Page 20 of Relentless Oath

Like a fool, I found myself driving by her apartment every day, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. She’d given up running, so I didn’t even get the opportunity to watch her ass bounce up and down in those leggings that didn’t leave much to the imagination.

Sometimes, I would be listening to one of my workers talk about a rival gang or a deal gone wrong and I found myself not caring. Instead, I would be thinking about what she was wearing, how she slept, and whether her mind was as fucked up as mine was, now that we had met.

I knew I was being stupid. To me, we had consummated a relationship that I had already existed in my mind, but maybe to her, she had just fucked a stranger.

This was dangerous. If I couldn’t focus on work, I couldn’t stay in control. And what was there in life outside of control? Chaos? No.

I had worked too hard to have everything in my life exactly where it needed to be. The business. My family. My money.

The only thing I wasn’t able to control was her. I looked at myself in the mirror and rubbed my unshaven chin. What was I going to do about Mya?

The answer was clear as day. I had to have her. And I knew exactly what to say to make sure that happened. Would she hate me? Probably. Did I blame her? No. But her feelings didn’t matter to me.

I didn’t deal with feelings. I dealt with absolutes. And I absolutely had to have her with all my being. Whether I liked it or not, I had to have Mya, no matter the cost. She was the missing piece.

She was my unknown. And now that I’d known her, it was time for her to be where she belonged. With me. By my side.

I dropped the towel, crossed my room toward my closet, and painstakingly took the time to choose what to wear. Today was a big day, after all. Today I was going to go get my soon-to-be-bride.

She had just woken up. I could tell by the halo of messy hair around her face and the PJs that she was wearing when she answered the door. Standing outside waiting for her to answer, I had been nervous that perhaps she wouldn’t let me in.

That she would take one look at me and call the cops. Accuse me of being a stalker or something…which I was.

Instead, she opened the door, looked at me with those big hazel eyes of hers full of surprise, and then stepped back to let me in, not uttering a word.

Everything I had planned to say slipped my mind as I followed her into her small studio apartment. She had moved here just a few months after Jason died. It was even smaller inside than I expected. A makeshift coffee table balanced a few books and a bowl of forgotten fruit.

The walls were empty. A few pairs of shoes sat next to the door. In the far corner was a bed, unmade, covered in pillows of all sizes, and beyond that was a door that I figured led to the bathroom.

The kitchen was comprised of little more than a few feet of counter space, a small refrigerator, and a stovetop without an oven. A microwave sat on the counter, along with various kitchen items that looked unused and dusty.

“Excuse the mess,” she was saying, settling down on a small recliner across from me. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

I sat on the small couch across from her.

Her matter-of-fact tone and the way she eyed me warily caught me off-guard. I didn’t know what exactly was going on. She looked at me like she had been expecting me, but as if she didn’t trust her eyes. It was confusing.

Confusion wasn’t a feeling I was accustomed to. I needed to get the situation back on track. Control. That’s what I needed.

“So, how’ve you been?” she asked like we were buddies, tucking her legs under her. She was wearing leggings as PJs, and the large top didn’t disguise the fact that she was braless.

My mind drifted to the feel of her breasts in my hands. She had large nipples, surrounded by dark areolas. I remembered how they had felt in my mouth. I struggled to concentrate.

I had to get my head in the game. No woman had ever made me feel so distracted.

Getting angry at myself, I dropped all sense of pretense and said, “I don’t have time for small talk. Let’s cut to the chase.”

Her eyebrows shot up at my tone, and she frowned, “Okay….” I could hear the confusion in her voice.

“My name is Dario?—”

“Yeah, you mentioned that already?—”

“Dario di Cecco.”

Something changed on her face. Her eyes hardened, and she scrambled to sit up. She grabbed a remote control and it went flying in the direction of my face before I caught it.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” her voice had barely registered. It was so low it was almost a whisper.

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