Page 33 of The Hitch
With a flick of The Belial's hand, ambient lights glimmer around the walls. The room is massive, with what looks like fancy bleachers lining the walls. People fill the seats and stare down at me, only me, not Dante. Not fuckingFrancisco. I'm the new one here. And I've already fucked shit up by bitch-slapping that guy.
God dammit.
"This Tribunal is called to order. Instigated by The Dantalion, on behalf of his wife, accusing Francisco Rannison of House Marbas of grievous disrespect." The Belial stands and addresses the court, I guess. I inhale sharply and flick my gaze over to Dante, who smiles.
I can't help but notice that Francisco sits alone. Based on what Belial said, he'sofHouse Marbas, but The Marbas hasn't joined him. Is that normal? Is it weird thatI'mnot alone?
"Francisco Rannison, speak your truth." The Belial points to the lone man, who stands.
"I deeply apologize to everyone here. I assure you, making this journey all the way out here was not necessary. Belial, Marbas, friends. This is all a very silly misunderstanding." Francisco spreads his hands and smiles smugly out at the crowd. "I simply made an observation—one you all made as well, I'm sure."
"And what is that observation?" The Belial leans back in his chair, scratching the dog under its chin.
"Oh, we don't need to get into all that—"
"Yes, we fucking do.Thatis what this is all about,Frank.Tell everyone what you said to my wife," Dante snarls, and I flinch a little. Judging by the shuffling of chairs, everyone else does, too.
"I made the observation that she is… different. From what I imagine… for you." Francisco doesn't look quite as confident now, and it makes me sit up a little straighter.
"Tell the fucking truth, Frank. Quit dancing around it," Dante grits out, and The Belial nods.
"Oh, who can remember exactly what was said? I certainly don't." He sits and inspects his nails. I take a deep breath and stand.
"I remember. I remember every word. If I may?" I look at The Belial, and he nods, gesturing for me to continue. "Francisco here said, quote,'This isn't the sort of woman I envisioned for you. Certainly not someone of this size.'"
Dante snarls and turns it into a cough, his fury showing through in the irritable huffs of breath. My own rage simmers to the surface, and I flex my fingers around the edge of the table, shifting on my feet.
"And then she slapped me! Over a silly little comment. Please, Belial, she's overreacting. It was a comment made in jest—a joke! Can no one here take a joke?" Francisco pleads, facing the crowd, fear on his face.
The Belial huffs out a chuckle. "Do you have dreams of being a comedian, Francisco? Well, I wouldn't quit your day job." Heturns to me with a hardened gaze. "Mrs. Lyons. As you are the aggrieved party, what punishment do you see fit for your aggressor?"
"Death." The word slips from my tongue, and I'm surprised, too. The room explodes in gasps and murmurs, my cheeks flush a deep red. But I can't take it back. Iwon'ttake it back. That fucker is just an extension of Charlie, whether he knows it or not. The buzzing at the base of my skull roars to life, and I can't tamp it down.
Iwon'ttamp it down.
"Mrs. Lyons, this is highly irregular—" The Belial starts.
"Is it? Do you regularly allow your members—not even your honored members, but theirlackeys—to behave in such a manner?" I'm shouting, and I can't stop myself. "I saiddeathand I'll do it myself."
The murmurs rise to a roar, all the voices joining together, and it makes the buzzing in my skull radiate down my spine. I huff out breath after breath, looking over at Dante—my husband—as a cold sweat breaks out on my brow. I can't hold this shit back and honestly? Right now?
I don't fucking want to.
The Belial's dog barks once, and the crowd falls silent immediately. I clench my fists and look up at the man on the dais.
"If you're sure, then. Dantalion, do you agree to this punishment?"
The room swivels as one to stare at my husband. He smiles devilishly and nods. "Fuck him. He dies."
I nearly fainted in that weird court when The Belial confirmed my punishment. Poor Francisco—Frank, as Dante calls him—The Marbas didn't say a word. Didn't even stand in his honor. She's a very severe woman with a constantly furrowed brow and the sleekest high bun I've ever seen. She should really watch out for traction alopecia, but it's not really my place to comment.
We all see howthatgoes.
So, as it is now, we're headed back to Dante's Old City rowhome. Frank is bound and gagged in the nearly ornamental trunk of the McLaren. Dante keeps stealing looks, and I swear I can even see a blush on his cheeks. He's assured me that we have more than adequate facilities at the house.
I don't get it. Will he make me scrub the blood from the polished hardwoods? Are we going to stop for some plastic sheeting at a paint supply store? As we near the city, I crank up the volume on the stereo.
Those guys from the 90s were right. Damn, itdoesfeel good to be a gangster. I mumble the words to myself as I watch Roman heft the trussed-up Frank out of the trunk, barely breaking a sweat. Dante mumbles something to him under his breath, and Roman smirks.
