Frivolous: A DARK MAFIA AGE-GAP ROMANCE

by Veronica Lancet

  "I understand," he nods, looking at me like a freaking lost puppy.

  Does he really think that will help his case?

  "Good," I cross my arms over my chest. "Goodnight then," I motion to the door.

  He moves his gaze between me and the door, looking uncertain for a second. Eventually, his shoulders slump in defeat as he leaves the apartment.

  I hurry to lock the door after him, sighing deeply as I slide down to the floor.

  My entire world's been turned upside down—again. And I don't think I would survive another betrayal, not when I'm still nursing old wounds.

  Still, his presence here had been like a balm to my battered heart and for a moment I'd faltered.

  He says he's chosen me over his family, but how can I trust that when I know loyalty to the famiglia is the most important thing for a made man?

  The dilemma is killing me, and that night my sleep is fitful.

  Because what if he's lying?

  But what if he's not?

  Chapter Twenty

  Bringing the glass to my lips, I tip my head lower so that no one can get a glimpse of my face. I wouldn't want any children to start screaming.

  Still, my eyes are fixed on her.

  Dressed in a pair of black jeans and a white shirt with the restaurant logo on it, Gianna prances from table to table, taking orders and somehow ignoring the way all the men are staring at her body like she's on the menu.

  I grit my teeth as I watch their eyes follow her around, the need to prove to everyone that she's not available eating at me.

  But I can't do that. No, I can't do that when I'm supposed to be on my best behavior.

  It's been two weeks since I've been to her apartment, and every single day without fail I occupy a table at the restaurant and I watch her.

  I'd told her it was for her protection because men are unpredictable, and the real world as she likes to call it is a dangerous one.

  In the beginning she'd protested my presence, but slowly she'd started getting used to it.

  After all, I have one schedule every fucking day.

  In the morning, I show up at her door to take her to work. I wait around at her work place until she's done, and then I walk her back home.

  I'd been very lucky that her landlord had seen the urgency in my fists when he'd declared the unit next to her had suddenly been freed up.

  And so I don't need to worry about anything happening to her at all times, since I'll always be close.

  But it's not enough.

  It will never be enough.

  Not when she can barely look at me, much less talk to me.

  Even when we walk home at night, she's quietly pretending I'm not there.

  And I don't fucking like it.

  In the beginning, I'd thought that she'd come around eventually if she recognizes that I am serious. But now...

  "Do you need a refill of that?" Someone asks, and I spare the waitress a quick glance, grunting.

  "You don't have a chance with her, you know," she continues. "You should quit before it becomes creepy. Just a friendly advice," she says before she disappears.

  I narrow my eyes in the direction she left.

  Of course people would think I'm a fucking creep if I'm here almost twenty-four seven. But she's not wrong. At some point, people are going to become suspicious and some might even call the cops on me.

  And that's the last thing I need.

  Although, seeing that our fake identities share a last name, and an equally fake but nonetheless real marriage certificate, there might be something extra I could do.

  A smile pulls at my lips at that thought.

  And when the waitress stops by my table to refill my coffee, I casually add that tidbit of information.

  "That woman," I point towards Gianna. "Is my wife."

  Her eyes widen in shock, and she towards Gianna and back at me, likely unable to believe someone of her beauty would marry someone like me.

  "I'm just looking out for her," I shrug. "There are a lot of creeps around."

  "Right," replies, looking unconvinced.

  A while later I see her speak with Gianna in hushed tones, and I know she's recounting what I said. Especially as Gianna comes strutting towards me, her features drawn in anger.

  There's my sunshine.

  "What do you think you're doing," she hisses. "How could you tell her we're married?"

  "But we are, aren't we?" I smirk, reminding her of the fake identities.

  "God," she groans, raising a hand to massage her temples. "I've had enough of your antics, Bass. You need to stop this."

  "Why?" I raise my eyebrows at her. "Ah, wait. Because you want to find your forever love and you can't if we're married."

