Other than me. I was in fact truly fucked today. I turn off the water and step out. The bathroom is chillier than I like it to be, but it was a quick shower. I grab the towel and quickly dry off. I need to get to bed. I take out my face moisturizer and the serum for my hair and apply both. As I shut the cabinet, I catch sight of the spot where my birth control should be. I haven’t had any for months.
Thank god I took the morning after pill. And just like that, every bit of desire and heat leaves me. I don’t have time for fantasies. I don’t have time to indulge in something that would destroy the small piece of me that survived Rick.
I huff and throw on a night shirt to quickly get into bed. Today was a one off. Whatever I did today – I shake my head with my eyes closed – it doesn’t count. Sarah will never mention it again. I wish she hadn’t been there. I wish she hadn’t seen me after that. After him. Fuck the thought of him lights every nerve ending in my core aflame. FUCK!
I bury my head into the pillow and try to forget the shameful desire burning deep down in my core. It only takes the thought of him closing the door on me with out a second look to shut down my desire. What a fucking prick. He may be hot and powerful and fucked me like he owns me, but he’s still an asshole. All men are fucking assholes.
It’s wrong to want a man like him. But I can’t lie to myself; I really fucking want him.
Dom
“So tell me what you know about her.” I question Tony as soon as I get him alone. De Luca’s fucked. He’s been fucked. We gotta keep our heads low. Yada yada. Same shit as last week. Mother fucker came for me; I took care of it. Pops is proud and he’s sending a message. Beyond that, I don’t want a damn thing to do with this shit.
Back to making bets and hunting down my doll. Just thinking about her owing me makes my dick grow rigid. I shift my weight to cover it up, waiting for Tony to get all the info on the iPad. He takes that thing everywhere. I don’t really like the idea, even if it is password protected and encrypted. I told Pops, I told everyone. Apparently, this technology is fine and it doesn’t have everything on it. Still, I don’t like having a device with any information on it pertaining to the business.
I have to admit though, when he hands it over to me and my doll’s picture looks back at me, suddenly I don’t really give a fuck about the iPad. I read the description and go through the photos.
Rebecca Lynn Harrison. Maiden Name: Bartley.
Thirty one years old. Birthday January 2nd 1985.
Widow to Richard Francis Harrison. Married December 14th 2011.
Died of heart attack at 34 years old. Birthday May 12th 1982
Mother to Jax Liam Harrison.
Three Years old. Birthday April 5th 2013.
I tick my jaw reading that part about a son. Kids complicate shit. I can’t just keep her to myself whenever I want and expect her to submit without any question.
Owner of Marcello’s Italian Bistro.
127 Pattinsons Plaza. Value 2 million.
Owner of 2 story family home in Harmony Place.
42 Hills Lane. Value 600 K.
Recent Legal Action
Divorce and distribution of assets – dismissed
Questions regarding custody – also dismissed
“What the fuck is this about?” Anger rises in my chest. Is she not a good mother? I won’t fuck with someone who doesn’t take care of their own. That’s not the kind of woman I want.
“Her husband was a piece of shit. I’ve got his info on there too.” He motions to the iPad and I suck in a deep breath.
I scroll past a few pictures of my doll in front of her restaurant. Marcello’s Italian Bistro. I’ll have to see about that. I doubt her meatballs are as good as Ma’s. I smirk taking in the façade of the restaurant. I’ve never been there; never even heard of it. We have our own upscale bistro. But the people who come to us are looking for an experience. It’s not like Pops isn’t known as the head of the mafia. The cops have been on him throughout the years, but they’ve never been able to get anything to stick. The papers crucify him anytime there’s blood shed in the streets. Most of the time it’s got nothing to do with us. Sometimes it’s deserved, but it’s a rare day that the papers get their information right.
So when people come into our bistro, they’re hoping to see some shit from the sopranos or something. The thought makes me chuckle. I stare at the picture of her restaurant. Of Rebecca’s restaurant. I like that name. Rebecca. It feels good on my tongue. It looks like a nice place. I bet it’s decent inside. But Italian? Real Italian? Nah, I doubt it. I smirk and keep scrolling. I’ll have to go in and find out for myself.