by Mariano, Sam
“Neither do I,” he answers dryly.
---
Once upon a time, I felt pleasure when we pulled through the gates to Mateo’s house. I enjoyed the sense of family, even if this particular family is stuck in time with their somewhat archaic practices. Sunday means I’ll spend the whole evening cooking and serving my man while the men drink and talk shop—or whatever it is they talk about—in massive wing chairs in Mateo’s study.
When Beth first started seeing Mateo, she found it all charming and kind of fun. A chance to play dress-up—she always embraced it and went all out, red lipstick and pearls—and serve her man. Then, as she didn’t really want him to be her man anymore, the charm wore off and it became a chore.
Tonight, I get it. I’d rather stab Dante than serve him dinner, but I don’t know what will happen if I refuse. Given his sensitivity to Mateo when I’m around, I imagine rejecting Dante in front of Mateo would lead to a fit of rage the likes of which I probably haven’t seen before. It probably wouldn’t be worth it… but maybe.
Dante lightly grips my wrist and tugs me into his side as we walk in the door. Keeping his voice low, he murmurs, “This should go without saying, but behave yourself tonight.”
“I’m not a child,” I chide, trying—and failing—to yank my wrist from his grasp.
Grip tightening, he says, “Then don’t act like one. This is the only warning you get, Colette. Try to make me look like an asshole, and you’ll damn sure get one. I won’t put up with any shit tonight. Not here. Not in front of him.”
“Then you should have brought a willing date,” I state, narrowing my eyes and finally looking at him.
Lifting a dark eyebrow in warning, he tells me, “Piss me off and you’ll pay for it later.”
His words shouldn’t send a trail of heat through my core, but they do. I shake it off and do my best to install a wall of ice around myself. I don’t want to be here and I won’t pretend otherwise. I don’t give a damn about pleasing Dante. I don’t care if I piss him off. He’s pissed me off. What about my wrath? That doesn’t count?
Besides, if I embarrass him in front of Mateo, it’s his own damn fault. He should have known better than to drag me here tonight.
When we used to come to these, we would meet Mateo and Beth in his study or here in the foyer, but tonight Dante sends me to the kitchen without so much as a glimpse of Mateo.
In the kitchen, I hope to find Dante’s younger sister, Francesca. I had hoped she would be here so I would have someone to talk to, but instead I find a chummy pair of blue-eyed blondes, both young and alert to the new girl sliding into their fold. Dante told me in the car on the way here I don’t need to make friends with either of them, so I don’t try to. If we have to do this every week, it would be easier if we all got along, but I don’t want to attach to another soon-to-be dead girl.
Instead, I keep to myself and pound glass after glass of wine like a deflated housewife at the end of a hard day.
10
Dante
“So, how is it going with Colette?”
I look up from my drink, turning my attention to my older brother, perched on the edge of his mahogany desk, holding his own drink and watching me. We’ve been talking about our problem with the Castellanos family up until now, but business apparently exhausted, I’m the next most eventful item up for discussion.
“She’s fine,” I clip, looking back down at my glass before taking a long drink.
“You didn’t bring her in to say hello,” Mateo points out.
“Nope,” I agree, offering nothing more.
Mateo gives me a moment to share, but when I don’t, he presses me. “Is she adjusting well? Has she tried to run?”
I shake my head shortly. “‘Course not. She knows better.”
“Well, does any part of her seem happy to be back, or is she just angry?”
“Why do you care?” I demand. “Adrian’s not here anymore so you have to butt into my business? Stay out of it.”
Cocking an eyebrow in surprise, he shrugs. “Fine, don’t share if you don’t want to. I thought I might be able to offer advice if that would be helpful, but if you prefer to muddle your way through it alone, be my guest.”
“I don’t need your fucking advice,” I mutter, taking another drink. “You don’t even know how to handle your own shit, what makes you think you can handle mine?”
His lips curl up faintly, but his temper isn’t engaged. “Tell yourself what you need to, Dante. I handle my shit just fine.”
