Page 37 of Mafia King
After my shower, I’m so sure my period could come any minute, I stick a pad onto my underpants as a preventative measure.
* * *
Santino’salready at the table when I come downstairs. He glances over the top of his paper and returns right back to it. “Good morning, Violetta.”
“Good morning.” I sit and let Celia pour me coffee. “How did you sleep?”
He lowers the news and takes another look at me. A real one, this time. I keep a neutral expression, stirring my coffee as if my period came on the dot and there’s not a damn thing on my mind.
Deep, steady breaths, Violetta. Just find out first.
“Like the dead,” he finally says and folds his paper neatly. “You look beautiful this morning.”
“Thank you.” I choose a pastry. “Must be a glow from last night.”
He smirks, and I do too, because last night was pretty glow-worthy.
He folds his paper neatly and sets his phone on top of it, straightens his cuffs, and reclines in his chair. His hands rest lightly on the arms in a way that’s so regal, I feel an urge to fall between his knees and beg to be used like a toy.
I am a badly broken woman.
Santino’s eyes follow every move I make as I sweeten my coffee.
“Maybe tomorrow morning you’ll set the house on fire,” he says, implying tonight could leave me hot as well as glowing.
“The fire extinguisher’s under the sink.” I smile around mysfogliatella, which is when I notice he’s looking at me as if I’m about to announce news that could disrupt our lives.
“Any fire that little thing can put out isn’t worth setting.” He moves his phone off his paper as if he’s going to read it again, but something tugs on the corners of his mouth and his hand slides back onto the arm of the chair. He taps the end with a fingernail, watching me break my pastry into a hundred little flakes.
“I want to see Gia today,” I say, cracking like asfogliatellaunder the pressure of his attention.
“She’s working.” He goes for his paper again.
“I’ll come to the café for a coffee then.”
Santino snaps open the news and reads again. What did it take, I wonder, to acquire such control? Is it from the years that separate our births?
“I gave you your phone.” He scans the articles, but I don’t think he’s reading it. “Call her.”
“I don’t want to call.” Petulance laces through my tone. This is not how territory is marked. “I want to see my cousin.”
“What for?”
I cannot out-play Santino. Only the truth will get through. “To make sure she knows.”
“Knows what?”
This asshole knows exactly what I’m talking about, but he’s going to make me say it. I’m not sure if he’s being cruel or thorough.
“Do you remember what happened after you stole me away?” I ask.
“You figured it out.”
“Do you want Gia to be as miserable as I was?”
Santino folds his paper down and regards me silently, maybe mulling over what I’ve said, maybe figuring out how to shut me up. But it isn’t an immediate no, which is definitely better than expected.
Finally, his mouth opens, and my chest tightens, waiting for him to tell me he doesn’t care.