  "We're not married," she snaps.

  "This says we are," I answer smugly as I take out my own ID from my wallet, pointing at the last name.

  "You know it's not true," she rolls her eyes at me.

  "But they don't, Lara."

  "You're taking this too far, Bass."

  "I'm not. I'm simply ensuring people know you're off limits." I shrug, leaning back in my seat.

  "You said you were going to leave me alone."

  "I didn't. You assumed. I told you I was going to give you time, but get used to it because I'll be in your life whether you want it or not."

  The outrage is slow to enter her features, but the way her small hands are clenched into fists, her lips pressed together in a thin line, and I know I've hit a nerve.

  "Damn you, Bass," she turns on her heel, going back to her job.

  After I drop her off at her door, I go to my own apartment, all the while ruminating about what I could do to change her mind.

  The thing is that even I am so fucking disgusted with what I did to her that I wouldn't forgive myself either. But that doesn't mean I'll stop. Not when she's my only reason for living.

  I start doing a few pushups, thinking some exercise could clear my head and give me some new ideas.

  Since proximity does not seem to help very much, I'll have to change tactics. But I know Gianna, and I also know I hurt her a lot. No amount of apologies will help until she is ready to forgive me—if ever.

  She's right that she finally has a chance at living on her own terms, and I won't do anything to jeopardize that.

  I'm halfway through my set when I hear some noises from the other side of the wall. I frown.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  It sounds like someone is remodeling the apartment. And knowing Gianna and her lack of experience with those things, I highly doubt it.

  Fear pools in my stomach and I don't even think as I dash over, knocking loudly on her door.

  "Gianna! Open up!"

  Thoughts of someone having broken into her apartment, or her being attacked plague my mind, and I'm one step away from kicking the door open.

  "What is it?" She finally opens the door, slurring her words. Her entire face is tear streaked and there is a gash on the inside of her arm.

  "Sunshine," I stride inside, locking the door behind me.

  She's clutching a bottle of alcohol, blood running down her hand and over the bottle.

  She's also looking at me with a mixture of happiness and sadness, more tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

  "I hate you," she slurs, taking a wobbly step forward and pointing her finger at me. "I fucking hate you! Why couldn't you leave me alone?"

  "Sunshine..."

  "Don't sunshine me! You son of a bitch!" she says right before she attacks me. Dropping the bottle to the floor, she starts banging her small fists into my chest, and my heart breaks at her meager attempt.

  Her eyes are so full of hurt and I feel like the worst motherfucker for knowing I put that there.

  "Gianna," I whisper, letting her pour out all the hurt on me.

  Her little punches feel like nothing, but when she does hit some of my unhealed wounds, it takes everything in me to keep still and let her express her anger.

>   Soon, sobs start racking her body, and she fists her hands in the material of my shirt, burrowing her head into my chest.

  "Shh," I slowly pat her hair.

  "Why?" she croaks. "Why couldn't you leave me alone," she sniffles, blowing her nose in my shirt. Well, if that's to be part of my punishment, I'll take it.

  When I see she's calmed down a little, I swoop her in my arms, taking her to the bed. That's also when I realize that her wardrobe had collapsed on the floor—probably the source of the noise.

  Laying her gently on the bed, I take her arm to inspect her wound.

  "That's a pretty nasty wound, sunshine. You need to get it dressed," I add softly, raising my gaze to find her watching me closely. Her eyes are swollen and puffy, her lashes still damp with tears.

  She gives a jerky nod, and I quickly go back to my apartment to get my first aid kit.

  "What made you so angry that you destroyed that poor closet?" I ask as I clean the wound, trying to distract her from the pain.

  "You," she pouts. "You always make me angry."

  "Do I?" I chuckle. Angry is good, because that means she's not indifferent to me.

  I can take all her hate, anger, and tantrums. The more the better because it shows me I still affect her.

  "You're a brute," she continues. "Why do you have to hurt me so much? Why do I have to care about you?" she jabs her finger into my chest.

