Chapter 23 Rico
Rico
“You brought her here?” Gino stresses between terse lips.
I personally don’t see the issue. She’s residing in my home.
What makes others any more special to be denied entry?
It’s also easier to keep an eye on her. She’s nifty and crafty.
When it comes to survival her instincts kick in at an instance.
If she could escape so easily while I was with her I can only imagine what she can do alone.
My gaze shifts to discover she’s already looking at me.
She stands there innocently with her wrists bound by the Jute Rope.
The fabric isn’t rough nor heavy on the skin but it still serves its purpose.
When I had told Constantine no harm should come to her I had meant it. That included my methods as well.
I respond to Gino, “It’s either here or she’s left to her own devices.”
“And you don’t think you’re disrespecting Carina and Constantine for bringing an enemy into their home?”
“Daughter of an enemy,” I correct. From my peripheral vision I see her lips kick in response. Despite myself, satisfaction fills me. It’s not an unpleasant feeling.
He scoffs, retrieving his pocket knife from his inner pocket and begins to weave it through his fingers expertly. Faster and faster he goes without it ever nicking his skin. “It still wasn’t wise to bring her. She’s not a part of our Famiglia.”
Imogen coughs rather loudly. We both give her our attention. She quirks a brow with a smirk on her mouth as she wiggles her fingers in a form of hello. “I’m right here, you know. Whatever you say to him you can be man enough to say to my face.”
Brave. So very brave.
Gino steps towards her and out of instinct my hand shoots out to prevent him. He stares down at my hand clasped on his forearm and says lowly, “Remove your hand, Rico.”
“You are not to hurt her.”
“I wasn’t going to.” He roughly removes my hold by yanking his arm backward. I allow him.
As he stalks towards her she doesn’t cower. No, she rises. Her shoulders broaden and her stance widens. Even restrained, she appears ready for combat. I can appreciate that. I do appreciate that.
He stops a foot away from her. In my opinion he could create a greater distance but I keep that to myself. “You don’t belong here.”
“Yeah,” she snickers darkly. “You've already said that.”
“If you do anything to disrespect Don Constantine and Donna Carina—”
“I know.” She makes a slicing of the throat motion with her thumbs. Then a sly grin plays on her lips. “But try killing me with him around and see how that goes for you.”
Deliberately, she looks past him and locks eyes with me. She winks. Something within me warms.
“Quite smug for a girl whose own father doesn’t give a shit if she lives or dies.”
She winces. Albeit small but a reaction nonetheless. She recovers, jutting her chin. A withering glare. If eyes could be made of fire it would be hers. “Let me guess, knocking a girl down because you have mommy issues?”
Oh, she has no idea.
Before it escalates I place a hand on Gino’s chest and with force pushes him aside. My back is to her as my free hand is placed protectively on her hip. I feel her inch closer.
“Don’t,” I warn him, registering my voice in a lower tone.
His pupils dilate. The muscle works overtime in his jaw. While I know he wouldn’t lose control and harm her I know his next move would’ve been a very frightening one.
He shrugs me off him. Tension coils his body tight. “Don’t speak of my mother,” he threatens her.
Over my shoulder she threatens back, “Then don’t speak of my pa.”
A silent agreement transpires. Gino backs off completely, leaving the room much more rattled than when we entered.
I blow a long breath. “You’re causing trouble, little warrior.”
“Yeah,” she agrees softly. Sidestepping around me she looks up at me way too sweetly. “But you secretly like it.”
“I do not.”
“Of course you do. I can’t have you becoming bored of me, can I? Then you really will kill me.”
She’s right yet also wrong. I have already accepted Imogen is a hyper-fixation that is permanent. Letting her go. . . Letting her go will cause the real problem.
“His mother is a sore subject. Don’t mention her again.”
“Understood.” Lifting her hands up she asks, “Any chance you can release me now?”
“Is the rope bothering your skin?”
“No.”
“Is it cutting your circulation?”
“No.”
“Then no, I will not be releasing you.”
Her mouth gapes open as she scoffs at me. “I’ll be a good girl. I promise.” She bats her lashes in an exaggerating way.
“I highly doubt that.”
A roll of her eyes. “Come on, Rico. What harm can I really do here? I’m outnumbered.”
“Don’t insult my intelligence. We both know you will find a way. I’m also not stupid enough to underestimate you.” My comment seems to please her.
“So,” she takes a step forward and I’m graced with the scent of spring lilies, “you find me impressive.”
“That’s what you got out of that?”
Her smile broadens. It lights parts within me I thought would remain dark until my death. “Yes.”
Another long breath escapes me yet this one is filled with amusement. “You’re an incorrigible delusionist, Imogen Murphy.”
The tips of her shoes make contact with the tips of mine. With her head angled upwards I fight the maddening urge to wind her hair up in my fist to keep her looking at me.
“Oh, shadow, you’re just as delusional as I am.”
“Shadow?” My lips twitch.
