Page 21 of Power
I don’t like it. I’m not used to not being the one in charge. But with her, I’m losing pieces of myself. It’s a slow burn, like a constant irritation that I can’t shake.
I pull into my driveway, the familiar gate swinging open, and I can feel it again—the tightness in my chest. The house is quiet when I walk in.
And there she is. Standing in the doorway like she owns the place, as if the living room and library are not the only spaces she’s allowed to roam, the rest of the house off-limits. Her brows are raised like she’s trying to piece together something. Her lips curve into a half-smile, the kind she wears when she’s pretending not to be bothered, but she’s not fooling me. She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, then seems to think better of it.
"Well," she says, her voice laced with sarcasm, "guess it’s becoming a bit of a routine for you, huh? Coming home with blood on your shirt? You really should’ve asked for a bigger closet if this is gonna be your thing."
Without looking at her, I speak. "I let you out of the room for a reason, Vittoria, but my patience for you running your mouth is waning thin.”
“You’ve got blood all over you.”
“And how the hell is that your business?”
The corner of her mouth twitches again, and she crosses her arms.
"You really think you’re something special," she continues, her voice softer now. "Like you can do whatever you want and face no consequences. You know, maybe this has something to do with your childhood? Not enough toys growing up, so now you just take whatever you want, whenever you want."
Her words hit harder than she realizes. She's not wrong. But I don't let it show.
I keep my poker face on. “Do you have a point, or should I call my men to take you back to your room? I’m usually not this generous with my prisoners. You’re lucky I just killed a man today and I’m in a good mood.”
Her eyes flash with anger. "You really are an asshole. The very definition of one. I should’ve known when you nearly killed that defenseless man who was begging for his life.”
I roll my eyes. “Again with this? Can’t you just let it go? You’re not in a position to worry about anything else right now. You're stuck here, and who knows what I might do with you. Do you really think it’s smart to raise your voice at me? I’ve decapitated men for less, princess.”
Her face shifts for a moment, fear creeping in. It’s quick, but it’s there. She’s reliving that night in her head, I can see it in her eyes.
Frankly, that night was just one of those days. I had just received news that my son of a bitch father was found dead. I wasn’t angry he was dead—God knows I prayed for it. I was more pissed off that I hadn’t had the guts to do it myself all these years, and all I got was that quick fix.
The end was the same, but the fact he just died from slumping in the bathroom wasn’t good enough for me. I wanted that asshole to suffer, to bleed for days, to beg for a god we both know doesn’t exist. But no, the universe had to let him take the easy way out by just hitting his head and dying. Fuck that. I was so angry that an innocent bystander trying to bother the lady I had my eyes on since I walked into that bar was just a little something to take the edge off.
Then, like it’s just another thing she can’t leave alone, she asks, "I know you brought me here to get under my husband’s skin. This is all business to you…a show of power, right? That’s all I am, right?”
I let the peace stretch between us. What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I don't even have a real answer. Maybe I just need her here to fill the void, to keep me from feeling completely empty. Maybe it’s just another distraction until the next mess.
"You’ll find out soon enough," I finally say, my voice distant like I’m not even sure of the answer myself.
I can feel her frustration, see it in the way her shoulders tense up. But she doesn’t argue. Not yet. She’s used to me being vague, used to me not giving her the answers she wants. Still, something shifts, like she’s trying to hold on to whatever little piece of me she can still claim.
She takes a step back, but then, as if she can’t help herself, she blurts out with a rise in her voice, "You may think you’ll get away with this, but you don’t know my husband. He won’t rest until he finds me. He’ll save me and then kill you, like the goddamn waste of space you are."
I can’t help the way my blood starts to boil. My jaw tightens, and I feel a fire starting to build in my chest. I’ve heard enough about her damn husband. I’ve heard it too many times. The way she lights up when she says his name like I’m supposed to just sit here and take it.
She’s always talking about him like he’s her whole world, and it makes something inside me snap.
"Enough," I growl. She doesn’t even see it coming. I’m already moving toward her before she even registers what’s happening. I lean in close, so close that she can feel my breath on her skin.
"Keep talking about him," I whisper, my voice colder than it’s ever been. "I dare you."
Her eyes glimmer with something—surprise, maybe, or fear—but she doesn't say a word. Good. She knows better.
I pull away just as quickly as I moved in. "You’re not eating dinner tonight," I mutter, my tone harsh. It’s a punishment, but it’s not enough. Not yet.
I take a step back, and for a moment, the room feels smaller, tighter. "You have all the time to think about your husband some more while I go deal with something that actually matters."
I turn my back on her, walking toward the door. But before I leave, I pause and look over my shoulder.
"The next time you speak to me like that, I won’t waste a second putting a bullet through that pretty mouth. But that will only come after I sink my cock into your pussy and fuck the living soul out of you. Then you’ll never think of another man again—not even your idiotic husband."
