9. Marco
Marco
Vapor is a trendy little bar just a short cab ride from the manor. The owner had the bright idea of combining chemistry and alcohol, so instead of a traditional drink, you can smoke your shot from inside a glass dome.
After what just happened between my wife and me, that’s exactly what I need.
I couldn’t get out of the house fast enough, barely pausing to throw on a more socially acceptable outfit before I bypassed Zo on the stairs, giving him the finger as I made my way out the door.
Bianca, she…unraveled me. I could blame the liquor or her destruction or the harrowing visit from the Councilor, but none of those reasons would be true. It was her. Those big brown eyes. That plush, velvety mouth. That insane intensity that had me coming faster than I have in a long time.
I fell right into her trap, just…waltzed in like a fool.
Fuck, I’m an idiot.
The leather-wrapped metal container in my jacket pocket mocks me too.
I fish it out, my fingers tracing the italicized A on the front.
If Armani could see me now, falling to pieces over some viper, he’d have a big laugh.
Hell, I’d probably find the humor somewhere, too, if he were here to guide me. But he’s not.
And that’s my fault.
Time to pull my shit together. My wife thinks I’m a useless piece of garbage, and so far, I’ve all but confirmed my own ineptitude. That ends now.
Time to reclaim my life, which starts by messing with hers. As I inhale whiskey fumes and white smoke, the idea comes to me. One that’s heaven-sent, maybe even a sign from Armani.
Bianca’s composure is legendary, but if what happened tonight proves anything, I might be one of the few people who can crawl under her skin.
Knocking Bianca from her perfect pedestal, shattering the flawless image of the Ice Princess, and showing her family exactly who she is deep down is payback for all the trouble she’s caused me.
She enjoys poking me until I react? We’ll see if she’s still smiling once I’ve turned the tables on her.
I finish my drink, pay my tab, and head back home to plot. Hell descends tomorrow.
The next day, I start small. A red ballpoint pen in the dryer leaves giant stains all over her precious cream and beige skirt suits. I toss all the left shoes I can find into boxes and hide them in one of the guest rooms.
I know she knows I’m fucking with her, but she doesn’t utter a word, which I find oddly suspicious but decide not to second-guess. Maybe she feels she’s earned a little retribution after that stunt with my liquor bottles.
I’ve also learned that my wife values her privacy. A lot. To irritate her, I order Zo to stick to Bianca like glue. He’s expected to report on her location every fifteen minutes and to never let her get more than twenty steps ahead of him.
The best part of the day is watching her move around the house with my hunter on her tail. Tickles me pink.
Still, Bianca endures all my shenanigans with so much of her signature stoicism that I’m half-convinced nothing I do causes even the tiniest of fractures in her icy fortress.
Until I arrive at Club Paradiso one night, a nightclub on the Upper West Side, and exit the elevator on the forty-first floor to a stinging slap.
The Council-run families and other members of our world sometimes rub elbows with civilians, but they’re often found conducting business in the upstairs area overlooking the dance floor. Which is why anything and everything goes in this establishment…except for unsanctioned violence.
Including petty smacks to my freshly shaved cheek.
Every muscle in Luca’s body becomes rigid. Ever since Gio’s murder, someone’s accompanied me almost everywhere I go, whether I like it or not. Usually, Zo shadows me, but since I assigned him to Bianca, Luca assumes the mantle.
I hold up a hand to stop the other man from handling the woman currently kneading the sting from her palm. “Hello to you as well, Gen.”
Genevieve Wade-Leblanc flips her long, bright red hair over one shoulder and pops a fist on her hip.
“Don’t you ‘hello’ me, you son of a bitch.
” She doesn’t bother lowering her voice, and several people pivot to stare.
“When were you going to tell me you were fucking other women? I know we split, but if you still want to hook up, I should at least be made aware of your genital warts and whatever STI you have, don’t you think? ”
I blink at her. “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t have genital warts.” I offer the last bit loud enough to assure the eavesdropping mafiosos that I’m clean, and they return to their mingling.
Gen crosses her arms over her ample assets. “You might want to run some PR damage control, then, because someone ran an exposé article about you in Cosmo.”
My eyes bulge.
No. Surely she wouldn’t.
Gen draws an invisible headline in the air.
“Marco Argento: New York’s Playboy or STI Poster Child?
” She laughs, as if my public humiliation is the most hilarious thing she’s ever heard.
“A public service announcement at the end of the article suggested that any tristate area woman who’ve shared intimate relations with you in the last six months should get tested immediately! ”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
Gen doubles over, clutching her sides as she gasps with mirth. “I saw it while I was at my hair appointment this afternoon and nearly had a heart attack. Piss off one of your one-night stands, did ya?”
Instead of bothering with a response, I spin and storm out.
Luca and I track down the nearest magazine stand and, sure enough, pages thirty-eight and thirty-nine—a full two-page spread—feature a picture of me from the internet.
The accompanying text warns about the dangers of unprotected sex and the havoc that an infection like genital warts can wreak on the body.
Luca whistles beneath his breath. “Damn, she plays dirty, doesn’t she? Maybe you’ve finally met your match, Boss.”
The magazine buckles in my grip. “I’m going to kill her.”
Less than twelve hours later, I receive a call from one of my soldiers about a missing weapons shipment.
A few hours after that, our contact at the port authority rings.
A newly appointed federal inspector just flagged our entire shell company’s shipping manifest, freezing three separate container ships at the docks.
In the wake of the news, a migraine sets up permanent residence behind my eyes.
I thought I’d dealt with this. Those men I sent to the drop-off point reported nothing amiss, so I assumed my informant was…misinformed.
I swear under my breath. Bianca did this. She’s been playing chess while I pull juvenile Chutes and Ladders pranks on her clothes.
Time to escalate this battle into an actual war.