“Yeah?” I challenge, lifting an eyebrow.
Meeting my gaze with narrowed eyes, he says, “Yes.”
I shake my head, but don’t bother locking horns with him over something I care so little about. His lady problems are his own. Unlike him, I only feel compelled to impart advice when his love life starts getting in the way of our business. “Whatever you say, big brother. You handle your personal business and I’ll handle mine separately. Colette falls under my territory, not yours. Her involvement with your circus will be limited to the very occasional Sunday night dinner. Don’t expect us to come to these things and socialize like we used to. We’re here because we needed to talk about Castellanos and I didn’t want to leave her alone. It won’t be like it was between us before. Vince may not have a choice letting you mingle with his woman, but I do, and it’s not gonna happen.”
Not bothering to hide his amusement, Mateo shakes his head. “You can’t honestly believe I’m still interested in Colette, Dante. I’m not. She’s yours. My only motive in asking about her is wanting to help you see something you might be too close to see yourself. That’s it.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I state. “I don’t want her getting close to you or your fucking women—nothing. That’s not how it’s gonna be this time.”
“Woman,” Vince says, sharply. “He has one.”
I glance back at our younger cousin, Mia’s boyfriend. There’s a challenge in his dark eyes like he dares either of us to disagree with him. I’m not here to fight with him, either. I couldn’t give a fuck less about whatever is going on between him, his girlfriend, and Mateo—all I care about is keeping Colette out of it. I made the mistake of letting her get close to Beth and then when Mateo’s drama blew up, it fucked my world up right along with his. That’s not going to happen a second time.
Ignoring Vince, Mateo keeps his gaze trained on me. “Well, if you change your mind or it gets too hard, I have my own insights into what makes Colette tick. I’m happy to share. No strings attached.”
Yeah fucking right. There are always strings with him.
I know that, so I stay away, but the more I drink the more I brood about it. The more I wonder what kind of insight he has into my woman. It eats away at me thinking there are things he might know about her that I don’t, thinking if things were different and Mateo was the one after her, maybe he would do a better job of catching her. My brother is much smoother in certain ways than I am, certainly more adept at manipulating women to get what he wants from them. My approach is more direct, more forceful, but my approach isn’t getting quick results. When Mia was staying at the mansion with Vince and she first met Mateo, he had the wool pulled so far over her eyes, she’d get in fights with her own boyfriend defending the devious bastard.
Maybe he has a point. Maybe his approach is better than mine. Maybe gentler manipulation is better than brute force. After all, despite all he did to damage that girl, she’s in his kitchen right now fixing all of us dinner. Colette looks at me like I’m the worst person in the world, and Mia still looks at Mateo like he’s just fucking misunderstood.
Of course, it could just be because she’s a lot younger than Colette. I guess Colette used to look at me like that. I don’t know what it would take to get her to look at me with softness again.
Maybe Mateo does.
As much as it kills me, after a little time has passed and Alec gets off on a tangent talking to Vince, I take advantage of their preoccupation and make my way
over to stand beside Mateo in front of Dad’s old desk. He flicks a glance at me, but doesn’t say anything.
“Suppose I did want your insights about Colette,” I begin.
“All right,” he drawls, watching me.
All my words feel stuck in my throat because I don’t want to ask him for advice, but Luca is fucking pointless to talk to about shit like this, so I really don’t have anyone else. “Colette is pissed about the lawyer. I don’t even think she loved the bastard, not really, not like she did me, but she’s clinging to this idea that he was the good guy and I’m the bad one. You know how she can be sometimes about all this shit.”
Nodding as he takes a sip of his drink, he murmurs, “If there’s a right side, Colette will always take it.”
“Yeah. And right now that means opposing me. I’m sure I can break her down over time, but if there’s a quicker way… it’d be nice to get there faster.”
