Page 8 of Red Retaliation
“PUT THAT THE FUCK BACK!” Black mist descends the second I walk into my office seeing this woman with her head bent over, the photograph from my drawer clutched in her fingers. How dare she. How the fuck dare she!
“Red...”
Oscar’s warning and his hand on my arm show he doesn’t want me unleashing the fury and guilt he thinks I own onto the woman sitting here. He’s probably right, but I shrug him off and stride over to the desk where the whore sits. The bitch possesses the audacity to rifle through the desk?Mydesk!
That’s the only picture remaining of Lorna. I got rid of the rest, yet now this slut touches it? This photograph was purposefully put away, never to be looked at again until I absolved my soul.
If I ever did...
The woman’s head jolts up at my unexpected presence. Reaching out, I grab her wrist and pull her arm over the desk, twisting the photo from her grasp.
“I...”
She tries to speak, but I don’t look at her. I don’t want to look at her because if I do, I’ll kill her. My eyes center only on the photograph and the face of the woman I never want to be reminded of - the one I allowed into my life when she was out to ruin it.
I keep this photo to remind myself of my guilt, not for her alleged citing me as responsible for her “depression”. Not even guilt for killingher and staging it to look like suicide. Lorna deserved to die for causing my parents’ death, so I feel no guilt at all for removing her in response.
My guilt is for, and always will be because I was stupid enough to go along with our engagement. I put up with her being in my life, when in reality, I didn’t give a shit either way. My parents liked Lorna, so I let it continue.
And that allowed her to kill them.
For that, my guilt will never subside, even once I prove Lorna worked for the Eyeties.
Thatis why her photo remains in my drawer. Its presence reminds me never to become involved with a woman past the fucking stage ever again. Yet this bitch rummages through my desk. This Italian cunt comes in here, intomyoffice and looks at the photograph of the woman her own father utilized for his gain?
A hole opens up within my chest and fills with acid as I slam the frame face down back in the drawer, kicking it shut.
“Red...”
My other brother is warning me now, reminding me to keep a check on myself and contain my rage, but I don’t know whether I can. What Idoknow is that it was a good call coming through my hidden doorway, otherwise this tart would have received warning of my arrival.
And with what I’ve just heard, her presence here now makes sense. Because this is Arianna Galvatore, now Arianna Bristoni.
Through the haze of mist filling my head, I shove my hand underneath her chin, grab her around the jaw and lift her effortlessly from my chair. “Did your father not tell you it’s bad manners to go through someone’s belongings? Or don’t they teach that in Italy?”
Holding her in front of me, I frogmarch her away from my desk and slam her against the wall, squashing her face against the fawn-colored paint. “Your lot don’t have the bollocks to do their own dirty work now, eh? Sending a man’s wife the second fake rumors hit the streets instead?”
“W-what rumors? I don’t know what y...”
“Shut it!” Her scared and confused act doesn’t fool me. It’s too obvious. A laugh rumbles deep in my throat. “It didn’t take your lot long to attempt to cash in. What was the plan? Get you to root around for something of use? Did your puppet masters presume we’d be too busy following up the lies about the bullshit death of your husband? Believe we’d scramble to move on the unexpected opening of territories? Well, tough luck, lady, because things have been sorely misjudged!”
My eyes bore holes into the back of this devious little bitch’s head. I know how I work when I get angry.
And I’m angry.
Reallyfucking angry.
But I won’t get anything useful from this treacherous slut like this.
Taking a breath, I will myself calm. I need to hear what excuse the tiny little thing I tower over has to offer. It will give an insight into which way I need to react to the people who sent her here because it’s clear the Bristonis and Galvatores are about to strike.
Gripping her shoulders, I spin her around. A small mewl of expelled breath or pain - I don’t know which - comes from her direction as I slam her into the wall again. On this occasion, her back takes the brunt, rather than her face. I hope it hurts. I want everything to hurt her. I want...
As I look at her for the first time, an invisible hand punches me in the gut.
I’m trapped by her full, naturally dark pink lips with a pronounced cupid’s bow just itching to be tasted; how her heart-shaped face is framed by locks of glossy, jet black hair, and how it tilts slightly as she looks up at me with deep blue, almost violet eyes framed with the longest lashes. And there, behind her wary veil, I see something altogether different: defiance along with a glint of something I cannot fathom.
My cock twitches inside my tailored trousers, and it’s this that jolts my gaze from her.
