Chapter 2 #2
“Do you ever just ask anything nicely?” She hobbles closer before she slides onto the back seat.
“Since when do you like being asked nicely?”
A flush crawls down her throat as she shoots me a questioning glance.
I let her sit with that observation as I use the controls to shift the front seat forward and extend the leg rest until she’s in a recline position.
“Of course you have a private jet back here,” she muses. “Because why not?”
I lean in and unbuckle her heels, ignoring the way she stiffens as I set them aside. When I open the center compartment and prop her ankle up with a travel pillow, her gaze warms the side of my face.
“You don’t need to do all this.”
Her words lack the usual bite she saves for me, but her anxiety bleeds through.
“You know it won’t kill you.” I drape a blanket over her bare legs and meet her gaze.
“What?”
“Accepting help.”
A heavy silence pulses between us before she diffuses it with her usual humor.
“Don’t tell me you’re secretly a nice man, Cristian Vitale.”
“I can’t say anyone’s ever accused me of that.”
She smiles before she catches herself, remembering that I’m supposed to be the enemy.
“It’s just an old dancing injury that flares up every once in a while,” she says. “It’ll be fine in a few days.”
A trace of uncertainty slips through her voice, indicating she doesn’t really believe that.
Dancing is her livelihood, but I know my sister Mariella has treated her ankle several times already.
At some point, she’ll have to find another way to support herself, and if Marco had an ounce of decency left in him, he would have taken care of that already.
His disregard for her only compounds my growing agitation with him. We’ve been friends for half our lives, but that thread has begun to fray the older we get. He’s thirty-one, and he still acts like his frontal lobe never fully developed.
Lately, he’s been spending time with a different crowd, partying more, making reckless decisions, and eroding the trust his family name once carried.
I’m long past the point in my life where I’m willing to suffer fools, and I don’t make a habit of associating with men who have no loyalty or honor.
Marco is proving himself to be short on both.
At this stage of my life, my focus is on work, family, and securing the Vitale line with a wife and heirs of my own.
Meanwhile, Marco still drunk-texts me evidence of increasingly questionable decisions.
Photos of him in clubs, casinos, and hotel suites—binge drinking and pissing away his inheritance like there’s an endless supply of it.
It’s clear we’re moving in two different directions, and that tension is palpable every time I see him now.
Chantel appears to have reached her threshold too, if tonight is any indication. All his friends saw the way he paraded Isobel around while she sat alone. He doesn’t respect her, and Marco’s too dense to realize she’s not the sort of woman to tolerate that treatment.
Cool air spills into the cabin as I open the fridge compartment and grab her a water.
“Do I even want to know what you do back here?” She raises a brow as I hand it over. “This car seems to have everything.”
“I do a lot of driving,” I answer vaguely.
In my line of business, not everything happens in the boardroom.
Sometimes, meetings take place right here, and not the kind she’s imagining.
That’s why the exterior is armored, and the cabin is soundproof.
I also know from experience that when one of my brothers is injured, it’s much easier to transport them with reclining seats.
“I’ll go get your bag,” I tell her.
“Okay.” She fidgets with the edge of the blanket. “It’s the green one Abella got me last Christmas. I don’t know if you remember—”
“I remember.”
“It’s at the end of the hall in the guest room,” she adds, her discomfort palpable.
I nod, already aware she doesn’t sleep in the same bed with Marco. He’s told me more about their arrangement than I ever wanted to know, and by told, I mean complained.
As I approach the front of the house, the doorman straightens, barely meeting my gaze. He reaches for the door, but I block him from opening it.
“Daniel, has anyone ever told you what a privilege it is to have functioning eyes?”
“Uh, no, sir.” He shifts, a bead of sweat trickling down his neck.
I dip my head toward the car where Chantel’s sitting, aware he’s been watching us since I approached her. “You ever look at her like that again, I’ll carve yours out of your skull.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Vitale.” He stammers over the words. “It won’t happen again. I’ll never say another word to her.”