She shrugs nonchalantly. And I must admit the little innocent act is charming. Especially when she’s a brat majority of the time. “I mean, you gave me two nicknames. The least I could give you is one.”
Giving into temptation I wind her hair up in my fist and give it a slight tug. She hisses but her pupils are blown.
Fuck.
Images play in my head.
Illicit ones.
Her flesh bound in rope. Body writhing and needing. Eyes blindfolded. A whimper falling from her lips that turns to an orgasmic scream. Her calling me God.
She would be the very first. And I want her to be the last.
My nose brushes along hers. Intentionally I inhale her scent. “I’m positive I could earn another nickname quick.”
Her breath falters. A shiver runs down her spine.
Desire so easily for me to read upon her face.
And it’s dangerous. Everything about exploring this need within me is dangerous.
The metaphorical itch I just can’t seem to scratch.
And knowing even if I did scratch it, it wouldn’t lessen the impulse.
No, it would only make me claw my own skin, tear it until I would be down to the sinews of muscle and bone. Yet still I would scratch.
Our lips are so close. All it would take is less than an inch to close the distance.
“Rico!” The voice that never fails to give me a neurotic headache severs us. My hand unwinds from her hair. She takes a healthy step back. A coldness resides within me now. I immediately want to pull her against me to bring back the warmth.
Imogen has become the sun to my perpetual night.
Pietro comes in dramatically. Fake whimpering with a pout on his lips and his hand clutching over his heart. The bastard even wipes a pretend tear. Roll out the red carpet and give this man his Oscar.
“Please tell me you forgive me and that you are here to rekindle the flame of our bromance. I don’t want to go through with the funeral. I’m sorry, Rico.” His voice chokes. When he reaches me he places both of his hands on my shoulders in a desperate plea.
“Fucks sake.” I breathe thinly.
He hangs his head and feigns to sob uncontrollably. “Please, I’ll do anything.”
With a shrug of my shoulders I shake him off and he crumples to the floor.
“Is he being serious?” Imogen wonders aloud.
“Unfortunately, yes,” I tell her tiredly. “Get off the floor, Pietro.”
“I’m too weighed down with despair. Leave me be you heartbreaker,” he wallows.
“You said you would do anything?” I ask him.
He perks from the floor. “Si. Anything to revive our bromance.”
“Apologize.”
His brows draw together as confusion mares his features. “I already did.”
I nod my head towards Imogen. “Not to me. To her.” Imogen’s brows shoot up to her hairline. Pietro appears to be even more confused. “If you want my forgiveness you will apologize to her. Capisce?”
“Don’t you agree this is a little extreme? I didn’t hurt the girl.”
But he did.
Inadvertently he caused her irreparable damage. The kind a stitch or ointment can’t heal.
He didn’t see her that night. Glass piercing her skin as rage and sorrow tore through her. Nor did he know just how much it killed the version of her father she had always loved.
She saw his truest face that night. The Made Man who cared more about pride and appearances than the safety of his daughter.
She’s never recovered from it. And I know she never will.
I level him with a stare that is my very own closest to a glare. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Pietro.”
He rises up, brushing his knees as he does. Then he offers her a charming boyish grin that I’m positive has worked for him plenty of times before. I eye Imogen’s reaction. It is true that Pietro is an attractive man. Anyone can agree to that.
What I don’t want is her finding him attractive. Something within me violently rejects that notion.
Unlike me she wears her expression boldly. Glaring at him as if it could bring him physical harm. There’s even a sneer on her lips.
Good.
Placing his hands over his heart he says in a sugary sweet tone, “Imogen, forgive me?”
“What for? Almost having me killed or putting me through mental torture?”
He winces. “Both?”
She eyes him harshly and then her eyes cut past him to look at me. And I see it. They soften. In almost the same way Carina softens when she looks at Constantine.
My heart twists painfully as it beats twice as fast.
I don’t know what she’s searching for, but clearly whatever it is she found it in almost an instant.
With a begrudging sigh she responds, “Fine, I accept.”
Pietro winks at her. My hand forms into a bone clenching white fist. “I still got it.”
She snorts and humbles him in the same breath. “You don’t have anything. Besides, my death doesn’t belong to you and it never will.”
“Right,” Pietro replies dryly. He hooks his thumb my way. “Rico is your fate. Good luck with that.”
Fate. Only another thing my logical brain has never considered to be plausible.
It’s hocos pocos nonsense. I’m supposed to believe there is a power so great that it controls everything.
That my life is already decided for me. That everyone’s lives are decided.
Choices and actions all lead to a predetermined outcome.
It is utter madness.
And yet as Imogen catches my eyes once more I can be open to hear the theories on why fate can exist.
And that. . .that’s fucking insanity.
“Just as I’m Rico’s.” I’ve never heard her sound more confident in anything than that statement.
Pietro whistles lowly. “Sounds like a cruel twist of fate to me, runaway.”
She smiles. As she answers him she’s looking at me. “Yeah, well we’ll see about that.”
I guess we will.