“Got it, boss. Yeah he’s one of em.” My chest rumbles with a laugh. “Wonder if he has a history of making bets and he got that 40 K winning?” Johnny laughs as he picks Marco’s head up and starts wrapping it with saran wrap. Really distorts the fuckers head but it works well for keeping all the blood from getting everywhere.
“Drop him off at the vet before Ma’s.” Everyone in my family knows someone. My vet was a wonderful addition to my contacts. If you can cremate a 150lb dog, you can cremate a 150lb corpse.
“You really wanna push it? You know your Ma hates it when you’re late.” Johnny talks while he wipes up the blood. I flip the scrawny bastard over and pull him by his feet away from the mess.
I don’t answer Johnny. I’m always fucking late. She’d be surprised if I showed up on time. I stare at the rag in Johnny’s hand soaking up the blood. Damn, it’s a lot of blood. Never gets old. I stand up from the dead bastard and head back to the bar for a drink. Our glasses are somewhere else, but there’s plenty new ones to fill. And plenty of liquor to fill them with.
This is why I’m the bookie in the family. I didn’t really want to be a part of this shit. But with a name like Valetti, this shit tracks you down. “Yours is up here when you’re ready Johnny.” As soon as I set my glass down, there’s a knock at the door. Fucking perfect.
I walk over to Johnny and pick up Marco’s legs while he gets his upper body. This fucker looks small, but his dead, limp body is fucking heavy. We’ll dump him in the corner for now. I take a look at Johnny and straighten his jacket.
“You look good, just wipe your face,” I tell him and return to my glass.
“Uh, Dom?” Johnny asks while another knock rings through the suite.
“What?” I tilt my chin to the door. After that shit, I’m not opening it. I smirk at the thought.
Johnny motions to his hips while looking at mine. I take a glance down. “Fuck!” Mother fucker; fucking Marco ruined my 43 K Brioni suit. More than that dumb fuck had in the bank. I look over to his carcass slumped in the corner of the room behind the pool table as Johnny opens the door. One hand on the butt of my gun, the other on my drink, I listen but keep my eyes on the dead body in the room.
I’m vaguely aware of the transaction as the pit in my stomach sinks and my blood rushes in my ears as their voices turn to white noise. I fucking hate that I was born a Valetti. But it’s sure as shit better than being born Marco.
Becca
The car door shuts as Sarah gets out of the car. It closes lightly. I’m surprised the fucking light isn’t flashing to tell me it’s not closed all the way. Too gentle. Sarah is too gentle, too nice. We spent most of the car ride in silence. She kept opening her mouth like she was going to say something, but never did. What is she really going to say?
I swallow the lump in my throat and dig through the console for some tissues. I swear to god if his cum has leaked onto this dress I’m going to be mortified. I don’t have a change of clothes and it’s not like I can just hide in the car. It’s Jax’s first game of the season. He may only be three and never remember this, but I will.
I close my eyes and wipe myself, feeling like a dirty slut. I’ve only ever been with one man. Rick the prick, as I’ve recently started calling him. Until he died anyway. I shake my head and shove the used tissue into the paper bag from Dunkin Donuts this morning. I crumple up the bag and toss it onto the passenger’s seat. Taking a few deep breaths, I open my door and slide out of my seat. No one knows. I keep repeating to myself as I turn backwards to take a look at my dress. Thank fuck there’s no mark. Honestly, they’d probably believe I sneezed and pissed myself a bit over me actually having sex with … him. Tears well and my throat closes. I don’t even know his fucking name.
I start walking along the forest line looking over the soccer fields. A whistle blows loud through the air and practically scratches my ear drum like nails on a chalkboard. I wince and rub my temples. Jax is at the very last field. Fuck these heels. I feel like a damn moron walking in heels on grass. I nearly topple over pulling one off, but the second is easier. I shake out my fears and anxiety; no one knows.
My heart clenches in pain once again. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it. I can’t say I never fantasized about being taken like that. Ruthlessly. Being devoured by a man consumed with lust. My cheeks heat with a violent blush. I need to get my shit together. I can’t let these bitches smell any blood in the water.
“You’re late Becca,” Cynthia says with a sing song voice, but there’s disdain ringing on the end. I hope she’s fucking burning up in that strawberry tweed Chanel shirt suit. Her blonde hair is in a perfect bun showing off her too fucking large diamond earrings. She’s the picture perfect housewife. A twig who doesn’t even finish all of her salad and knows exactly how everything is supposed to be done and doesn’t mind chiming in to correct. Yeah, she’s what Rick thought he was getting when he married me. Fuck her.