The Filthy One

“River.”

“Marco.” She pauses then giggles. “Polo.”

I’m quick as I lean in and slap her ass hard enough to make her jump and fall to the floor.

“What the fu—”

“Good girl, now eat.”

By the time we make it to the car, the sky is threatening to unleash buckets of rain. The clouds are gray and heavy, the air is colder than usual. It’d be better if we got snow, but the temperatures, low as they are, just aren’t cold enough.

River looks stunning in her black knee-length pencil skirt and black silk shirt, her hair adorned with a silver clip, her pearl earrings demure and sophisticated. Her black stilettos make her legs look endless, and I have visions of her digging those heels into my back as I fuck her into oblivion. I haven’t seen her cry yet but her mind is far away, somewhere in the past with her departed friend.

Reaching over, I squeeze her thigh hard enough to get her attention.

“Hmm?” Turning to face me, her eyes are still glazed over but I want her attention solely on me.

“I will be there every step of the way. You lean on me when you need me, Dolcezza. Because that’s what family does.” That gets her attention.

“Family?” She scoffs like it’s the most ridiculous notion in the world.

“Yes, River. Family. You’ve taken care of your brother and that useless excuse for a best friend,” I mumble under my breath, “best friend my ass,” then resume my short monologue. “Now, you’re part of the Mancini family. We take care of each other. I…” My hand shoots out and grabs her chin so she’s forced to look at me. “Take care of you. Capito?” I know she doesn’t understand Italian but she’ll have to at least know that, so I repeat myself. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” For the first time since this whole thing started, her eyes are clear and her answer is honest.

“Bene.”

When we arrive at the plot where Bobby instructed his lawyer to place him, there’s a half-moon crowd of people waiting around the open grave. A small wave of black dresses and suits with white handkerchiefs dabbing at their watering eyes.

River is at my side, her shoulders shaking more and more as we approach the gathering. Placing a hand at the small of her back, I rub a soothing thumb to remind her I’m here.

“You can sit at the front, he considered you his only family.” At any other time, she’d be curious about how I know this, but instead of questioning me, she gives me a small smile. I have a feeling this is the only time I’ll get the docile River of today. And as much as I’m enjoying it, I have to admit I prefer fiery River any day of the week.

At eleven on the dot, the pastor begins his celebration of Bobby’s life and I tune him out, my attention fully on the figure standing diagonally behind me. He’s angled in just a way that River can’t see him, but he’s clear in my line of sight.

I can see him gritting his teeth as his eyes virtually drill a hole into my hand as it rests on River’s hip. I wait until he looks up then narrow my gaze at him.

I know he’s up to something. I fucking hate that he’s here, but there’s nothing I can do about it without exposing myself as well.

A small sob escapes River and not a second later she’s burrowed into my shoulder, my arms now fully around her. We stand there as Bobby's casket is slowly lowered into the ground and wait for everyone to walk up and drop a handful of dirt into the grave. Some pick up a rose and drop it as well. Following River’s lead, I just stand there waiting for her to go whenever she’s ready.

Inevitably, we come face to face with one of my closest friends growing up.

“Nathaniel?” River gasps, quickly jumping back and severing our connection.

The motherfucker doesn’t even pretend to hide the smirk on his face.

“I wanted to pay my respects.” Now it’s my turn to grind my teeth as River crashes into Nate and wraps her arms around his neck as he holds her around the waist, his nose nuzzling her neck.

I want to rip his head right off his fucking shoulders for touching what’s mine. For making her believe he’s her comfort place.

He’s not.

Once they separate, I pull her back into my space, bringing her hand up to my mouth to kiss off his touch. It’s only an added bonus that it happens to be the hand sporting a huge fucking rock that says, “Marco Mancini’s fiancé.”

As his eyes land on the ring, I get a sick sense of satisfaction. Fucker needs to walk away.

“I see you’ve been busy.” The unmistakable jolt of shock from River is like a match to a puddle of gasoline. It’s swift and it’s violent.