Page 96 of The Worst Pucking Deal

“The fuck I can’t,” he spits. “He’s fucking nothing. It wouldn’t even be much of a fight.” His harsh words are a stark contrast to the way he gently rubs my skin.

Shaking my head, I clarify, “It’s not a matter of whether or not you’re physically able to. His life belongs to the Senate.”

“Fuck them, and fuck their rules.”

I pull Sy back down on the couch, and then I straddle him, placing my hands on his broad shoulders. “If we do anything rash, it’s our lives on the line. Don’t give him that power,” I plead.

“Fine,” he grinds out. “Tell me about the Senate.”

“I don’t know a lot about them myself. Until Remus came here, I didn’t even know they were real. All I know is that the rumors state they’re made up of the heads from the most prominent families in our… well, family.” I sigh when I realize how hard it is to explain.

“Go on,” Sy urges me, squeezing my hips.

“I suppose they’re Remus’ council, and on certain things he requires their votes. Like giving me my freedom.”

Sy’s quiet for so long I don’t know if he’s going to say anything else. But then he rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Fabian is part of the Senate, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” I admit in a small voice. “But Remus assured me that their vote doesn’t have to be unanimous.”

Of course, Sy has more questions, but I’m not able to answer any of them. In the end, I promise we’ll call Remus tomorrow and demand answers.

“How long do we have to stay in Rome?” Sy asks.

Not liking the look in his eyes, I shrug. “I don’t know.”

“When you call Remus tomorrow, tell him we’ll go right away.”

Sawyer

We rise early the next morning, the weight of everything she told me last night hanging heavy in the air. It’s as if neither of us truly slept, our minds preoccupied with the looming uncertainties that lie ahead. I may not fully grasp the intricacies of Lucia’s Mafia family or the Senate, but I’ve gleaned enough to know danger is ahead.

This is so fucking outside anything I’ve had to deal with before that I feel like a fish out of water. Give me a stick and a pair of skates, and I can do no wrong. But family politics and… Mafia shit, and I have no clue what to do or say. It doesn’t matter though. Making sure my sweet bunny is safe is all that matters and to hell with everything else.

Lucia wastes no time, reaching out to Remus to arrange a meeting. Despite my apprehensions, I can’t deny the sense of relief that washes over me knowing that he’s on his way. Not that I particularly want to see him, because I don’t. It’s not that I trust him. But having him coming here means things are moving ahead, and that has to be better than standing still.

As we wait for Remus to arrive, Lucia moves about the apartment with a sense of urgency. First, she systematically got rid of the glass in the living room, refusing any help. Then she moved on to tossing items into a suitcase as if preparing for our imminent departure. The atmosphere is tense, our silence punctuated only by the occasional rustle of fabric or clatter of objects hitting the floor. Lucia’s actions speak volumes, her implicit expectation that we’ll soon be bound for Rome hanging heavy in the air.

When Lucia reaches for my third suit, I gently wrap my hand around her wrist. “Stop,” I say softly. “I don’t need any more suits.”

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she rips her wrist away and places her hands on her hips. “How do you know? What if it’s an insult to the Senate to only have two suits?” She abruptly stops talking and walks into the bathroom. “Do you need a razor? What about any… what products do you use for your beard?”

Yeah, she’s definitely losing it. “Breathe, baby,” I say, coming up behind her. I slide my arms around her middle and rest my head on her shoulder. “No amount of clothes or grooming products are going to make a damn difference.”

“They might,” she argues stubbornly.

“Really?” I ask, finding her eyes in the mirror. “Or are you projecting?”

“I don’t know anymore,” she admits softly. “It’s just… I keep feeling like if I do this right, we might stand a better chance.”

As much as I want to assure her that everything will be okay, I don’t give her any empty platitudes or insult her by lying. If everything she’s told me is true, it might not be okay, and this could be our one and only trip together.

I’m saved by having to come up with anything to say when someone, probably Remus, rings the doorbell. “Showtime,” I murmur, kissing her cheek. Then I take her hand, and together we go to let her cousin into our home.

Remus stands outside the door, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he gazes at us. My sweet bunny greets him with a respectful bow and a smile, but I can’t muster anything more than a scowl for the man who isn’t protecting my wife as much as he fucking should.

“Don,” Lucia addresses him, her tone laced with respect.

“Remus,” I mutter through gritted teeth, my disdain barely concealed.

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