19. Deanna
DEANNA
Islam the copy machine’s lid down and hit the green button.
Lights flash, gears whirr, and a perfect facsimile of a spreadsheet I’ve been annotating falls into the tray.
I do it again. And again. And again. Ignoring the fact that several of my coworkers, none of whom actually speak to me, wander in and out of the office supplies closet and run away like I’m a lunatic.
Why the hell do we even have a copy machine? And a whole bank of faxes that I’ve never seen run a single time since I’ve been here?
There’s probably some nefarious and illegal reason. Like he’s selling meth via phone lines or something. Maybe the FBI can’t track faxes.
Or maybe it’s just an office with outdated machinery.
Everything feels wrong now.
All the work I’ve ever done here is tainted.
Drugs. Gambling. Blackmail.
Murder.
What else have I been a part of?
I hear motion behind me. A squirrelly older man named Jonathan lurks in the doorway, studying me curiously.
I wonder how much he knows. Does he sling crack on street corners for Prime on the weekend?
Is he moving numbers around to make sure the feds never find the funny books and all the crooked cash?
“Do you need something?” I snap and it comes out way harsher than I should.
“Ah, uh, the, uh, pens—“ He takes a step backwards, eyes bulging, twice-human-sized behind his thick glasses.
I grab one and toss it over. “Anything else?”
“No, no, thank you, Mrs. Spadaro.” He turns and runs off.
Guilt slams into me. Why the hell am I being a dick to that guy?
Jonathan’s harmless like everyone else in this office.
I don’t think any of them actually know the rotten depths of Prime’s operations.
I’ve been looking at it up close for years and never really understood it until I married him and practically ripped it from his secretive chest.
There’s no reason to lash out at them.
It’s only my frustration with myself getting the better of me.
There’s more movement near the door. Probably Jonathan back for more office supplies. I turn, smiling, ready to apologize to him for being rude, but the words die in my throat.
Prime fills the doorway.
It’s a bizarre sight. Despite being the boss around here, he never lowers himself enough to come into the supply closet.
I doubt he even knew it was here.
I whirl around, cheeks burning, and punch the green button. It grinds and another copy spits out.
“Is this what you’ve been doing all morning?” His tone is playful. I instantly hate it.
“I’ve been working. You know, that thing we do around here?” I smash the button again. And again.
“Careful, wife, or you’re going to kill that copier.”
“What do you want, Prime?”
His hands clamp down on my hips. I yelp in surprise, try to twist, but he pins me forward. His body presses me to the copier, a tray digging into my thigh, his massive frame looming like a monster.
“I want you to stop avoiding me.”
“Get off, someone might see.”
“You want me to get off, do you, love? I’ll happily fuck and fill you right here and now. You think anyone would stop us? Pretty sure half the office would gladly watch.”
“Prime, stop it.”
“You’re avoiding me,” he repeats.
“Okay, yes, I’m avoiding you.”
I gasp as he tugs on my hair, pulling my head back. His mouth meets my neck. His lips nip and suck, kissing the soft skin under my chin. Desire burns into my core and I hate my traitor pussy for getting dripping wet despite how angry I am with my criminal husband.
“Is this because you found out I’m a monster?” He sounds amused like this is some big fucking game to him.
“No, but I mean, yes—“ I bite back a groan as his other hand moves around to cup my breasts. “We can’t do this here.”
“Should we go back to my office then?”
“Prime—“
“I’m not doing this all day with you, love. We need to clear the air and move on.”
I jerk back, slamming my ass into his crotch, or close enough. He grunts and releases me, giving me room to turn and face him. My heart’s ramming wildly as I lean against the copier, holding onto its edges. His hands move to my flanks, shifting around to cup my ass.
“How much of it was real?”
I snap the question off like a gunshot. It makes him pause. I shouldn’t like the surprise on his face, but at least it’s proof I can still break past his armor and pierce the heart of him.
“What do you mean?”
“My job. Everything we’ve done. How much of it was real?”
“All of it.”
“David Sorensen? That was real? Or was my part only cover for the actual deal?”
His grip on me tightens. “David’s a special case. You brought him to me before I understood what he really wanted. That was real?—“
“Until it wasn’t anymore.” I blink back tears, feeling like an idiot. “God, I thought I pulled off a serious win with him, and now I’m finding out he wanted to get close to you all along. How many drugs are you moving with him, huh?”
“We measure it by weight?—“
“Fuck off, Prime, I don’t care what the proper terminology is.” I’m mortified and he’s still making jokes. It’s taking a lot of effort not to knee him in the balls and headbutt him right in that pretty nose.
“This company is real, Deanna. The parking lots are real. The investments are real. All the numbers, all the income, it’s real.”
“Except?”
He hesitates and his expression darkens. “How much do you want to know?”
“Everything. All of it.”
“That’s not happening.”
