Page 26 of Bitter Poetry
Dante: Piercing? You’re afraid of needles.
Chris: Was. In my line of work, it’s a bad idea to have phobias. Figured getting my cock pierced was a good start. Got a full-sleeve tattoo in the making. Looks fucking amazing. Same guy Jero uses.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. That was more information than I needed… Then I scroll back to where he says he’s watching Carmela.
Dante: Where is Carmela?
Chris: At their house. Not left yet.
Dante: So am I.
Chris: wtf Ettore just left.
The fuck? He called me here for a meeting. What am I supposed to do, wait? Is this how it will be from now on, Ettore flexing his power, reminding me of my place?
Dickhead.
It’s hard for me to bow down to Ettore, but I’ve always been good at internalizing my feelings. I’ve given him nothing to latch onto as a slight since his betrothal to Carmela was announced. Maybe that’s why he’s invited me here today. I’m not giving him the reaction he craves.
When I glance down, I see another message from Christian.
Chris: He probably forgot. Sounded urgent when he left. Jero went with him… I’m sending her down.
Dante: Her?
I’m still waiting for my dickhead brother to answer when a knock sounds on the door.
I throw it open, expecting Christian.
Only it’s not my brother. It’s her.
“Christian said you wanted to speak to me?”
Fuck. She’s gorgeous.
Off the fucking charts.
She should have been mine.
It feels like I’m looking into her eyes for the first time. They seem to reach into my soul—deep blue. Looking into them creates a sensation of going under, of being ensnared by a woman so perfect that she is otherworldly in nature.
“I didn’t… My brother has a lot of issues. He has been known to do and say things for the mere joy of the fucking with someone’s day.”
Her face falls, and tears pool in her eyes. This woman has recently lost her mother, and I’m acting like a dick. Before I can second-guess myself, I’ve yanked her into the office, slammed the door, and pinned her against it. She is wearing flat shoes and appears tiny as she gazes up at me, her eyes wide and brimming with emotion.
Why does that arouse me? Why do I like the power imbalance between us so much? That I am physically bigger and stronger, that she is innocent and at my mercy, for however fleeting this moment is.
That even putting my hands on her is forbidden adds a whole other dimension, one I very much enjoy.
Does that make me an asshole?
Probably.
Do I care?
No.
Only one way to find out if Christian is right about Ettore’s personal spaces not having hidden eyes. I’m going to do something ill-advised. Something I really shouldn’t. But I know I’m going to indulge my burgeoning obsession anyway.
