Chapter 5 – POSY #2
He’s at his desk. There’s the painting of the schooner behind him. He’s wearing a white shirt with the collar unbuttoned. No tie. It’s so late, but he doesn’t look the least bit rumpled. He looks angry. Even on the small phone screen, I can tell his eyes are flashing. A cord in his neck throbs.
My heart stings. He’s still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life. Aquiline nose, chiseled jaw, high cheekbones. An angular face with no softness. No give.
“Posy, where are you?”
A hysterical sound flies from my mouth, half snort, half chortle. “I’m not telling you that.”
“Let me come and get you. Renelli’s men are hunting you down.” He says it so evenly. As if he’s updating me on the weather.
My stomach knots. I knew Renelli was after me, but it’s a whole other thing hearing it from Dario’s mouth.
“Call them off.” My voice quivers. I don’t want to sound weak, but I can’t seem to act brave.
I’m alone. It’s late and dark and I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, and I’m scared.
And maybe I don’t know who Dario really is, but I know his face like the back of my hand. “Tell Renelli to leave me alone.”
“I can’t. But he won’t touch you if you’re with me. Text me the address. I’ll pick you up.” His tone is so even and reasonable. It pricks my temper.
“You kicked me out. I cheated on you, remember?”
His jaw tics. “Don’t be dramatic.”
My eyebrows fly up. “You said you wouldn’t let me walk away again.”
“Posy.” He stretches his jaw and then levels his gaze, radiating menace. “Be smart. It’s only a matter of time before he finds you.”
“So I should serve myself up on a silver platter?”
“I can keep you safe.”
I’m surprised at how hard the words hit. That’s what I want more than anything—what I’ve always wanted. And it’s such an obvious lie. I blink furiously and force a smile. “I don’t believe you.”
He sighs in frustration. “I spoke to Giorgio Fusco. I know it was a fake date stamp on the video.”
“Good for you.” I wait for a sense of vindication, but it never comes. Only uneasiness. A twitch under my skin. I stretch my legs. I don’t need to huddle like I’ve been beat. Dario can’t touch me anymore. Not in any way.
“Frankie Bianco bought the video off him and shared it to—” He searches for words. “To sow discord.”
I swallow. My throat is tight. I told Frankie about the video, early in our relationship when I thought spilling all your secrets was how you got close to a man.
“Don’t worry.” Dario flashes his white teeth, baring his sharp incisors. “I’ll kill him.”
“Don’t do it on my account. He did me a favor.”
Dario’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”
“If he hadn’t shared the video, I wouldn’t know what you are.”
“And what’s that?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. What do you call a person who can’t feel? Who fakes it? A psychopath?”
He blinks, his expression unchanged. Ice shoots down my veins.
I stumbled on it, but I think I’m right.
I’ve had a lot of time to think. When you take away all the things Carolyn did, all the pretty stories I told myself, what’s left?
A man who used me and put me away when he was done, neatly, like any of his games.
A man with no close relationships, no friends, no interactions except for business.
He’s defective. Missing a piece. How did I not see it? I was raised with petty criminals and mobsters. I was always easy to take advantage of, but never na?ve. I know what men can be; I just can’t resist hoping for better.
I’m my mother’s daughter.
My shoulders slump.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
“I should hang up.”
He taps his keyboard. My phone pings, a notification flashing that I’ve been tipped five hundred dollars.
“What are you thinking?” he asks again.
“I’m not going to tell you.”
His jaw tightens. “What do you want? To make you come back?”
“What do I want? Like an apology?”
He can’t really think this thing between us is repairable. It has to be a ploy. Does he think if he offers me enough money, I’ll trot my happy ass straight back into the lion’s den? Is he on Renelli’s bad side because he lost track of me?
“If you want an apology, I can do that.” He drums his fingers on his desk. “Give me your address. Every minute, Renelli’s men get closer. Do you know what they’ll do when they find you?”