“Well, you can’t always take the quickest path. Not if you want the best long-term result. In your case, though, it’s simple. Right now Colette’s on the lawyer’s side, and he’s dead, so he can’t do anything to fuck it up. That puts you at a severe disadvantage. You’re bound to do plenty to fuck up any good will she might have for you, and she’s going to fight it even if she does feel a passing wave of affection for you because she feels it’s her duty. She’s putting him before you, and because she’s Colette and that’s who she is, she’s always going to, even once she starts to waver. Until you give her someone more important to prioritize.”
“What do you mean? I already threatened her aunt. I mean, I could do it again, but one more threat and if she disobeys, I have to follow through. I don’t think killing her aunt is going to earn me any favor, just make her hate me more.”
Mateo shakes his head. “Not her aunt. Your child.”
“I don’t have—” I stop dead when I take his meaning.
Mateo nods. “Get her pregnant. Give her a stronger tie to you than the lawyer. Colette’s easy to trap, Dante. She wants the perfect little family she never had. She won’t hold onto her stubbornness at the expense of it. She’ll always try to put the needs of others ahead of her own, so push out the lawyer and give her a baby to devote herself to. That day’s a bit fuzzy for me so I don’t remember exactly why, but I do remember the day everything happened with Beth making a mental note that if I ever wanted—if someone ever wanted to trap Colette, knocking her up would be the quickest path toward her unwavering allegiance. Once someone makes her a mother, they don’t have to worry about her going anywhere.”
Heat creeps up under the collar of my dress shirt and I tug at my tie, glaring at my brother. “You thought about how to trap my girlfriend?”
Shrugging it off, he tells me, “You know how I am, Dante. I can’t help inventorying everybody’s weaknesses and filing away the methods I could use to control them. Doesn’t mean anything.”
“Doesn’t mean anything, my ass. I walked in on you two embracing and now you tell me you were thinking about impregnating her?”
“I didn’t say—” My brother’s not one to waste time repeating or over-explaining himself, so rather than continue down that path, he meets my gaze and says meaningfully, “It doesn’t mean anything now. Whatever confused, lonely thoughts I may have had that day are no longer relevant. I’m not that man anymore. I’ve moved on, but you haven’t. If you’re still set on Colette after all these years, there’s got to be a reason. Commit to a course and lock her down.”
I consider his words for a moment, then nod slowly as the idea wraps itself around me. “Getting her pregnant crossed my mind, too. How fucked are we?” I shake my head, mildly amused. “She still hates me though. I need something quicker to push past that, to make her like me again so we can get to that part.”
Mateo considers my situation, weighing his own thoughts, then he rocks his head from side to side. “You could probably speed things up. Wouldn’t be painless.”
I don’t give a fuck about painless, I only care that it’s effective. “Like how?”
“It would help if you could make yourself wounded. Colette can’t resist taking care of the wounded.”
“You mean physically?”
Mateo shrugs. “Emotionally, physically, either way. Physically would probably be easier for you to pull off. Brawl with Luca or stop by my gym one morning, I’d be happy to beat the shit out of you.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Yeah, I bet you would.”
“Hey, like you said, I don’t have Adrian anymore. I need someone to spar with.”
“I don’t think a black eye will get the job done. She’d like to give me one of those herself.”
“Perhaps a non-fatal gunshot wound, then,” he suggests. “Pretend you got nicked in a shootout with someone from Antonio’s crew. Give her a scare, make her consider what it would feel like if she lost you. Then once you’ve tapped into her softness, milk it, let her take care of you. If you can wrap all that up with a pregnancy, you’re set. She’ll fall right back in love with you, even if she doesn’t want to.”
Lifting my eyebrows in surprise, I ask, “You think I should take a fucking bullet?”
