Frivolous: A DARK MAFIA AGE-GAP ROMANCE

by Veronica Lancet

  Before I can help myself, I dip my head low, my tongue sneaking out to lick the liquid, tasting the metallic tinge of the blood as well as the sweetness of her skin.

  A gasp escapes her lips as I close my mouth over her flesh, sucking on her wound. She holds herself still, her heart thumping fast in her chest.

  "Let go," she whispers, but her voice lacks strength.

  I don't.

  I continue to flick my tongue over the small expanse of flesh, teasing the small cut and eliciting more gasps from her.

  Her hands are balled into fists, her entire body taut with tension.

  "Let go," she repeats, this time a little louder.

  It's not until I start trailing my lips up her neck that she finally reacts, her hands pushing at my shoulders, her fiery eyes shooting daggers at me.

  "You..." she seethes, her lips drawn in a thin line as her nostrils flare at me. "You'll pay for this," she threatens, giving me a slight shove before running away.

  I watch her retreating figure, chuckling at her promise of retribution.

  She's cold. Yes, she's very cold. But she has the potential to be hot too.

  Chapter Six

  "Gigi, where were you?" Lindsay calls out when I make it back to the ballroom. My heart is beating loudly against my chest, my cheeks flushed and my...

  God, why does he make me react like this? Why does he make me so angry I forget myself? He'd held me against the wall, that big body of his flush against mine as he'd threatened to do things to me, and there had been no hint of my usual panic. Yes, I'd felt feverish, and a little out of breath, and maybe a bit dizzy... But it hadn't been the regular faintness I get when I see someone encroach my space. There had been none of the mental fog that usually accompanies those episodes.

  There had only been heat. Dangerous, disgusting heat that seemed to emanate from every pore in his body and transfer into mine.

  My entire being had nearly quaked when he'd put his mouth on me, a tingling starting in my lower belly and moving lower.

  "Fuck," I curse out, a little terrified by what happened.

  I've never felt something like this before, and to have it happen for the first time for him? My lip curls in disgust as my mind conjures up that scarred face of his, a monstrosity not fit to grace my field of view.

  "We need to move to Plan B," I say suddenly.

  I can't allow myself any weakness. He makes me feel weak, and I can't have that.

  "Are you sure? Isn't that a little extreme, even for us?" she asks, concerned.

  "No. I need him to resign. Tonight. As soon as possible," the words tumble out of my mouth.

  I just need him to be out of my life. Somewhere far away where he can't make me feel strange things, where my body can't react like it's not my own anymore.

  "Gigi..."

  "We're doing it Lindsay! Tell the boys to bring it into positions. I'll lure him to the spot," I say resolutely.

  A cruel smile pulls at my lips as I imagine how he's going to react to what I have prepared for him.

  I thought that maybe going after his appearance would hurt him enough to resign. But I should have realized that someone like him would never care about that. Why, it's probably a badge of honor.

  While everyone is doing their bit, I hover around the entrance to see if the mutt is anywhere in sight.

  When I'd planned this, I hadn't thought I'd actually have to do it. Mostly because it's over the top—even for me. But with how things are progressing between the two of us, I find myself unable to continue like this.

  Since he started working I haven't been able to have one moment of peace, his presence unnerving me, his nearness often making me tremble with unreleased tension.

  Angry. He makes me so damn angry.

  He frustrates me like no one's been able to before, and I know that I won't be able to last a few months with him by my side. Already a week and all I want is to jump on him and do him bodily harm.

  A snort escapes me. As if I could. He's such a hulking giant that he can lift me in the air with one hand. He's already done that the many time I'd tried to attack him.

  I catch Lindsay's eye at the top of the stairs as she signals me that everything is in place.

  Just as I turn towards the entrance, I note Sebastian there, a smirk on his face as he takes up his position. His hawkish eyes are fixed on me, his eyebrows moving up and down in a quiet dare.