  "I like that you care about me," I tell her as I catch her finger, lifting it to my mouth for a kiss.

  "I don't," she sighs.

  I try to bandage her wound properly, but she keeps on moving and interrupting me.

  "Gianna, how much did you have to drink?" I ask as I lean a little closer, a strong whiff of alcohol greeting me.

  She shrugs, pushing me slightly before climbing off the bed to get her bottle.

  Raising it up, she squints as she tries to make out how much she'd drank. But going by the half empty bottle, I'd say a lot.

  "Not enough," she says before bringing it to her lips and chugging.

  "Shit," I curse, grabbing her and the bottle and separating the two, making her sputter in the process.

  "More than enough," I correct her.

  I'm holding on to her with one hand, while keeping the bottle away with the other. She keeps on struggling to get close to the bottle, her face so fucking cute as she pouts at me. The puffiness on her face makes her even more adorable as she keeps on flailing her arms in her attempt to get the bottle.

  "No more vodka for you," I tsk at her.

  "Please," she puckers her lips in an attempt to charm me, but I'm already up and heading to the sink, emptying the contents of the bottle.

  "You..." she stares in horror as the liquid goes down the drain. "Do you know how expensive that was?" She dashes to the sink, looking even more forlorn as she takes in the empty bottle.

  "You're not going to solve anything by drinking your sorrows away."

  "Yes. I am," she crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm going to have one moment of peace where you don't intrude in my thoughts." She says confidently, not seeming to realize she's just admitted she thinks about me.

  "And how often do I intrude in your thoughts?" I inquire, moving closer to her.

  "Too often," she promptly answers before her eyes widen, her hand going over her mouth. "I didn't say that," she makes a feeble attempt at backtracking.

  "You did," I smile, caging her in. "Don't worry. I think about you often too. Too often," I lean in, watching the way her pupils dilate at my proximity. Her nipples, too, are pebbled beneath her flimsy shirt, and I can't help the rush that goes through me knowing she's not indifferent to me.

  "You should go," she whispers, never taking her eyes from mine.

  "Mhmmm, why should I?" I ask, bringing my hand to her cheek.

  "You need to go," she reiterates, "before I do something stupid."

  "Something stupid you say? Like what?" I drawl, watching a blush climb her cheeks.

  She doesn't move as I continue to caress her face, moving my hand down her neck and towards her cleavage. Her breath hitches, her lips slowly parting.

  "What are you going to do?" I dare her, because I know what she has in mind—I have the exact same thought.

  "You're a bad, bad man," she tells me, "and you need to go. Now."

  "Why? Tell me why and I'll go."

  "Because if you don't..." those beautiful eyes of hers are looking at me as if I had all the answers in the universe, and I feel my chest constrict with an unfamiliar feeling. "You make me feel hot, and I don't like it. No, I don't like you," she's back to jabbing her finger in my chest, looking entirely too contrite about how I make her feel.

  "Sunshine," I close my eyes, her allure too strong. Still, she's drunk, and I'm not going to take advantage of her like that. Not even knowing that if I closed the distance between us and pressed my mouth to hers, taking her lips in a scorching kiss, she wouldn't deny me. If anything, she'd probably beg me for more.

  And then she'd hate me in the morning.

  "You're going to bed," I rasp, none too nicely. Swooping her up, I lay her on the bed, draping a sheet over her body so I'm not tempted anymore by the sight of the luscious wonder hiding underneath.

  She stretches lazily in bed, seemingly forgetting our exchange as she makes herself comfortable, releasing a sigh and closing her eyes.

  "Sweet dreams, sunshine," I whisper, slowly caressing her hair and embedding her image of her like this in my mind.

  Precious. She's so fucking precious, and I can't believe I let Cisco cloud my mind when I should have known she would never do something like that.

  I keep my distance in the morning, still trailing behind her and ensuring she's safe, but without bothering her anymore. It seems that the more I try to ingratiate myself in her life, the more I hurt her—and that was never my intention.

