Chapter 21 #3
But I haven’t come this far with her because I’m short on self-control, and there’s something else I need to handle anyway.
“I’ll be here when you’re done.” I press a kiss into her hair and release her.
She lingers there for a moment, searching my eyes for something she won’t find.
Mariella watches the interaction, brows creasing as something seems to occur to her.
“Dammit,” she whispers under her breath.
“What?” Chantel asks.
“I’m going to owe Nonna bragging rights until the end of time.”
Chantel joins her, and the two of them drift away, discussing Nonna’s infallible betting streak. Once they’re out of sight, I turn my attention to the shadow lurking around the corner.
“You can come out now.”
Marco steps into view, looking very much like a man who has nothing left to lose. A few years ago, I would have felt compelled to help him. Now, allowing him to breathe for another hour feels too generous.
“I always knew you were a traitor,” he spits. “I should kill you for this.”
“I welcome you to try.”
He’s drunk enough that I think he might, which would be a first, considering he’s never dirtied his hands a day in his life.
“How long have you been fucking her?”
“That isn’t your concern,” I tell him. “She was never yours.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means exactly what you think it does. You laid hands on her, and now you’ve lost the privilege to breathe.”
“Fuck you.” He charges at me, lobbing a sloppy punch at my head.
I catch him by the wrist, wrenching his arm back and twisting until it pops. Marco lets out a strangled cry, stumbling back as he cradles his arm. He starts spewing curses, working himself into a fit before he gets the bright idea to launch himself at me again.
This time, I grab him by the back of the neck, smash his face into my knee, and break his nose—again.
He starts crying for real this time, but all it manages to do is piss me off.
“What’s the issue, Marco?” I slam his head into the railing. “Can’t handle a fight with someone your own size?”
“You can have her,” he slurs. “I’ll take a block of ice over that frigid bitch any day.”
“That sounds like a problem unique to you.” I toss him onto the deck and kick him in the teeth. “And I wasn’t asking for your permission.”
Fragments of his new dental work spill from his mouth when he tries to speak, but all that comes out is a sob.
It’s fucking pathetic, and it confirms what I’ve always suspected. He wouldn’t hold up under two minutes of torture, and I’d derive no pleasure in watching a man cry himself to death.
The sound of approaching voices concludes the matter for me. It’s a minor annoyance, but I’ll have to settle for efficiency.
“Today’s your lucky day.” I grab Marco by the shirt and haul him toward the railing. “Sorry you won’t get an invite to the wedding.”
Reverting to the survival skills of a toddler, he windmills his one good arm and drags his feet.
It’s not nearly as satisfying as I would have preferred when I shove him over the railing and he drops into the water with a loud splash.
As I adjust my jacket, Chantel and Mariella round the corner, pausing as their gazes drift behind me.
“Did you just throw someone overboard?” Mariella asks.
I meet Chantel’s gaze, and there’s no question she heard it too. But if she’s concerned, she doesn’t show it.
“He can swim,” I deflect.
“Right.” Mariella peers out over the water.
Marco may be a roach, but even he can’t crawl his way back from this. We’re too far offshore, and given his level of intoxication, I doubt he’ll survive the hour.
Chantel hands me a glass of whiskey and sips from her martini as we all take in the city skyline.
“Did anyone give you trouble?” I ask.
“Other men won’t even look at me now, so I think you made your point.”
“Good.” I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her closer.
“So freaking weird.” Mariella glances between us.
“No Ares tonight?” Chantel changes the subject.
“Nope.” Mariella smirks. “He’s probably following one of the three body doubles I sent to different events around the city tonight.”
“You didn’t.” Chantel laughs.
“Oh, I did.” Mariella nods. “If I can’t shake him, I may as well keep him busy.”
“Want me to handle it?”
Chantel shoots me a look, probably wondering if I’m serious. Her concern for him only makes it more tempting to take him out.
“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” Mariella says. “He’ll get the message eventually.”
She doesn’t sound like she believes that.
“Hello?”
We all turn to face the screeching pterodactyl of a woman behind us.
“Oh.” Isobel’s face sours when she notices Chantel. “Have you seen Marco? I can’t find him anywhere.”
“I think he said something about an evening dip,” Chantel tells her.
“What?” Isobel glances around in a panic. “I didn’t see a pool anywhere.”
When none of us reply, she toddles off in search of him, and I lean down to murmur in Chantel’s ear.
“You knew?”
“Like you said, he can swim.” She shrugs.
Her indifference to Marco’s fate pleases me far more than it should.
I know tomorrow, there will be hell to pay for what I told Bastien.
But tonight, I regret nothing.