  After the incident in the hallway, it might prove a little difficult to get him to follow me. But I'm nothing if not persuasive, especially when it's something I want.

  And oh, I so want to see him thoroughly humiliated in the worst of fashion.

  My resolve strong, I straighten my back as I go towards him, painting a smile on my face.

  Everyone is aware of my plan, as I'd instructed them what to do at any point, so no one is particularly concerned with me as I glide towards my unsuspecting victim.

  "I've been thinking," I say as I reach his side.

  I need to be smart about this, especially after the first prank he's not likely to believe me and my good intentions.

  "Oh, you think?" He mocks, that stupid smile of his wide and inviting. It shows a hint of white straight teeth, and his mouth that...

  "You're an asshole. But what's new," I give him a smile of my own as I join his side.

  "Why don't we call a truce?" I propose, curious to see his reaction.

  "A truce?" He raises an eyebrow.

  "Is that your way of making sure I won't embarrass you in front of your friends?"

  The corner of my mouth pulls up. It's not me who's going to be embarrassed. That's for sure.

  "You're going to be my bodyguard for at least another couple of months. It's already been a week and we've all but killed each other," I pause, tilting my head to look at him.

  "Go on," he narrows his eyes in skepticism.

  "It's going to be hell if we continue like this. For both of us. I was thinking we could act more," I purse my lips as if I'm deep in thought, "cordially."

  "It's not in your nature, Gianna," he chuckles.

  "It can be," I counter. And it is technically true. I don't have to be a bitch. But it works—it keeps people away.

  "Can you tell me what brought this on?" he asks, his tone serious for the first time.

  "I'm tired," I sigh. "At home I fight with my father and stepmother. Outside, I fight with you. At these parties," I wave towards the ballroom, "I fight with even more people. I want a moment of peace," I admit.

  Again, technically true, but not in the context I'm implying.

  He studies me for a moment, his eyes moving over my face and lower, towards the torn bodice that I'd barely managed to fix. Heat travels up my body at his perusal, but I can't break character. I certainly can't yell at him to avert his fucking eyes.

  It takes everything in me to just smile sweetly at him.

  "So, what do you say? Truce?" I hold my hand out to him.

  He doesn't answer for a second and I fear that doesn't believe me. But then he surprises me when his big hand engulfs mine, my skin tingling from the contact.

  Why the hell is it tingling?

  I barely mask a scowl at that thought, trying my damned hardest to keep myself in check as I slowly shake his hand.

  "You're an odd person, Gianna Guerra," he states, his eyes still glued to my face. The r in my name rolls effortlessly on his tongue, and for the first time I note a tinge of accent. It doesn't help that it sounds like a low purr, sending shivers to my back and making me feel even more feverish.

  The plan. Yes, I must stick to the plan.

  "I'm glad we can put everything besides us. If you'll excuse me, I need to get something to drink."

  "Wait here. I'll bring it to you. It's not a good idea to drink from foreign places," he immediately interjects, almost frowning at his words.

  I nod thoughtfully.

  "You're right. Thank you," I smile shyly, his eyes dipping to my lips.

  "Right,"
he says, blinking twice.

  The drinks station is at the other end of the ballroom, and to make it there, he has to walk by the balustrade that divides the top floor from the lower one.

  I'm a little giddy as I watch him stride across the dance floor, a determined look on his face. It also serves as a mighty contrast, his body big and imposing—so very different from those scrawny boys pretending to be men. He's at least a head taller than everyone at the party, his figure easily discernible in the crowd.

  And as he reaches the designated spot, I pull my phone from my bag, hitting record.

  It all happens in slow motion. One second he's fine, the next he's covered in a white, almost translucent sticky substance. It pours down his head and face, staining the top of his black suit.

  "What," his startled voice echoes through the ballroom as the music stops, everyone staring at him and laughing to their heart's content.

  I take a step forward, walking until I reach his side, my phone still capturing his reaction.

  He turns sharply towards me, his eyes blazing.