“Good. Now go take a break somewhere else before I change my mind.”
He scurries off, and I step inside the house, ignoring the sidelong glances from the crowd as I head for the stairs.
On the third level, the faint sound of groaning filters out of the primary suite, and I come to a halt as I reach the cracked door.
They didn’t even bother to close it, and Marco is so wasted, he’s oblivious to my presence as Isobel grinds all over him.
She has her hand stuffed into his pants, groping his cock while she hoovers his face.
My jaw tightens as the scene plays out, confirming what I already suspected. The worst part is that I know Marco gets off on this shit. In college, he used to entertain himself by pitting women against each other to see who would fight over him. I thought he’d outgrown it, but here we are.
When I push the door open, his bleary eyes drift to mine, blinking several times before he registers that I’m actually here. Then he grabs Isobel by the hair and pries her off his face.
“You come back to take your shot at this one too?” he sneers. “She likes it up the ass. Should I bend her over and let you have at it?”
“What the hell?” Isobel glares at him. “You can’t just offer me up to your friends, asshole.”
Marco ignores her, holding my gaze like he’s contemplating if he could actually take me. I’d welcome him to try, because I’d gladly knock his teeth out.
We’ve had our ups and downs over the years, but I’ve never wanted to inflict physical damage on him until now.
“Chantel is still here,” I inform him. “You plan on asking her to join the two of you?”
“It’s not your fucking business,” he grits out.
“He’s not cheating,” Isobel interjects. “They aren’t even in a real relationship. She has all these stupid rules and things she won’t let him do, and he’s over it. He’s breaking things off with her.”
Marco doesn’t say anything, and I shake my head as a humorless laugh escapes me. “Do you really believe that?”
She glances at Marco. “Tell him, baby. Tell him what you said.”
“Fuck’s sake,” Marco snaps at her. “Not right now.”
Isobel grabs his face, forcing him to look at her. “Say it.”
“He’s not ending it.” I translate for her. “He’s playing both of you.”
“Dude, what the fuck?” Marco glares at me. “You’re being a real prick tonight. You’re supposed to have my back. In case you’ve forgotten, you owe me.”
I stare at him as those words land with all the subtlety of a bomb.
He’s right. Chances are, I probably wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him. It’s why I’ve stayed by his side, long past the point of reason.
By chance, he happened to be driving through the parking lot when two Bratva idiots tried to take me for ransom at sixteen.
We went to school together, but I didn’t even know Marco.
That didn’t stop him from crashing his car into the van before they could wrestle me into it.
At the time, I believed it was just who he was.
But he never lets me forget what he did, and just like Chantel, I’m little more than another trophy to him.
The number of times I’ve heard him tell that story over the years has worn me down, and looking at him now, I can’t see anything left to salvage between us.
“I’ve had your back,” I remind him. “Through every reckless decision, every spiral, and every fuck up. I’ve fought and bled and hemorrhaged money for you. But it will never be enough.”
“That’s fucking convenient,” he bites out. “Don’t act like you didn’t love coming to the rescue. That’s the only reason you gave my father that loan. Because you always have to be a goddamned hero.”
“I gave your father that loan to save him from drowning in the debt you created. But if it’s such a threat to you, that’s fine. Because I’m done. You can fix your own problems from now on, including this one.”
“You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at her?” he snarls.
I ignore that remark and head for the door while Isobel tries to pull his attention back to her.
“Tell her, Marco,” I call over my shoulder. “It’s not optional.”
He doesn’t answer because Isobel starts to argue with him, and a slap rings out as I leave the room. By the time I’ve grabbed Chantel’s bag down the hall, they’re going at it like animals when I walk past the door again.
A dark cloud settles over me, and the crowd seems to sense it as they clear a path for my exit.
I make a pit stop in the kitchen, grabbing a bag of ice and a hand towel before I head back outside.