Dress

Callahan

"Take off your dress," I tell her. Her eyes narrow and she cocks her head to the side. She's petulant.

A giant-sized pain in the ass.

But a nagging voice tells me there's more than those things. It'd be simple if she were just those things. And I know exactly what it is. She's loyal. A trait not easily come by in my line of work. She humiliated herself, threw herself at my feet to save her brother.

It's too bad she's loyal to the wrong side.

"Are you hard of hearing?" I ask. She just glares.

I gesture to the gown. “It's dirty. You're covered in blood and brains. Not to mention it's fucking ugly. I

don't want you to dirty my things."

Her eyebrows rise on her forehead. “You don't want me to dirty your things?”

"Correct."

"I want my veil. Your goon wouldn't let me get my veil before he dragged me out of there."

I snort at that, take off my shoes and socks, undo my belt and pants. I turn and walk toward the bathroom, stopping at the door to look back at her momentarily.

"I thought you were forced to marry Fernando. Isn't that what you said? Or was it a lie to save your neck? So why in hell would you want any remembrance of the supposedly forced nuptials I interrupted."

Her gaze drops to the unzipped crotch of my pants and she's not quick enough to turn her head away as she clears her throat.

I was right. Just a dirty girl thinking dirty thoughts. Good. Dirty is good.

"It has nothing to do with him. The veil is my mother's." She stops, gives a shake of her head. "It was my mother's. And I want it back."

I watch her face. Watch her try to mask her emotions. "She's been dead a long time. Why would it matter?"

"You don't forget people you love. Unless you're some kind of monster, of course."

Her words hit their mark.

I grit my teeth.

She doesn't know. She's just throwing words at me. Just words. She lost her mother weeks before I lost mine. Parents killed by those two assholes lying with half their faces blown off downstairs.

I turn into the bathroom and strip off the rest of my things, then switch on the shower and step under the flow.

"Hey!" She's at the door.

I look at her.

She glances down then quickly away as her neck and cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"I want my veil. I mean it."

"I haven't even decided how long you'll live yet, and you want a stupid veil from a wedding you were forced into?"

"I told you, it belonged to my mother."

"It's got your brothers' brains all over it. Ruined. Like the dress. Get it off and get in the shower." I switch off the water and step out, grabbing a towel to wipe my face, very aware how red her face has turned.

"Please tell me you've seen a dick before."

"Fuck you."

I give her a smile I don't feel in my eyes. "I will. As soon as you've got that shit cleaned off you."

Her mouth falls open.

I wrap the towel around my hips and when I move toward her, she scurries back. Passing her, I walk into my closet, pull on briefs and choose another suit. I hear the bedroom door open then close. I'm sure that's Portia thinking she can just walk out of here. I chuckle as I step into the slacks and slide my arms into a button-down.

When I return to the bedroom, she's just walking back into it.

"You looked," I say, dropping the suit jacket over the back of a chair as I button up my shirt.

"What? I'm not looking at you." Her face gets that pink hue again as she folds her arms across her chest and makes a point of not looking at for just a second.

"I mean you watched your uncle kill your brothers. You knew what was coming and you watched."

Her eyes darken to a deep caramel and suddenly, I'm taken back. Caught off guard.

Burnt sugar. The smell from the kitchen. Mom standing over the pot, swirling it. Smiling. We're standing beside her, watching in awe as she makes caramel.

I give a shake of my head. The image is gone as quickly as it came — a split second of memory. It leaves a void in its place and has me wondering if it's truly a memory or something I was told.

Focus.

Portia grits her teeth, jaw tensing.

"Why did you look?" I ask.

“Is my cousin going to be fine?”

"Why?"

“Because he's my cousin. Duh."

I walk toward her, and she backs up until the backs of her legs hit my bed. I catch her before she falls onto it, straighten her, taking her jaw in my hand, putting my thumb over her lips. “You like playing games? I'd be careful playing them with me if I were you." I release her and turn to walk across the room. "DO not sit on any of my furniture until you get that dress off."

Opening a drawer, I look at the array of cufflinks. My dad's supposedly. Fuck. Again. Nothing. Not a god damned thing. The only thing I recognize is the engagement ring I tossed in here after taking it off Portia's finger.

