Page 3 of All’s Fair In Love & War (The Bulgari Cartel #2)
Table For Two
Khalil Bulgari
I sat low on the edge of the sectional, elbows digging into my knees, my eyes fixed on the untouched feast spread across the oversized coffee table in front of me. This wasn’t how I usually did things, but nothing about Felicity was typical, and nothing about tonight would be easy.
Formalities would only piss her off, so I removed them. We weren’t dining in the formal room, nor would servants serve us, and there was no need to fold our napkins on our laps. Just comfort in a neutral space as a quiet sign that I was trying.
The table looked like a damn food magazine exploded all over it. Oxtails had been slow-cooked ‘til the meat fell off the bone. They were drenched in dark gravy alongside servings of shrimp and grits that were rich and thick, with a slow-building spice that hit the back of your throat.
A cedar plank held two pieces of blackened salmon, still steaming and charred just right. There was also golden mac and cheese with a crust that cracked under a fork, roasted vegetables laced with garlic and thyme, and sweet cornbread with honey butter melting down the sides.
Two bottles of red wine flanked the spread, one sweet and one dry. At first, I thought they added a nice touch, but then I pictured her walking in angry, defensive, and still raw from the battle she’d been fighting with her addiction. It was then that I realized what I’d done.
I cursed under my breath and sat up straighter. I should have the wine removed. The last thing Felicity needed was alcohol. It would only send her spiraling again.
“Lucy,” I called out, lifting my voice enough to carry outside the room.
Luciana, my housemaid, rounded the corner before I finished calling her name. She was thirty years old, sharp-eyed, and quick with her words. She had been with me for years and didn’t hold back her honesty, not even with me.
She stopped in the doorway, bundle of napkins in her arms, and arched an eyebrow like I was trying her patience.
“?Sí, signore?”
“Take the wine back to the cellar,” I said, motioning toward the bottles with a nod. “Bring sparkling water instead. Pellegrino, if we have it.”
She blinked, lips twitching like she wanted to ask why, then thought better of it. “Claro,” she replied, scooping up the bottles before disappearing into the hall, heels clicking behind her.
The room settled back into quiet. The TV was on, the screen paused at the main menu of one of those streaming apps, and the volume was turned down low.
I left it that way on purpose. Felicity could pick something to watch if she wanted.
I didn’t want to guess what she’d like, so I’d let her decide.
I figured offering a choice might buy me a sliver of peace.
Honestly, I didn’t know much about Felicity.
What I had learned came in fragments, and most of them weren’t positive.
She was known as a reckless party girl, had a fierce temper, and struggled with drug addiction.
Yet, that couldn’t be the entirety of who she was.
No one fights so fiercely to maintain their identity without something valuable to protect, even if it’s only beneath the surface.
I was determined to understand her, to look beyond the anger she used as a shield, and I hoped to elicit a laugh or, at the very least, engage in polite conversation. However, the moment she entered the room, any hope for civility vanished into thin air.
She came in barefoot, hips swaying like she had a crowd to impress, strutting in a black string bikini that looked like it came from the clearance bin at a sex shop with the choker I had insisted on her wearing, sparkling at the base of her neck.
I rose slowly, a deep frown pulling at my face as I took her in, trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with her. Had she gotten her hands on some coke? Was there a rolled-up dollar bill with a few lines tucked somewhere that I might’ve overlooked?
“What the fuck do you have on?” I questioned with a sneer as my eyes roamed over her from head to toe.
Felicity tilted her head, that smug smile curving her lips as her eyes met mine with a challenge I could feel in my teeth.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Not a fan of the outfit?” she asked, tilting her head. “I just figured if you’re going to collar me like a pet, I might as well dress the part.”
I exhaled hard, pinching the bridge of my nose as I closed my eyes and counted to ten. When I looked at her again, my voice was calm but clipped.
“I never said you were a pet, but if that’s how you want to act, don’t be surprised when I treat you accordingly.
” I let the words settle before adding, “The necklace was a gift, me meeting you halfway, which is something I don’t do often.
I just wanted you to know peace is possible… if you want it.”