“I probably would,” he says, like it’s nothing. “I told Mia once about Luciana and her throwing stars. Mia’s a nurturer, much like Colette. Much less sanctimonious than Colette, but she has a big heart and cares about the pain of others, even if they don’t entirely deserve her concern. Even while I was actively hurting her, when she saw my scars, that evidence of my pain, her tender heart swelled. She kissed them.” A glimmer of affection glistens in his eyes and his lips tug up in a faint, faraway smile. “You can’t manufacture moments like those, but if you’re lucky enough to get one, it’s worth taking a bullet for.” More focused, he returns his gaze to me. “Besides, it’s within your control. You decide where the bullet goes. It’s little more than a scrape. It’s not like you’d be in any real danger.”
Shaking my head, I tell him, “You’re a methodical bastard, you know that?”
Smiling faintly, he tips his glass up to take a sip, then looks over at me. “I do.”
---
Dinner does not go well. Apparently, neither lady in the kitchen interfered with Colette’s wine intake and by the time we all sit down to eat, she’s drunk.
Wine has always made Colette maudlin, and since right now she feels more anger and sadness than any pleasant emotion, rather than getting a pleasantly affectionate, handsy drunk, I get an annoying, difficult one. Even after I warned her to be on her best behavior in front of my family, she’s fucking mouthy and rude at the dinner table.
We make it through half the meal uneventfully, but then Mateo’s current girlfriend sees fit to try to pull Colette out of her pouting and into the conversation.
“So, Colette, you’ve been here before?” Meg inquires.
Without looking up from her plate, Colette nods her head. “Long time ago.”
“Not that long ago,” I clarify.
“A lifetime,” Colette says, finally looking up to glare over at me. I ignore her gaze and take a sip of wine.
My brother attempts to keep things pleasant, addressing Colette before she can get sidetracked hating on me. “Things seem to be going well. Now here you are, Dante’s… companion again.”
“Prisoner,” Colette mutters at him. “The word you’re looking for is prisoner.”
I refuse to reward Colette’s sulking with my attention, so I ignore her some more and reach across the table for a dinner roll. As I do, I notice Mia and Meg exchanging understanding nods. Both of them have spent some time as prisoners of my family, so they know the score.
“This is fun,” Vince remarks from his spot beside Mia. “You guys should come more often.”
I think he was being sarcastic, but nonetheless Colette responds with a curt, “Hard pass.”
Eyebrows rising, Meg murmurs, “Damn,” and grabs a drink to avoid the awkwardness.
My fists clench of their own accord, ra
ge pulsing through my veins. It feels like everyone’s fucking staring at me, but it’s worse—everyone is trying to look away. Mia stares at her plate, Vince shakes his head and reaches for a salt shaker. Meg gulps down her water like she’s chasing a plate of hot wings, meanwhile Alec and Cherie focus on shoveling food into their mouths. Only Mateo is unperturbed, but he knows more than the rest of them about how Colette is being right now since we talked privately over drinks.
I can’t let her bullshit stand, so without another word I shove back my chair, grab her arm, and haul her out of the dining room.
“Hey,” she complains, stumbling to keep up. Drunk and in heels—what a fucking mess. “Let go of me.”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” I snap.
She gasps. I don’t look back at her, but I can feel her glaring at me. I don’t say a word as I drag her down the hall and into my brother’s study. I pull the door shut and push her against the wall right beside it, moving in on her.
Fear leaps in her pretty blue eyes—not a violent fear, just a practiced wariness because she knows better than to act the way she’s acting. Giving her one last chance to repent, I point a finger in her face—ignoring the way she flinches, like I’d ever fucking lay a hand on her—and tell her, “This ends now.”
Colette swallows, but steadily glares up at me. “You’re not my boss.”
“Yes, I fucking am. You may not have picked me this time, but I’m your boss all the same. I warned you not to make me look like an asshole in front of my brother, Colette. Did I not warn you? Was I not clear?”
Swatting my hand away, she tells me, “You were perfectly clear. I just didn’t listen.”
I straighten, sucking in a breath to try to push out some of the rage coursing through me. I’m used to grown men following my orders. I’m not used to pushback from 100 pounds of self-righteous anger in a tight black dress.
