crowd begins to gather; everyone looking stunned. I can already hear sirens way off in the distance. That shit was fast.
Laughing, Josh nods his head in agreement, “Ya don’t say. You think any of him survived that?” I think about the shipment of high-grade explosives we imported last week and shake my head. No one survives a military grade explosive, so I’m not worried.
“Maybe an appendage or two,” I say sarcastically.
“I need to learn more about explosives,” Josh points out. Images, all of them of Josh missing various body parts flashes through my mind. Yeah, that’s not happening.
“The fuck you do.” He doesn’t need to become another mass bomber in the city. Giving Josh flammables is like pouring gas on a flame―it would only burn out of control. I don’t need more to clean up after.
“Dropping you off at work or home?” I ask.
“We’re done?” We are.
“I’ve got shit to do.” I drop Josh off at home and head back to the office in a pathetic attempt to wait for a miracle to walk through the door, but I miracles don’t happen to me.
~~~~~
A loud bang startles the shit out of me. I look to up to see my office door has been slammed into the wall behind it. Before I can react, I hear, “You moved the office … the whole fucking office. Why?” That voice hits me like a punch to the left side of my chest, settling into that place where it belongs; my cruel, insensitive heart. I feel like I’ve been lost, but now I’m home. Her voice is the music to my soul.
I sputter in silence for a moment. Everything falls away and my hands start to shake. I’m stuck on stupid because all I can do is stare at London like a total moron. Jesus Christ, she’s fucking stunning. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could have prepared me for seeing her again, even though I thought I was ready.
I let my eyes linger, soaking in the sight of her. I commit her now as I’ve done before away to memory in case she slips through my fingers again. It’s been six weeks and it’s felt like a lifetime. She’s beautifully tan, and the sun has lightened her hair. She’s perfect and she’s here. I can finally fucking breath.
“London?”
“Who were you expecting, asshole?” She spits out.
“Not a little monster.”
“I’m going to rip your balls off and shove them up your ass!”
London’s threats are so beautifully vulgar. Hearing those obscene words come from those lips make my dick so goddamn hard. Fuck, I’ve missed her and that disgusting mouth of hers.
“I’ve missed you, mia cara.” I tell her with nothing but honestly. I don’t think I’ve ever missed something or someone so much. I’m still pissed at her, but I love her.
“I still hate you, asshole,” she hisses. Of course she does.
I’m not stupid enough to expect anything more than what’s she giving me, but I won’t lie and say it doesn’t fucking hurt. However, I still push and prod. It’s not possible for me to give up on the fight. “You’ve brought your uncontrollable foul language home, I see.” She narrows her eyes and glares at me. Such an adorable little monster she is.
“And you’re still alive, I see. I guess wishes really don’t come true.” Fuck, I’ve missed her.
Three
Miss Kill-Him-With-Kindness
London
I was mad. I was fucking irate, but now I feel like a balloon that’s been deflated. Just seeing him again hurts to the fucking core. He looks the same―perfect and handsome. I want to run over and kiss those cruel lips, and then I want to tear them off his face and staple them to his ball sack.
I had worked up a speech for him on the ride here, one that included all the reasons I hate him, along with a list of painful things I have planned for him and his exceptional body parts, but seeing him has stripped away my tough determination and took the fight right out of me.
He looks broken, lost, and still so handsome in his fragile state. He looks so human, but he also looks like Dante, and that’s the man I’d like to fucking break, if it were only possible. Can you break someone that was never whole to begin with?
“Why’d you move the office?” I try with a little more calmness. Taking a deep breath, I remind myself this is business and nothin
g else matters. I was gone six weeks and he picked up the entire office and moved it here. It obviously makes more sense to have the office at the port, at least in my opinion.
“This one is more functional,” he says easily, twirling a hand around the room.
“That’s bullshit. It just gives you more control.”
“London, I’m not going to argue with you. You’re going to believe whatever you want.” He scolds, folding his hands in front of him. He’s all business. This was not how I saw things going at our first meeting after six weeks. I was going to come in here and start demanding to be heard, but instead I’m lost, and a little dazed.
“I believe you’re a fucking predator.” My brain-to-mouth filter spits out, but a predator is exactly what he is. He’s a manipulator that preyed on me, and I let him. I was weak so I ran, and he used it against me. Snorting a humorless laugh, he shakes his head as if I’m the absurd one.
“I believe you’re trying to pick a fight with me, London.” Goddamn right I am.
“Just move the office back.”
“I can’t. I leased the other office building.” He’s serious.
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” I tell him seriously. I want strangle him, if only my hands would fit around his neck. That was my home away from home, the place I had so many memories of.
“And I believe I’ve heard that one before, yet I’m still here, beautiful.” He smirks. He may look broken and lost, but the bastard in him is alive and kicking.
Reclining in his seat, one dark brow raises, waiting; challenging me.
“After weeks apart, that’s all I get?” What does he expect from me after deceiving me? Does the impossibly arrogant bastard want a bullet through the forehead? I’ll go practice my shooting. “You didn’t miss me?” He teases. Yeah, I missed him, but the majority of the time I missed him about as much as someone misses herpes.
