Collateral (Collateral Damage 1)

“Sure,” I say, trying to sound casual, unaffected.

When we move to leave the room, his hand comes to my lower back, to the bare flesh there. It spans the width of it, and it takes all I have not to shudder at his touch as he leads me out and down the stairs.

Uncle Jack is dressed in a tuxedo and smoking a cigar while drinking a whiskey.

He gives me an approving nod.

“I’ll see you there,” he says to us.

“Don’t drink so much you forget to come, old man,” Stefan throws over his shoulder as he leads me outside into the warm night.13StefanGabriela keeps her gaze out the window as we ride to her father’s house.

I watch her in profile.

She’s stunning. She’s a beautiful girl, but tonight, she’s more than that. She shines.

She hasn’t worn makeup—apart from lip balm if that can be considered makeup—in the days she’s been with me.

The women I date—no, date isn’t the right word. I don’t date. The women I fuck are older than her, granted, but there’s something different about Gabriela. Something innocent. It’s a quality none of those women possess. One I’ve never cared about.

And that innocence, it’s different than being naïve. If she were naïve, I wouldn’t be interested in her, but I like sparring with her. She’s fascinating. Unexpectedly so.

But she’s her father’s daughter and I see it even in how she reacts to me when I give an order. Something as simple as changing into shoes last night. If she were anyone else, she’d have fought me. She wouldn’t think to save her strength. To choose her battles.

What I told her on the plane about Antonio, I saw what she thinks she hides well.

She knows her father’s hands are dirty. She may not want to admit how blood-soaked, but she knows.

I remember her that night in her father’s study when she’d walked in wearing that blood-splattered T-shirt and those hideous army boots. She would do battle with her father herself. She seems accustomed to it, and it makes me curious.

Although it doesn’t matter for my purposes.

When our car pulls to a stop at the front entrance of her father’s house, Gabriela shifts her gaze to the imposing double doors. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she looks nervous.

I don’t care though. I get out of the car and extend my hand to her.

She sets one slender leg out, placing her hand in mine. I see they’ve painted her nails to match the dress. I help her out and even though I’m watching her, she’s looking at everything but me.

Again, I don’t care.

Because tonight marks my second victory against Gabriel Marchese as I walk his daughter, my beautiful bride-to-be, into his house where his soldiers open the front doors at my approach, where I smile to see his eyes narrow at the sight of me entering like a king, the biggest prize of all on my arm.

I watch him when he shifts his gaze to her.

Watch him take her in, his beautiful daughter in a dress that exposes perhaps more than he’d like.

His gaze runs the length of her, but it’s what I see in his eyes when he looks at her face that makes me pause. That makes my stomach turn.

Gabriela stiffens beside me. Her back is ramrod straight as if braced for war, her eyes on something beyond her father. Her lips are tightly drawn, and I see how her jaw clenches when she finally meets her father’s strange gaze.

Only moments have passed. Mere seconds in time. And by the time I look at him again, he’s schooled his features. He’s simply a father looking proudly at his daughter. But through that smile, I see the tick in the corner of his left eye. I saw it the other night too. It’s a small tell of what’s really going on inside his head.

“Gabriela,” he says, voice hoarse. He comes toward us, arms outstretched to hug her.

“Dad.” Her tone is flat. She’s going for casual. Bored, even. But she isn’t either of those things.

I watch them, watch him embrace her, watch the space she leaves between them, barely touching him. Her eyes focus on something at the far wall when he kisses her cheek.

I see how she seems to shrink into herself and something makes me want to pull her away. To hide her behind me.

Marchese straightens, turns to me.

I clear my throat. Force a smile.

I’m imagining things. Seeing things that aren’t there. Tonight is a victory I plan to savor.

“Dad,” I say and his obvious annoyance at my greeting does make me smile a real smile.

He clears his throat, makes a show of looking around for a waiter. “Apple juice for my daughter,” he calls out loudly enough to embarrass her.

Gabriela’s eyes narrow and I watch this strange interaction between father and daughter who are like enemies themselves.