  "Gianna," he grits my name, his jaw clenched, his nostrils flared.

  "I'm sorry Mr. Bailey," I start in a dramatic voice, "but ours isn't meant to be," I raise a hand to my forehead, closing my eyes and releasing a tragic sigh. "Not when you're covered from head to toe in horse cum." I have to purse my lips so I don't break into a satisfied smile.

  Last time we'd gone for my riding lessons, I'd put a—rather large—order of horse semen, already plotting my revenge for the fish incident. Still, I don't think I could have ever imagined how gratifying this could be.

  And now the entire internet will know too, because I'm not the only one with my phone out. Everyone is recording him, videos from all angles hitting the online space all at once.

  No longer able to hold on to my laughter, I burst out loud, my hand on my stomach as I let everything out. I don't think I've ever been more satisfied by a prank than now. Seeing him covered in horse spunk has to be the best humiliation.

  "You should even thank me," I add, barely able to get the words out. "That spunk is probably worth more than your entire pathetic self," I giggle.

  And it had been expensive. But when you know enough rich people that derive just as much pleasure from humiliating others, you don't have to pay a penny.

  He takes a step towards me, and as I see his grave expression, aggression rolling off him, I stop laughing, worry bubbling to the surface.

  But he can't do anything to me here, right? There are so many people, all filming the events, that he can't possibly think to harm me in plain sight.

  He comes right to my side, giving me a look of disgust before shaking his head at me and striding away from the ballroom.

  I release a relieved sigh, and immediately I'm met with a barrage of comments from people around me, everyone praising my idea and telling me that he should go viral by tomorrow. Considering that some of the people in this room have millions of followers, I have no doubt that Mr. Scarface will be Mr. Spunkface tomorrow.

  When he doesn't return even after half an hour, I'm almost convinced my mission has reached its goal.

  I continue to chat with everyone who comes up to me, until at some point it becomes too tiring.

  Making my way to the back terrace, I finally take a moment to myself.

  "Who knew revenge would be this tiring?" A smile spreads on my lips.

  Father might have tossed me to the sharks when he'd decided to pimp me out to the New York elites, but I learned very quickly to survive. You don't get at the top of the chain unless you're tough. And in these circles, you need to be more than tough—you need to be cruel.

  "Gianna," a voice calls from behind me.

  I turn, frowning when I see Garett, one of Lindsay's friends, come forward.

  "Yes?" I raise an eyebrow. I'm not in the mood for company, especially of the male variety.

  "Damn," he whistles, "what you did back there?" He shakes his head, an amused expression on his face. "I knew you were smart, but I didn't realize you'd be devious too."

  "Excuse me?" I narrow my eyes at him.

  Being Lindsay's friend meant that we'd seen each other regularly at events. But I'd never had a conversation with him alone. Hell, I don't ever have conversations with men alone.

  "When I heard from Lindsay what you had planned, I doubted you'd actually go through with it. But you did," the corner of his mouth curls up as he steps closer to me.

  "Yeah, well, thanks," I say dismissively, making to bypass him.

  "Where are you going?" He stops me, his hand on my elbow.

  Already I feel an incoming wave of anger and panic, but I know better than to outwardly show it.

  "Back inside. The party's still going, right?" I attempt a smile of my own to put him more at ease.

  I've already seen—many times—what rejection does to these boys' egos, and they only become nastier if I say no to them.

  I'm already on my way when he grabs my arm again, this time more forcefully, pulling me backwards and into his embrace.

  His entire body is flush against mine, and my eyes go wide for a second, unable to react.

  "I've wanted to tell you how I feel for a long time, Gianna," he starts, whispering in my hair. "I've been in love with you for years now, but I've never had the courage to tell you how I felt. Not when I knew the men you were with," he sighs, continuing his confession.

  I can only stand still, my body stiff as a wooden plank as my mind tries to catch up with what's happening. Even the words to tell him to let me go fail to come out of my mouth. There's only a sense of loss, so profound my entire being starts shaking, my body remembering what it's like to be held against my will, to be...

