Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance (21 page)

“That’s not what I meant, though. I meant like, she’s stronger than you think. She has a little something, I don't know. A spark or something. I didn't mean to imply that she had a plot in her mind.”

“Well if she's got some spark in her, why not that?”

Alek slaps his palms on the top of the counter. He guzzles his shot and then puts that down too. “Roman, did it occur to you that maybe you could, you know, lighten up? Why don’t you just calm the fuck down?”

“I think you know why,” I say to him.

He presses his lips together and shakes his head. “Just try, Roman. Please, for me. Just try to like her.”

“Yeah, you'd like that wouldn't you.”

“Honestly, I would. It would be really nice to not spend the rest of my days feeling like I ruined your life, Roman. It would be nice if maybe you could try just being, you know, half-ass happy or something for a minute.”

“And then what? You know she thinks we’re monsters.”

“Yeah, so what? We
are
monsters. So is every other guy she ever met. It's just monsters all the way down, Roman. You know that.”

I don’t want to talk anymore. Pushing past him, I rinse out my cup in the sink and leave it at the bottom like Marie instructed me to do after the seventh time I just left one on the counter. Then I head back out of the kitchen without another word. I'm tired. One million years of tired.

Coming to Chicago, I fully expected a new life. But it's always the same old shit. Everywhere you go, there you are.

MARIE

“Well?” Gianna says, the moment that I walk into the cigar club.

I look around like I'm expecting a clue as to what she's talking about. “Well what?”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Well
what
?” she repeats. “Well
how is it
? How was it? How's the, you know,
married
life?”

“Oh. That.”

Coaching myself not to be too grumpy about the whole thing because Gianna still probably has some spark of optimism left in her naive little heart, I go back to the counter and stow my handbag underneath. Gianna is practically panting with excitement.

“Is he nice? Is he weird? Does he talk in his sleep in Russian? Come on, spill the beans!”

Shrugging, I look for a spray bottle of cleaner and a towel. I need something to do with my hands. “It's just, you know… I don't know.”

“No, I don't know!" she huffs. “I don't know at all, because you're not actually saying anything, Marie!”

“There's nothing to say. I mean… They're there all the time. The house is starting to smell like a barnyard. They eat so much… Oh my God, Gianna you would not believe it. We went through like two months worth of lasagna in about a week.”

“Seriously?” she says, as though this was the kind of detail she was waiting for. “What do they eat?”

“Pretty much everything.”

“They like Italian food?”

“Well, apparently. That’s what they’re getting anyway.”

“Interesting…”

I'm not sure how that could possibly be interesting to her, but if it's floating her boat right now then I guess that's fine. She takes the tin of lighter fluid and starts refilling all of our fancy antique lighters that go in every private room. Some of these have been in use since the club first opened. The one she's got in her hands is the one I like the most; it's milk glass and looks like a blob of cloud.

“And?” she finally asks, quirking her eyebrow at me. Currently it's in a dramatically arched shape with a geometric wedge near her nose, narrowing to a fine line that sweeps out over her eye. Truly amazing eyebrows. They’re like works of art.

“Well what?” I say irritably, pretending not to know what she's talking about.

“The sex!” she finally blurts out. “Sex! You're having sex now, right? How is it? Is it wonderful? Is it awesome? Does it change your life and shake your world and everything?”

“Gianna…”

“Are you doing it all the time? Are you sore? Are you limping? Are you pregnant already?”

“Gianna!”

“I mean, that wouldn't be the weirdest thing in the world, right? My cousin Annalisa got pregnant on her honeymoon. Well, that's what she told everybody? But I kinda think that probably she was pregnant before the wedding, even though she would never admit it. We'll see. Supposedly the baby is due in November and if anything pops out at the end of August weighing ten pounds, I guess we'll know for sure, huh? Ha ha!”

She is super excited. Her eyes are sparkling and her cheeks are flushed. I think Gianna is probably still a virgin. We sort of do that, or at least we’re supposed to. One of our charming family traditions. But she is utterly sex obsessed. If her dad doesn't marry her off, she’ll probably toss herself at the first penis that says hello.

“Seriously, spill it, Marie! I’m dying here!!”

I shake my head and press my lips together. I’m about to kill her dreams. “Listen, Gianna, there's nothing to tell. We haven't, um...”

“Haven't what?”

I finish wiping the counter and then spray it again and start wiping the exact same spot.

“We haven't… You know.”

She just shakes her head for a second, then her eyes open wide.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You mean you haven't… Oh my God, Marie. But you've been married for like two weeks already!”

I shrug. Honestly, I'm a little surprised too.

“Why not?” she says, actually sounding a little angry.

“Well, I barely know the guy!” I say convincingly. I mean, as far she knows anyway. “It's just… I don't know. It will happen. I'm sure.”

She lowers her voice to a confidential whisper. “Is it because he's ugly?”

“Gianna…”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything,” she scowls. “You know, I didn’t want to be rude or anything. But you must have noticed. I mean, what was it like when you first saw him? Were you, like, mortified or whatever?”

“No, I was not mortified.”

“Because I don't even know what I would do if my dad set me up with somebody like that. I mean, he's terrifying to look at. I can see why you're waiting.”

Weirdly, this really gets on my nerves. He's not ugly. He's just… Well, I still do not know what he is. Or maybe he is ugly, but I don't seem to like Gianna saying it very much.

