Page 8 of A Treasure To Keep
He scans my body, squinting his eyes. I’m pretty convinced he can see straight through my bullshit lie. Instead, he pulls out his phone, dialing a phone number without breaking eye contact with me. His eyes still hold the same blank stare, which sends shivers down my spine.
“Let me call him.” The phone call between him and Marco is vague, and I can’t hear anything Marco is saying until they hang up. “He will meet you at the door.”
I’m buzzed in and make my way up the long driveway to see Marco standing on the front porch. I haven’t thought this far and don’t know what I’ll say or do once we’re face to face.
He meets me halfway, knowing the last thing I’m here to do is measure him for that stupid suit he still refuses to pick up.
He breaks the silence with a single word. “Andrea.”
That’s when I snap, swinging toward him, surprising him when my fist collides with his jaw.
“Comment as-tu pu? Vous avez trahi ma confiance. Espèce d'homme stupide!”
He rubs his jaw, unsure of what I said but knowing exactly what I meant. “I know. I deserved that.”
“Oui.” The silence between us says there’s nothing else that can be done for now. “Would someone drive me home?”
“I’ll have Domenico drive you home. For what it’s worth, I made the mistake. El deserves you; you deserved her, but I never will. She didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one who pushed her.”
The man at the gate, whom I now know as Domenico, comes around with a car, ready to drive me back to my apartment. Part of me wants to call El. Several questions that hover in my head prevent me from doing that. What would I say? Do we simply move on? I know she loves me, but do I love her enough to forgive her? Can I mentally afford to see her day after day, knowing she wants Marco? If I decided to share her with him, regardless of my presence, could I live with that?
I toss and turn all night, the vision of Marco and El filling my dreams whenever I close my eyes. Every dream I have leads me to the hotel room. Instead of El sandwiched between Marco and me, I’m sitting in the chair every hotel room has, watching them. Both of them are describing their pleasure to me as I sit there. Watching. Listening. Finding pleasure in it. My knuckles turn white while I grip the arms of the chair, while my legs shake. The second she screams Marco’s name, I bolt up in bed, hard as a rock and sweaty.
I need to talk to them. Both of them. Regardless of the outcome.
Chapter 6
Marco
Domenico drives Andrea home as I sit in the kitchen with a plan to get plastered. My jaw pulses after his hit, and I’m honestly impressed he can hit that hard. Alessandro walks into the room, noticing the bottle that was full earlier is now a third empty.
“What happened?” Alessandro doesn’t know this, but sometimes I want to revert to our childhood and punch him. Or maybe he does know that. Honestly, who cares? Regardless, with age came self-control versus when we were kids and would fight until we were bloody or someone broke up the fight. Ironically, it was usually Domenico. He was barely a man when Geno scouted him, meaning he’s been around since I was a kid. His first job was ensuring Alessandro and I wouldn’t beat each other to a pulp. He succeeded. Most of the time. I have more memories of Domenico than I do of my mamma, who left when I was young.
“El happened, that’s what. The woman drives me fucking crazy.” I pour another glass, downing it in one straight shot. I hiss at the burn in my chest the liquor leaves as it slides down.
“Why did you hire her as Luci’s stylist if you didn’t want her around?” That’s a good fucking question. One where there’s an annoyingly obvious answer.
“Because she’s the best.” When I turn toward him, he raises an eyebrow. His eyes automatically go to the bruise forming on my jaw.
“Did she do that to you? I want to say I’m surprised, but I’m not.” What do I tell him? No way in hell I’d get away with lying.
“Sure. Let’s say that.” I pour another glass in front of me, not downing it quite yet, preparing myself for the burn in my chest.
Alessandro knows I’m not telling him the whole truth, but thankfully, he doesn’t push it. We’re always here for each other without being too warm and fuzzy. Alessandro hums at my response, grabbing my glass and walking off in the direction of his office. Who needs a glass anyway? The bottle is a glass. Technically.
About an hour later, and another third of the bottle gone, heels clack toward me from a distance. The steps aren’t as short as El’s, yet my heart races with the thought of El being here. Instead of a petite, curvy blonde walking into the space, a brunette with bright red lips and a pristine Pilates body appears in the kitchen. El appearing would be bad, but Gabby appearing may be worse.
She slinks over to me, leaning on the countertop. Her fake lips smirk as she bats her eyelashes, her attempt at flirting. “Hi, Marco. I didn’t know you’d be in here.” Knock me out right now. Someone. Please. Where’s Andrea to finish off what he started?
“Why are you here, Gabby?” She’s here to see someone, usually whoever will claim her first.
“I thought I’d stop by. Now that I’ve run into you, we can hang out together.” She grabs a chair, bringing it close to me to sit down. Her too-short dress rides up, almost exposing herself completely.
“I was writing my to-do list this morning, and getting the clap again wasn’t on it, Gabriella.” When I first moved here and met Gabby, she ran her way through most of our security and gave half of us the clap, myself included, unfortunately. The second I was done with the antibiotics, I promised myself I would always wear a condom. El has been the exception.
“It’s good that I got tested earlier this month and everything’s clean. I wish I could confidently say the same about you. We don’t know who spread it first. It could have been anyone.” I’m not drunk enough to forget today, but I’m drunk enough that sleeping with Gabby to get rid of my thoughts sounds decent enough. I chug the rest of the bottle, knowing it’ll hit me later, as I grab Gabby’s hand and drag us to a spare bedroom. No fucking way I’d let Gabby in my bed. I throw her in the room, turning to shut the door, but when I swing my body back to her, the liquor hits me.
“Holy shit.” I know I’m mumbling as I try to grab onto anything I can when I stumble my way to the bed, knowing I can’t put any effort into this.