“Then I’m done. Get the divorce papers ready. You can go to hell.”
“Deanna—“
“I’m not kidding, Prime.” I shove against him but I might as well try to eat the entire copy machine.
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“You mean, you don’t want to lose your convenient business partner.”
“My wife.”
“Don’t do that.” I make a fist and pound it into his chest. “Tell me the truth, damn it. Please, just tell me.”
He seems to wrestle for a moment. His eyes glaze over and he looks down at my mouth.
I don’t know what’s going through his head, but mine’s in turmoil, wondering what crimes I’ve accidentally committed, how many moral lines I’ve already crossed, all without knowing.
I’ve been making a fool of myself for years.
Prime’s probably been laughing behind my back.
No wonder he thought I’d be stupid enough to accept his marriage proposal.
He already knew I was a sucker.
I feel used. Plain and simple. Drained dry down to the bone.
“The parking lots are real, but they’re a convenient cash business.
Money from the illegal side of my operations flow into the legal side in realistic, steady increments.
That’s registered as income, I pay taxes, and it’s nice and squeaky clean.
Nobody here knows it’s happening, not unless the accountants are much more competent than I realized, but they aren’t. ”
That’s a strange relief.
“You had me thinking Jonathan was a secret gangster.” His frown tells me he has no clue who the hell I’m talking about. “What about the other stuff? What about… the killing…”
“This corporation is a laundering scheme nestled inside a surprisingly profitable business enterprise. If I stopped selling coke, I’d still have a nice income.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Because I like selling coke.”
I twist in his grip. “That’s sick. It’s crazy.”
“Listen to me. The cartels are sick and crazy. They own the politicians and run towns like they’re the real power behind the throne.
All I do is provide a product to rich assholes who want to fuck all night and dance all day.
I don’t murder people for no reason. I don’t terrorize an entire country. I run a business, that’s all.”
“Why are you bringing the cartels into this?”
“So you understand that’s not what I am. I’m a part of a larger organization. It’s a family.”
I laugh wildly. “Have you lost your mind?”
“The Corsetti Famiglia’s been my home since I was young. Stellan Corsetti found me, became my only friend, and gave me a purpose. I know it’s hard to believe, but the Famiglia is everything. It’s not evil, not the way you think.”
“You’re criminals. This is mafia shit.”
He nods. “Yeah, baby, that’s exactly what it is.”
“No, I can’t, this is too much, I don’t?—“
His hand snakes into my hair again. He tugs, pulling back.
His mouth finds mine, crushing into me with a bruising kiss.
I twist, pushing, whimpering as his taste floods my senses and I hate him for doing this to me, for making me want him while also hating him, for driving a confusing spike straight down into my skull, for leaving me a pathetic, bloody, twisted mess.
I don’t know what I am anymore. I don’t know what he’s made me.
“Nothing changes,” he says softly as he pulls away, breathing hard. I feel him stiffening against me. His thigh slips between my legs. I shudder, gasping. “You are mine, Deanna, and I’m not letting you go until I’ve gotten my fill.”
“When’s that happen? When I’m dead or behind bars?”
“I’ll cut my own throat before either of those things happen.”
“I don’t believe you. I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“Then think this: we have a deal. I’ll take care of you and your parents. I’ll make sure no harm ever comes to you. I’ll give you so much more than you ever dreamed, and all I ask in return is you stay by my side until my job is finished.”
“What job?” I whisper, not sure I want to know.
He shakes his head. “We aren’t going there. Not right now. You’re overwhelmed enough already.”
“Fuck, Prime.” I lean forward, forehead to his chest. “What are you doing to me?”
“Taking care of you. Always, Deanna. I swear it.” He breathes deep, smelling my hair. “I know I should have told you earlier. I won’t keep secrets from you.”
“So you’ll tell me what you want with that Fontana guy? The one you’re looking for?”
“Soon. Not now.” He draws away. I’m left against the copier, heart racing, feeling like I’m even more lost than before. “Take some time to acclimate to our new reality. Take the day off if you want.”
“No. I have work.”
“Suit yourself.” He gives me a lingering look. “Come visit my office if you need to.”
“I’m fine.”
“You will be.”
He leaves and I turn around so he doesn’t see me gasping for air, doesn’t see the flush of desire on my cheeks, doesn’t know how badly I wanted him to keep going—and how that makes me despise myself in ways I can’t fully understand.
Prime makes me feel like I’m the center of his universe. It’s incredible, the intensity of his need and his attention.
But how much of myself can I sell to stay by his side? How much more can I lose?
I know what I’m gaining. I see it whenever I visit home. My mother’s so much happier and my father seems relatively stable with constant help.
He gave me everything growing up. He worked long hours, ground his body down, twisted himself to make ends meet, and now I can do this for him. My father deserves better.
Good thing I already made a deal with the devil.