  Maybe I should change strategies and stop forcing my presence on her. And so I attempt to do just that.

  For the first half of her shift, I manage to lie to myself that I'm fine not being there and watching out for her. In fact, I actually convince myself I can stay away—for an hour.

  And as I take a seat at my regular table at the restaurant, I have to admit that I can't stay away.

  I can barely go a few minutes without having her in my line of sight.

  She sees me too as I order my usual, pursing her lips and looking at me with an inscrutable expression.

  I turn my attention to a newspaper, reading the news section when I feel someone slide into the seat next to mine.

  "What are you doing here?" I frown when I see her place a plate of food on the table.

  "It's my break," she shrugs.

  "Yeah, but what are you doing here?"

  She doesn't reply. Instead, she digs into her food, her eyes skittering between me and the plate every now and then.

  "Why did you leave last night?" She finally asks, making the courage to look me in the eye.

  I tilt my head, studying her and trying to understand what exactly she's asking.

  "You fell asleep."

  "Oh," she nods, a sudden shyness to her demeanor.

  "Did you think I wouldn't leave?"

  Her eyes widen at my question.

  "Or," I pause, narrowing my eyes at her. "Did you think I'd take advantage of you?"

  She shrugs.

  "Why didn't you?"

  I'm surprised by her blasé attitude about it.

  "You could have, you know," she continues, playing with the food on her plate.

  "I know." I grunt.

  "Then why didn't you?"

  "Because you would have hated me. And you would have hated yourself. I don't want half of you, Gianna. And I certainly don't want you to allow my touch just because you're drunk. I want you." I tell her seriously.

  She nods thoughtfully, her gaze back to the food.

  Silence descends, and I just watch her as she tries to look unbothered, slowly bringing the fork to her lips
for a bite of steak.

  Fuck, but she's beautiful.

  Even with her new look, she still looks like a goddess.

  "You said your nephew showed you a video of me—or at least someone who looked like me," she suddenly speaks. "What was it like?"

  "Why do you want to know?"

  "I want to understand, Bass. I want to know what could have made you think I'd betray you like that," she says softly.

  So I do. I tell her in great detail everything that had happened in the video, watching her expression morph from one of curiosity to one of horror.

  "And she looked like me?" She asks, stupefied.

  "They doctored the video. But it looked so real," I shake my head, ashamed that I need to continue to justify my mistake.

  Yes, it looked real, but I should have trusted her more.

  "I don't remember what happened that night. I know I went upstairs with the girls and they kept feeding me drinks. I was having fun. For the first time in forever, I was having fun. Especially knowing you were nearby and nothing would happen to me. I must have passed out at some point," she says pensively.

  "And they took your dress to film the video," I add.

  "That's a horrible thing to do to someone, Bass. Why..." She shakes her head, sadness enveloping her features.

  "My nephew, Cisco... I don't think he's right here," I add as I bring my finger to my temple. "He did this too," I point to my scars.

  She blinks repeatedly, shocked.

  "He did that?"

  "I was in prison," I grimly admit, telling her most of my sordid past and how Cisco had decided to give me a reason to hate the Guerras as much as he did by setting it up as if Franco Guerra had been behind my attack.

  "That's horrible, Bass. I have no words. Why... why would he do that to his own family?"

  I purse my lips.

  "After leaving the famiglia, I did some digging. Apparently, Cisco sent his right-hand man to spy on your father a year or so ago. He disappeared."

  She frowns, looking unconvinced.

  "All this for his right-hand man?"

  "There are rumors that they were more than friends," I grimace, since look where rumors had gotten me.

  Still, only if he'd loved that man would he have reacted so viciously, disregarding even his own family in the process. It would also make sense with what I know about him. While all his cousins had been whoring around and doing everything under the sun, I'd never heard a thing about Cisco getting involved with anyone. Maybe he was in love with his right hand man. But since loving another man is unacceptable in the famiglia, most of all for the heir, he could have never acted on it.