Page 2 of Born into Mayhem
I look at them both and say, “Not interested.”
The woman sticks her bottom lip out in a pout that comesoff looking stupid and not at all like the sexy she was hoping for. “Oh come on. I think I could show you a good time.”
“I really doubt that,” I say, pulling my arm back when she starts to reach for me.
“Admit it,” Sandro says in Italian. “Admit it, and I’ll never do this to you again.”
“I’m not admitting shit,” I tell him. Switching to English, I look at the woman and say, “Fuck off.”
“But you waved me over,” she says, and her pouty tone is quickly turning into an irritated one.
“My brother got your attention, not me,” I tell her. “I didn’t want you over here.”
She glares at me, but I ignore her and instead look at my phone, checking the message that Mia had texted earlier. It’s a video, and I click on it while Sandro tries to smooth things over with the woman. He’s worried about losing her as a customer because he’s a good businessman and he cares about shit like that. I couldn’t give the slightest fuck if she ever shows her face in here again. He gets her a free drink while I watch the video. I immediately recognize the warehouse that Sasha just converted into a home and moved into. He’s the only person I know who has life-sized dummies hanging from the rafters in his living room.
Mia steps in front of the camera, her auburn hair is streaked with pink, all of it pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her hazel eyes are lit up with mischief, and there’s a smile pulling at the corner of her full mouth. I know that look well. I see it every time she lunges at me with a knife in her hand.
“Check this out, Dario,” she says right before she turns her back and stalks over to one of the hanging dummies. It’s not some store mannequin hanging down, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d wonder if it was an actual person, especially since one of them has put a black bag over the head. I have no idea why they’ve added that detail, and I’m not sure I want to know. The dummy is wearing jeans, a hoodie, and black boots. Again, why?
My curiosity takes a back seat as I watch Mia slink towards the hanging dummy. She’s as graceful as a goddamn cat, both hands gripping knives. I recognize the serrated, deadly-looking blades. I’d bought them for her on her eighteenth birthday, and seeing her small hands wrapped around the hilt does something to me that I’m not ready to acknowledge.
Stalking around the dummy, she gives it a swift kick to the stomach before moving her hands in a lightning-fast maneuver that I’ve been teaching her. She stabs the dummy five times before most people could’ve gotten off one punch, each stab is aimed at a specific vital organ, and then she gives it another kick for good measure.
“Fucking nice, little witch,” I hear Sasha say as he films her.
She turns and gives her brother a big grin, and that’s where I pause the video, letting her face fill my screen. Piercings run up the side of her ear and one small diamond sparkles in her nose, and the sight of her stuns me to silence.
I’ve forgotten all about the blonde woman until she says, “Who the fuck is that bitch?”
Pocketing my phone, I turn and give her the focus she’d been so desperate for earlier. She takes a step back when she sees the look on my face. “What did you just say?”
Her eyes dart to Sandro for help, but he just laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t look at me. You got your ass into this mess all on your own. You just insulted his girl.”
Before I can tell my brother to shut the fuck up, the woman says, “Your girl?” She lets out a relieved breath. “I didn’t know you had a daughter. She’s really cute.”
Sandro loses it, laughing hard enough to draw attention while I use all the willpower I possess to not lash out and hurt someone. “I don’t have a daughter,” I say.
“But?” Her brows furrow in confusion, but then it morphs into disgust. “How old is she?”
“She’s eighteen and none of your fucking business,” I tell her, not bothering to explain that she’s notmy girl. It’s the next look she givesme that really pisses me off. The morally superior one, theI know absolutely nothing about you, but I’ve just decided I’m better than youlook.
I stand up, down the last of my whiskey, and then turn to face her. Looking down, because even in heels she’s nowhere close to my height, I say, “How old are you?”
When she hesitates, I add, “Don’t lie to me. How old are you?”
She doesn’t meet my eyes when she says, “Twenty-one.”
“I’m thirty-six. A lot of people would still consider me way too old for you, but let’s be honest, if I pulled you into a dark corner and lifted your tiny little dress up, you’d let me fuck you, wouldn’t you? You’d probably even call me daddy while I did it.”
Her eyes grow heated at my words and the image I’ve just put in her head. “Yes,” she says, and when she steps closer, I step back.
“Jesus, lady, we’re not fucking. I’m trying to make a point.” I look over at Sandro and say in Italian, “This is all your fault. I can’t believe you called her over.”
“No, it’s your fault,” he corrects, “for not just admitting that Mia’s your girl, the reason for your grumpy-ass mood, and all the sexual tension that’s been coming off you and following you around like an angry storm cloud.” He looks at the blonde and adds, “And the reason you won’t give her the hard fucking she’s begging you for.”
“She’s not my girl,” I start to say, but he just cuts me off with another laugh.
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. Ever since she turned eighteen, you’ve changed.” Switching to English, he tells the woman, “You can go, hon. Drinks are on us tonight, and don’t worry, I’m sure one of these other guys will fuck you later.” As if his words weren’t bad enough, he actually reaches out and pats her shoulder in a placating gesture that I’m convinced is going to get him slapped.