My heartrate kicks up a notch. It’s a good threat as far as psychological warfare goes. But it’s not logical. Renelli’s men are only getting closer if they’re heading in the right direction. If they’re not, they’re getting farther away. Statistically, the latter is much more likely.
I ignore the attempt to rattle me. “Yes. I would like an apology.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
He glances to the side of the screen. Is there someone else there?
“I was wrong to accuse you of cheating.”
I huff a laugh. It’s the most unsatisfying apology I’ve ever heard. It’s a statement of fact. There’s no regret, not even any awkwardness in his tone. He’s not capable of remorse, is he?
I didn’t know him at all.
“Now tell me where you are,” he demands.
“No.”
His gaze darts to his left again.
“Who’s there? Ray? That creep Ivano?”
“No one.”
“Yeah?” Bullshit. Who’s standing there, coaching him on what to say? How to approximate a human with real feelings? I bet it’s Ray.
Thinking back, the only truly genuine emotion I think I’ve seen him express was that day in his office, watching the video. He was seething with rage. Not because he thought he’d lost my affection, but because I was a whore . I’d given away what belonged to him. And everyone could see.
He hated that.
I have an idea.
I press my lips so he can’t see my smirk, and I switch to my knees, bending over to readjust the camera so it tilts up.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Earning my tip.” I slide my legs apart and slither my fingers up my hips and side. Goosebumps break out across my bare stomach. It’s freezing in here.
Dario’s face is stone.
I cock my head and reach behind my back, undoing my bra clasp, waiting for his eyes to dart to the side.
“Tell Ray—if that’s him—that I expect a tip from him, too.”
I curve my shoulders and let my bra fall to the mattress. The air hits my breasts and my nipples pucker. I’m full and achy. I’m due for my period soon, and I’m tender. Light blue veins are visible through my pale skin. Can Dario see?
I cup my breasts, let my thumbs brush my nipples. My belly quivers. I’m not turned on exactly. It takes a lot to get me going. But the sensation is interesting. Better than the dull misery that’s settled in my soul since he kicked me out.
His gaze is locked on my hands, tracking as I massage my breasts. I don’t really know what to do so I do what feels good. His face is as hard as ever, but his eyes gleam.
“Does Ray like this? Does he want more?”
“Posy—” he breathes, his voice tight.
“What?” I ask when he doesn’t go on.
“Show me your pussy.”
Heat floods between my legs. “No.”
“Then touch it.”
“I don’t want to. This feels good.”
He swallows. I see his Adam’s apple bob. He might not have any feelings, but he’s into this. Me.
“Tell me where you are.” His voice is lower now.
“No.” I like this, his eyes burning and intent on every move I make, my hands stroking soft, goose-bumped skin, my pussy swollen and aching. I like making myself feel good while I tell him no.
“It was a mistake. I’ll make it right.”
My breath is coming faster. I haven’t been this turned on in a long time. When Dario and I first got together, he made me hot just by looking at me. Then I learned he was a taker in bed—like most men—and the novelty wore off.
Is it knowing that there’s someone else in the room watching? Is that what’s got me going?
Or is it the expression on Dario’s face? Not cold and collected for once but raw. I can see the banked rage. The frustrated desire.
He flashes another glance to the side.
Who’s there? He clearly doesn’t care if they see my tits. I guess I’m not worth getting possessive over since everyone in the organization has seen me take it in the ass.
Suddenly, the room is too cold. This isn’t exciting. It’s sad, and I’m pathetic.
I snatch my T-shirt and drag it over my head.
“Posy—” he says and reaches for the screen.
“Show’s over,” I say, tugging my hair loose from the collar.
My phone pings. Another tip. This time a thousand dollars.
I don’t like this game anymore. I reach forward, tap a button, and Dario’s face disappears.
The memory of his dark, burning eyes haunt me until I finally fall asleep huddled under a scratchy comforter, listening to the mice in the walls.