Page 7 of Seen By Larabe

“Is that so? What could she have said that would be of interest to me?”

“She is being married off to one of the Lozado’s.” Silence meets my statement, and she is either doing one of two things, getting pissed about this information or trying to figure out why I am wasting her time.

It feels hours have gone by and I can hear muffled conversation, intermittently with cries of an infant and the babbling of a baby. Finally she speaks.

“Is this a fucking joke, LB? Some bullshit you have cooked up to not give her back? Have you fucked her?” My skin begins to get hot listening to her reduce my Piccola to a whore, but I swallow so I don’t spell instant death for the both of us.

“No. I would never disrespect you in such a way that would waste your time, boss. She knows this for a fact.”

“Those leeches. Does her father know what they will do to her? All of their brides disappear once an heir has been born. What the actual fuck.” Her righteous anger makes my muscles intense. “This is what we are going to do. I am going to have this information confirmed. In the meantime you two stay there where it is safe. Should this be true, you will be bringing her to Miami, to Quan, so she is under the protection of us all. But so help me, LB, if you are lying, I will bleed you like the rest of them. Are we clear?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. I will be in touch.” Once the phone has been disconnected, I place both of my palms on the counter and take a deep breath. We dodged a bullet. For now.

“So when do you have to take me back?” I hear whispered behind me. Shit. I didn’t know she was awake. I turn to her and try to smile to put her at ease. She is standing by the wall, biting her lip which is trembling, looking like a lost puppy.

“If I have it my way, never.” I can see in her eyes that she wants to believe me but in her mind she thinks her father is the most powerful. Maybe if I tell her the truth, it will help her relax. “Come to me, Piccola.” I open my arms for her and sit on the chair. The minute she is in front of me I pull her onto my lap and snuggle into her neck, inhaling her honey and chamomile shampoo and soap. She melts into me, and I know. I know I was meant to protect her, forever. “Have you heard of the DeSantis Family?” Her body riles up and she nods her head. “Tell me what you know of them.”

“I only know from eavesdropping on my father’s meeting sometimes. When he speaks of them I can hear the fear in his voice. He says they are the most powerful mafia family in the majority of the east coast. But they allied with the man who owns the rest of the U.S.” I nod my head at how accurate her description is. “Why do you ask?” I move her hair from her neck and impulsively, I kiss her there allowing my tongue one swipe before I pull back. I hear the very faint mewl from her throat but as fast as it came it was gone.

“Well, Piccola, that is who I work for. I work for Giulia DeSantis directly. She is based out of New York, but my home is in Miami on the compound of her cousin Aurora who is the Dona of Miami.” She gasps before turning to look at me.

“Is it true she slices off the heads of men with a sword and feeds them to crocodiles under the ground?” Well shit! I throw my head back and laugh like I have never done. When I look down, amusement all over my face, Satine’s mouth is open, obviously surprised I can laugh.

“Yes it is true.” I sober up and my mind is once again plotting. I am praying she lets me keep her without me being next.

Eight

Satine

Three Days Later

Iam still trying to get my head wrapped around who his boss is. I have even googled her a few times and besides a couple of pictures of her out and about with her sisters before all of the murders, there is nothing. I can say this, she is beautiful in a dark, menacing sort of way.

Men in my country whisper about her like she is the boogeyman. I have watched men pale, from a far of course when my father would say that she took someone out. I don’t know her, and to be honest I don’t know that I want to, but, I admire the fear she puts into men.

Larabee and I spent the morning eating breakfast and then we played a Phase 10 tournament. The winner gets to pick the coffee of the day which is a big deal because that is the one thing we argue over. He loves manly dark, strong coffee. I like the sweet and dainty cappuccinos. He won’t try mine and I won’t try his. I won. I am not entirely sure he didn’t let me win, but it doesn't matter. He has to drink girly coffee.

The rest of the day is calm and sort of quiet. Larabee spends most of the time in an office, hushed muted conversation that I am used to. The saving grace in this situation is that a few hours ago the books, movies, clothes and espresso machine I ordered arrived.

I was so happy for the clothes because I have been walking around in his shirts since I have been here and even though I love having the smell of him wrapped around me, I want to put on clothes and start trying to feel like me. Once I get everything opened and situated, I take the clothes into the room and jump in the shower. For the first time since I got here, I close my eyes and the monster in my head is replaced with Larabee. I can feel his mouth on my neck like it was earlier. My nipples begin to harden, and I can’t stop myself from slowly rubbing my soapy hands over them. “Oh,” I whisper at how sensitive they are. I stop immediately, guilt washing over me, because should I be feeling anything resembling happiness right now? And is it happiness or gratitude?

I still wake up screaming, thrashing about, disoriented. Sometimes I walk around, scratching my arms, itching for another shot, but it is a far cry from where I was. I can tell I am still detoxing because I wake up drenched, from head to toe. I asked the doctor about when he came for a checkup yesterday and he told me it was normal and a good sign. Apparently my body is expelling the drugs. Tentatively, I ask him if he knows what they gave me and as expected, it was heroin.

I shake my head to clear all of the hurt and pain from it, at least for a moment. I wash my hair inhaling the scent, but my mind keeps going back to his lips on my neck. I don't know if he meant to do it, but I felt the wetness his tongue left behind. In ordinary circumstances having these feelings would be shocking and out of the question, but the monsters who had me never touched me in that way. “ay Dios mío,” I whisper to myself.

The soap is running down my body and my eyes are still closed. I am conjuring images of his hands going where mine are going. I am shocking myself, but I think I want him to replace everything I have been through with happy memories. They slide down my stomach so slow and tentatively, but with determination. His hand slides down toward the place where no man has touched, and I gasp when my fingers slide between the lips.

“Fuck.” I hear as a hiss, breaking my fantasy. I look toward the sound and see him standing there. Immediately I feel ashamed and like I need to apologize.

“I’m… I don’t…” he begins to shake his head as he moves further into the restroom.

“Don’t ever apologize for bringing yourself pleasure, Piccola. The only thing I want to hear and see is how you touch yourself and the sound you make when you come. I want you to show me everything, Satine, but then I remember what you are going through, and it makes me feel like shit to be thinking of you and any way that isn’t innocent.”

Goosebumps are on my skin from his confession because the sincerity in his eyes show me he is a good man. So is it wrong I want him to be bad? I need something to make me feel alive. To make me believe they didn’t kill my soul in the darkness. I feel like they destroyed any chance I have of normal anything, and love and I don’t want that to be so, but when he looks at me, I see promise. I see heat and desire and that is worth more than anything else.

“You are honorable, Larabee. Many men would have taken advantage or demanded something in return for holding me at night and rocking me through an episode. You haven’t. You have been nothing but kind, gentle and caring.”

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