That sets her off like I knew it would. “If I’m so worthless then why the hell do I keep putting myself through this?”
“Because you want to get paid.” I shuffle toward her slowly. “And you like my abuse. You enjoy the back and forth. And you like the thrill knowing that if you push a little too hard, I will spank your ass raw and fuck your dripping pussy until you scream.”
And now she’s bright red, which I absolutely adore. Messing with Mirella is like conducting a symphony. “See, that right there, I shouldn’t take that sort of crap.”
“Go ahead and leave.”
She glares at me, hands balled into fists, so mad she could scream, but we both know she’s not going anywhere. She needs the money badly enough to swallow her pride, but mostly she can’t stop thinking about the way I make her body feel. It isn’t fair, it isn’t fucking right, but she loves it all the same.
“One of these days, you’ll go too far and you won’t like what happens next.”
I limp closer. “You think I haven’t already crossed the line a thousand times over? Princess, every time I touch your body, I’m crossing a thousand lines. You think I haven’t tasted my own fair share of pain?”
“I think you still believe you’re the center of the universe, even though this injury should’ve proven otherwise.”
“And I think you don’t know me at all, princess. I demand obedience because I give perfect loyalty in return. If you listen to me then I’ll take care of you forever, but you haven’t seemed to figure that out. You will though, sooner or later. I’ll make sure of it.”
She throws the towel at me and storms off. I catch it with a smile and breathe its smell in, getting a whiff of laundry soap and her scent mixed together. She’s intoxicating and addictive, and I need to be careful around her but I know I won’t. I’ve already broken all my rules and done everything wrong—I might as well keep going down the path that feels the best.
And she’s that path. I don’t know where it ends or what it leads to, except I’m enjoying the process.
I smell the dirty towel one more time and as I toss it into the laundry basket and start toward the door, an exhausted and stressed-looking staff member appears, breathing hard like she just ran across the compound. She’s young, brunette, and seems terrified. Lately, ever since I fired that leering shithead kid, the staff’s been on eggshells with me.
Good. They were getting too familiar. Time for them to be put back in their damn place.
“Sir, uh, you requested that we come find you if Mr. Bernero returned to the house.”
I go very still. Mr. Bernero is Mirella’s father. “Is he here right now?”
“Down at the gate, sir. He requested entry.”
“Did you tell Casso?”
“No, sir.”
“Very good. I’ll deal with this myself.” I head out the door. The staff girl hesitates, not sure if she should wait for me, and I practically snarl at her. She yelps and runs off, terrified that I’m about to break her kneecaps with my cane. I hate when people treat me like I’m not capable of handling myself, even if they’re somewhat right—I’m not as fast as I used to be and I’m in pain all the damn time, but even still, I don’t need to be reminded by some girl that works in my house.
I head down the main hall and out the front door. I consider taking a golf cart to the gate but decide against it. The day’s sweltering, and I’m going to be exhausted at the bottom, but I can’t stand the idea of showing up in one of those things like I’m incapable of making it on foot. My pride gets in the way of common sense yet again, but fuck it.
I don’t know why Mirella’s father is here, but I know it can’t be good. Her father is a decent Capo, but he’s old school, one of the men my father elevated from the ranks of soldiers and raised into the upper echelons of power. Genaro Bernero runs a solid crew and earns a decent amount for the Famiglia, but he’s far from our best. I didn’t know much about him until Mirella came into my life, and I still haven’t been able to figure out why my father gave a shit about the guy. From what I can tell, he’s exceptionally boring, but maybe that’s his strength. Sometimes it’s good to have boring yet loyal men in the middle rankings of an organization.
I’m exhausted when I reach the gate. My legs ache and my hips are on fire. Each step sends fresh hell into my spine. But I keep my face calm, despite the sweat drenching my back. Mirella’s father stands near a pair of guards, sharing a cigarette with them, looking at ease. He’s smiling, says something, and both the guards laugh like it’s the funniest thing they’ve heard, at least until they spot me coming. Their smiles quickly fade.