I choose a pair of cufflinks at random, closing the drawer a little harder than I need to.

“Why did you look?" I ask again as I turn to her, slipping the links into their slots.

"Because they deserved what they got. Actually, they deserved worse. You were too easy on them."

"Hmm." I study her. See a hate in her eyes I find familiar. That's good. That's what I need to see.

"Why did you have my uncle do it?"

"Why did I have him kill them?"

She nods.

"A test of loyalty.”

She snorts, rolls her eyes.

"He failed. But to be honest, he'd have failed either way. Kill your own blood and I know you're a traitor. Don't, and you're not loyal to me.”

She's confused, her forehead wrinkling.

"The reaper stands at his door either way." A knock at the door interrupts us. "Yes."

The door opens and my uncle, David, peeks his head inside. When he sees the girl, I see a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but he's quick to catch himself. I'm sure he'd agree with Antonio. I should have killed her and the boy, too.

"Ready?" he asks.

“Two minutes.”

He glances at her again, nods to me and leaves, closing the door.

I turn back to Portia, look her over and close the space between us. I give her credit for not backing away.

"Get that dress off. Freshen up.”

"I don't care. Can you just tell me if Nathan's okay?"

"He's fine."

"Is he going to stay fine?"

"For now. Get showered. I'll have food sent up. You don't leave this room."

"Why? Why didn't you kill us?"

“Yet."

"What?"

"Why haven't I killed you yet. That's how you should ask that question."

She swallows, worry making her face go pale.

"You may be useful."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'm going to need something to fuck when I'm back."

Shock registers on her face and her mouth opens into a perfect O. I give her a minute to process.

"I will not be fucking you," she finally says, tone a little quieter.

"Face down ass up is my preference. So I know my options. Be sure to be in position.”

She raises her arm to slap me. Instinct or stupidity. Jury's still out.

I catch her wrist. “You're an angry little thing, aren't you?"

"You can fuck yourself, Callahan Scarfoni. I will not be fucking you."

I chuckle.

She raises her left arm to do what the right couldn't. I catch that wrist too, my opinion leaning toward stupidity rather than instinct.

"Don't think what I did for you was a kindness and don't ever think to strike me. If you get rough, I'll get rough and you've seen what I'm capable of.”

"Giving the order to kill you mean?"

I squeeze her wrists, walking her back to the wall. “The only thing keeping your brother and you alive right now is the warm pussy between your legs. Once I'm done with it, all bets are off, so I'd try really hard to ingratiate myself if I were you." I lean in so the tip of my nose is touching the tip of hers. “I'll make this simple so you can follow. Do not fuck with me. Am I clear, Portia?"

She grits her teeth I assume to stop herself from opening her smartass mouth.

I press her wrists into the wall and squeeze. "I asked you if I'm fucking clear?"

She winces, eyes wide. What does she see in mine, I wonder.

Rage? Fury? A monster?

I raise my eyebrows. “Do I need to dumb it down some more?"

"I'm not stupid and you're fucking crystal clear."

"I'm glad to hear it."

She calls me an asshole under her breath. Not stupid enough to say it to my face at least.

"What was that?" I ask, cocking my head to the side.

She keeps her lips sealed.

"Did you fucking say something, Portia?"

"No."

"Good."

I look down at her blood-crusted dress, shift her wrists into one of my hands and grip the bodice.

“What are you — ”

The dress makes a glorious ripping sound, cutting her off. It exposes her bra, her flat belly. I shift my gaze back to hers. Her eyes have gone wide, mouth still open.

"Get it off. Shower." I release her wrists and walk to the door. "Alec."

The guard turns to me.

"Keep an eye on Ms. Esmeralda," I tell him, glancing at her. “She doesn't go out and nobody comes in."

She's wordlessly cursing me to hell and back. AIl I have to do is look at her to know. Her hands are tight fists holding the remnants of her dress together.

"If she does anything stupid, don't touch her. Punish her cousin.”

"No!" she calls out.

I walk out, then stop and turn back to her. "Remember what I said. Face down, ass up."

She loses what color remained on her face. Good. She'll obey.

Because the tables have turned on the Esmeralda family and I decide whether she and her cousin live or die.