  "I'm sorry if I laid this out on you too suddenly," he says eventually, moving away. His eyes are studying me for a reaction, but I simply can't give him anything. I can barely move as it is.

  "You don't have to reply immediately. Please, just think about it?" He asks in a hopeful tone.

  I barely find the strength to nod slowly, my eyes unblinking as I will some clarity to return to my mind.

  He beams at me before quickly retreating, leaving me alone once more.

  It's only then that it finally dawns on me that this could have been worse. So much worse than a sweet boy declaring his crush. And I would have been powerless to do anything. Not with how my body froze up, my mind a minefield of panic.

  A sob catches in my throat as my entire body starts vibrating with the intensity of my emotions.

  "Fuck, fuck, fuck," I whisper to myself, agitation and terror overtaking me.

  I don't have a bag with me, but I do have a small pouch in my dress reserved for emergency situations.

  My fingers fumble with the opening of the dress, taking out the small container to reveal my prized pills. But my panic is still too intense, my fingers shaking as I try to open it and take the pills out.

  And I'm so focused on getting to them that I don't hear the figure sneaking behind me. I only realize there's someone else in the garden with me when I feel a hand on my arm.

  I jump, startled by the sudden touch, my pills all tumbling to the ground, spilling from their container.

  "No, no," I shake my head, muttering under my breath.

  "Now, what do we have here?" His voice resounds as he holds tightly on to my arm, not letting me stoop to gather my pills.

  "Let me go," I whisper, knowing he's here to wreck his revenge. And I'll take it. I'll take everything as long as I get my pills.

  I just need one...

  "You didn't think I'd let you off the hook for what you did, did you sunshine?"

  I gather the courage to look up, my limbs still trembling with residual adrenaline from my close encounter with a panic attack.

  He cleaned himself up. He's no longer wearing his suit. Instead, he put on a black t-shirt that's molded to his muscular frame, only serving to emphasize further the disparity in our sizes.

  And wh
at he could do to me.

  "Just let me get that, and then we can talk."

  I try to wrench my arm from his hold, but it's in vain as he tightens his fingers over my skin. His hands are so big, he's easily circling the entirety of my arm, making sure I can't possibly escape.

  "Please," the words tumble out of my mouth, a shameful admission, but necessary when my brain is craving—no, demanding—the pills.

  "Hmm," he smirks, bending over to pick up the container.

  "Xanax," he reads the label, an eyebrow raised as he turns to study my face. "So little miss perfect is taking Xanax," he drawls.

  "Give it back," I burst out, my eyes fixed on the pill he's holding, the only thing that can help me escape the hell that is my mind. "Please, give it back," I whisper, resenting saying the words out loud, hating that he caught me at my weakest, but nonetheless unable to ignore the way my body is fighting me, my mind sending sharp reminders of the nightmare that will begin if I don't get them. They are the only thing standing between me and a total breakdown, and for that... I'd do anything.

  I don't know if it's this show of vulnerability that gets through to him, but he ends up extending his palm, the pill in the middle.

  I don't even think as I snatch it, popping it into my mouth and swallowing. I close my eyes, a sigh of relief escaping me as I simply wait for the calm to settle over me.

  I don't know how long I stand like that, eyes closed, mouth parted as I simply breathe in and out. The effect is slow to come, but come it does, rewarding me with a heavenly inner peace as I finally ground myself enough to open my eyes and face my bitter enemy.

  "What do you want?" I spit at him, a little more in control of myself. Now that I got my fix, I know there's nothing he can do to me that's worse than the throes of an attack.

  He's sporting an amused expression on his face, slowly chuckling as he looks me up and down.

  "Does anyone else know what a little addict you are?"

  "I'm not an addict."

  "Really? Could have fooled me," he arches a brow. "I wonder what your father would say about this pastime of yours," he drawls, folding his arms over his chest.