“Or,” she said, eyes glittering with venom, “you picked it out so I’d fuck you sooner rather than later. You think the spoiled little rich girl’s pussy gets wet for diamonds? That I’m just another brat you can buy into submission? Please.”
She scoffed and dragged her fingers up the front of her body, stopping just above the necklace.
“You think I’ve never been offered gifts before?
I know plenty of men like you who like to throw money at problems they don’t know how to fix.
Figured you’d just slap a necklace on it and call it peace.
” She grabbed the chain around her neck and tugged at it.
“This is just your way of trying to make me forget I was dragged here against my will.”
Her lip curled, and she shook her head as she paced around me, one slow step at a time, like she was sizing me up.
“I don’t care how expensive your gifts are. Shit, you could wrap me in gold and I’d still spit in your face. If you wanted someone obedient, you should’ve picked a woman who actually wants to be owned.”
She stopped in front of me and leaned in, her breath brushing my skin, and dropped her voice to a poisonous whisper.
“If you thought all it would take is jewelry to get a girl on her knees, maybe you should’ve picked someone cheaper.
Because this pussy right here—” she patted her private part.
“This pussy that will fuck up your whole life.”
She slid her hands up my chest, slow and deliberate, the silk of her voice curling around my restraint.
“So, now is the time to be real with me. You don’t have to pretend.
Just admit you want a warm body to use whenever your dick twitches, and we might can come to an agreement that suits the both of us. ”
Then she giggled— giggled —and pressed her lips to mine.
“One of those stipulations is that if I have to be your live-in sex toy, I get to walk around in nothing but this goddamn necklace. Would that turn you on, big boy?”
To hear her say that shit was like getting punched in the face with brass knuckles because pussy was never something I lacked, and never something I had to chase.
It found me, waited for me, and showed up gift-wrapped in lace and lip gloss with no demands attached.
So, for her to stand there, acting like what she had between her legs was a prize I couldn’t resist, that shit was laughable. Insulting, even.
I could tell by her expression that she thought she had me figured out.
Felicity assumed I was like those weak men who let pretty faces and tight bodies dictate their moves, but she was dead wrong.
If I wanted a body, I had options, hundreds of them.
What I wanted in a wife and marriage was something real.
Something that couldn’t be broken every time emotions ran high or sex got weaponized.
Even if it was arranged, I still intended to do it right, but clearly, she wasn’t ready to be treated with respect.
It didn’t matter because one way or another, she was gonna learn who the fuck she was dealing with.
Without a word, I turned and walked to the console table behind the couch. Each step was measured, deliberate, and loud enough for her to hear, but not enough to make her flinch, and I didn’t rush because I wanted her to wonder.
My hand curled around the drawer pull, the soft click echoing louder than it should have in the quiet room.
I calmly slid it open, and my fingers found exactly what I’d hidden there, tucked beneath folded cloth and untouched paperwork.
After pulling it out, I closed the drawer slowly, letting the final thud punctuate the silence between us before I turned around.
Felicity was still standing where I left her.
Her arms were crossed, her lips were pursed, and she was utterly clueless as to what was about to happen next.
Before she caught on to me, I lunged, fastened a clasp at the base of her throat, and yanked.
Her lips parted, but the surprise had stolen whatever smart remark she was about to make.
She reached out instinctively, her palm landing flat against my chest to steady herself.
"You wanna play games, baby?" I asked, my voice calm and veiled with threat. "That’s fine. Just make sure you know who the fuck invented them."
Without another word, I turned around and started walking, the attached leash dragging her behind me.
She tripped once, not used to this sort of control, but I kept going, not bothering to give her a second glance.
Seeing I wasn’t stopping, she straightened and quickly matched my stride with the stubborn pride of someone who refused, under any circumstances, to look like a victim.
My primary objective this evening was to grab her attention, but not by startling or embarrassing her.
She'd endured plenty of that already. I aimed to pierce through the facade so she could glimpse the genuineness of my actions.
Yet, the only effective approach to reach a girl like Felicity Veneto was through directness and sheer force.
She didn't seem to respond well to kindness.