“And with his brother right there, you know, like for comparison or whatever…”

I shake my head. I really do not want to talk about this anymore. I feel bad too, because Gianna and I promised to tell each other everything. We have spent many a night sitting around talking about our first chances at being slutty. It was supposed to be awesome. I was supposed to go from Virgin to Whore under those sacred bonds of matrimony in the blink of an eye. Somehow I screwed this all up. What the hell was I thinking?

“So, like, what is the story with Alek?”

I shake my head. Story? Who knows.

“He’s sort of a jerk.” I say, feeling more than a little bit naughty about talking about him behind his back. Not like he doesn't deserve it. He totally does.

“And he’s living with you too?” she says innocently, spraying glass cleaner on the large door that leads to the cigar room.

“Yeah,” I shrug, trying to keep it light, “just one big happy family I guess.”

“So... you can set us up?”

It takes a full twenty seconds for what she just said to sink into my head, and when it does, I don't even know what to say. My mouth falls open.

“Well, I mean it's just that… Like, how perfect would that be? If we were with brothers? You know?”

I shake my head numbly.

“Like you could have me over for dinner or something?? I could just get to know him a little bit?”

“Yeah, I don't think that's a good idea,” I say hoarsely. Something is tightening up in my shoulders, like a screw being turned. I'm not sure why, but I sort of want to pinch her, hard.

“Why not? I mean I know it's not some noble sacrifice for the good of the whole family or something like that…” she says, and though I'm not even looking at her I can feel her rolling her eyes.

“It's not like that, Gianna.”

She spins toward me, letting her hands slap helplessly against her thighs. “What's it like then?”

I search for something to say that doesn't sound completely insane and come up with absolutely nothing.

“Come on, Gianna, you know.”

“No, I really don't know!” she spits in frustration. “It's not like you can keep them both to yourself, you know!”

My breath does this thing where it sort of turns into a solid and I feel like I'm choking for just a second. I know that she doesn't know, but still I automatically feel defensive.

And I think she can see it too. Her eyes go stony as though there's a certain distance I put between us. She may not understand it yet, but I know she can feel it too.

The front door swings open with a whoosh of air that makes us both flinch. Startled, I turn to the door and see Roman or maybe Alek, I can't tell which. The light is behind him and it takes a second to realize whose face I'm looking at even though my heart started pounding anyway. But my heart doesn't seem to care which one it was at all.

“Get your purse. Come on,” he says. With that kind of poetry, I assume it must be Roman.

“No,” I say automatically.

Roman crosses his arms over his chest and just stands there. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Gianna staring at us both with her eyebrows raised.

“Get your purse,” he says again in a low voice.

“Say please.”

“No.”

“Marie, you should probably just go,” Gianna says in a warning voice. Deliberately disobeying my husband? Holy cow she probably thinks I’ve lost my mind. Well, at least she's not trying to come along to get a minute alone with Alek or anything like that.

I just blink at him. I'm not moving a muscle.

He stands there for at least a couple of minutes and then takes two short steps in one direction and two short steps in the other direction. He looks back over his shoulder with a scowl and then turns to me, letting his hands fall in front of him and folding them politely, if a little bit sarcastically.

“Marie, would you do me the honor of getting your ass in the Jeep… Please?”

Gianna kneels under the counter to fetch my purse for me and holds it out so that I don't have to break eye contact. That's nice of her. At least finally somebody shows me a little bit of respect.

“Gianna, would you mind covering for me today?”

“Oh, um, sure, Marie,” she says in a polite voice.

“Thank you very much.”

And without even needing to blink, I walk across the room with my head held high and then stand patiently in front of the door until Roman swings from behind me to open it.

That's right, open the door for me. Because I'm a goddamn lady.

***

“Where are we going?”

Alek turns around in his seat. “You should've brought sunscreen.”

“Yeah, well, everybody failed to tell me that I was going anywhere, so how the hell was I supposed to know that?”

He winks at me. We seem to have fallen into the habit of Alek or Roman saying something smart, me saying something smart back, and Alek giving me that look. That look he has that says he wants to eat me for dinner or something.

“Lucky for you, I brought extra,” he informs me. He slides me a tube of SPF 50 and turns back around. It's the good stuff, department store stuff. Not too greasy.

“You've got pretty good taste in skincare,” I remark.

“Yeah, well, I freckle,” he shrugs.

I see Roman shudder. I can’t imagine him ever admitting to something as dainty as freckling, although it sort of amuses me to try to imagine it. I want him to let me put some of this on the tops of his cheeks at least. I worry that the new skin on his face is still tender in the sun, but I have no idea how I would even ask him.

“So, really? Nobody's gonna tell me where we’re going?”

“It's just a thing,” Roman growls.

“It’s just a thing, just a picnic,” Alek says to nobody, poking the screen of the GPS. We’re heading north, nearly out of the city. Northwest, actually.

“A picnic? Like a birthday party? Like a family reunion or something?”

“Or something,” Alek nods.

Fine. I can play this game. I do not even care. Besides, if I say anything else one of them will start antagonizing me for fun. Just forget it. Nevermind.

We drive through Evanston to the Skokie border, then head north again toward Wisconsin. The street gets all dark and leafed over, dense with trees as Roman pulls into a forest preserve. Traffic is tight here, with cars stretching out for blocks in either direction.

“Some family reunion,” I mutter to myself as Roman parks the Jeep. Alek opens my car door for me and helps me out.

“You know, if you would've told me I was going to be walking around in the mud, I probably could've worn appropriate footwear,” I grumble as we pick our way through the parking lot.