“You know the way,” I said, nodding toward Santo’s—now my—office.
He paused, no doubt not excited about the prospect of turning his back to me. I waited, and he relented, walking toward the office.
When we got inside, I closed the door and then faced him.
“Don’t worry, Michael. If it comes to it, I won’t stab you in the back,” I said.
“Should I promise the same?” he said.
I laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to lie,” I said, locking eyes with him. “But when you miss, know you won’t get a second chance.”
Was Michael brave enough to try? I hadn’t decided, but someone would, and that person would become an example for the others. I’d have no regrets if the example was him.
“I apologize,” he said. I said nothing and he continued. “Things have changed. I accept that. There’s no need for us to get off on the wrong foot.
He sounded earnest, which made me certain he was lying. Besides, any chance of him getting on my good side was gone the moment he’d looked at Daniela like that.
“What were you going to protect my wife from?” I asked, ignoring his attempt at a heartfelt moment.
He flinched at the word “wife,” and I decided I would have to continue to use it in front of him.
“Daniela and I have been friends for a very long time. Our whole lives, really.”
“Just friends?”
He looked away guiltily, but didn’t speak, a confession in itself.
“Make sure it stays that way,” I said, after I paused long enough to ensure my anger didn’t come through.
He nodded tightly and then stood, waiting. More controlled than Santo, that was clear.
“Gather all your men tomorrow,” I said.
“Santo too?” he said.
“No. Now get out.”
He recoiled but then recovered, nodded, and left. Once he was gone, some of the tension started to fade.
What a fucking douche bag, not that I expected more from Santo. Still, he was number two in the organization, and he was a way for me to learn and understand how Santo’s men worked. One wrong move though, and I’d gleefully choke him to death.
But that was something for tomorrow.
I smiled. For now, I would go and find my new wife.
* * *
Daniela
I breathed deep to inhale the beautiful fragrance of the vibrant rosebushes, stood listening to the soft bubbling of the koi pond my mother had had installed, the friendly chirps of the birds who ate from the numerous bird feeders, waited for calm to come over me as it always did when I was here.
There was no calm today.
I had married a stranger, and I had done so willingly. Wanted that stranger, even after what he’d done to my family.
What I hadn’t signed up for was blatant disrespect.
He had all but ordered me out of the room, sent me away as though I was a servant or a child.
It had been clear he and Michael had plans to talk about business, and yes, it would be a violation of all the things they believed to allow me to stay. But there was protocol, a way to handle things that didn’t involve dismissing me, and Sergei hadn’t cared enough to bother with them.
He doesn’t care, Daniela, I reminded myself, though that reminder did nothing to smother the rage that was being stoked in my chest, the tiny petal of hurt underneath it.
I was worthy of respect, damn it. Deserved at least that.
And I’d gotten none from Sergei, who hadn’t even bothered to issue an order but still expected my obedience. None from Michael, who’d stood mute, hadn’t even offered a token attempt at solidarity.
What else did I expect, though? Michael, all of us, lived at the mercy of Sergei and the Syndicate, so I couldn’t really be angry with him, could I? Maybe it wasn’t reasonable to expect anything from Michael. Okay, it definitely wasn’t reasonable, but I had wanted something from him, if only to show that I wasn’t completely alone. That he’d meekly stood by dampened some of my respect for him.
And made me boil with rage at Sergei.
I clenched my fists, but then unclenched them and smoothed my hands down my skirt. My fingers had been balled so tight that my short, manicured nails had left indents in my palm. That kind of anger, any emotion, really, wouldn’t do.
I needed to focus, be smart, and I couldn’t do that if I was drowning in rage any better than I could if I was breathless with desire.
I managed to push back the anger, but in its place was curiosity. I’d been halfway tempted to stand outside the door and listen, but had quickly decided against it.
I remembered vividly when I’d done that as a child, burning with curiosity about the men who came to the house, the ones I wasn’t supposed to see and who completely ignored me. My mother had found me listening once, and scolded me, told me that doing so was undignified.