Page 1 of He Should Be Mine

Chapter one

Dario

I’m going to kill him. I’m going to wrap my hands around his slender throat and choke him until the ever-present smirk on his face turns into something else.

I just have to find him first.

Then I will teach him a lesson he won’t forget. He will learn to fear me. To respect me. He will stop his incessant flirting. The naughty winks. The prancing around in clothes that are entirely too small and absolutely too tight.

He will stop his ridiculous laugh. His undimmable smile. His cheek, his sass, his all-round insufferable nature.

He will start behaving. He will become meek and biddable. Respectful and obedient. My life will be peaceful and predictable.

Until Riccardo tires of him, and I have to kill Molly and dispose of his body. And then return to normal duties, as if nothing has happened.

My heavy sigh echoes around my dark and empty bedroom. I run my hands through my hair. On the other side of the thick curtains, the floor to ceiling window is trying to let in the lights of London. Glimmers escape the heavy cloth and send streaks of street light into the room.

Out there somewhere, amongst the bright lights, is Molly. I need to find him and drag him back to the dark.

I need to do it before Riccardo knows he’s gone. Before Riccardo accuses me of being shit at my job and punishes me for it.

Blindly, I reach for my cigarettes on the bedside table. I light one up and inhale deeply. The nicotine does nothing, I swear. The only thing I feel is the comfort of routine. The familiarity. The peace of giving my hands and body something to do while my mind twists, turns and spins in turmoil.

I could let Molly go.

I could pretend not to find him.

I could suffer the consequences and take my punishment like a man. And then Molly would be free.

Another drag of smoke fills my lungs. It tastes of nothing.

Molly probably hasn’t even run away for good. He doesn’t have the sense for that. It is likely he was bored. Hungry for attention. He is expecting me to find him. He is more than likely looking forward to it. And if I don’t, he will simply slink back in the morning.

The little shit is endangering himself, and me, for nothing more than a bit of fun. It’s infuriating. Why can’t he understand the stakes?

I suck in some more poison. The red ember of the cigarette glows balefully in the shadows of my ugly bedroom.

Molly does know. Molly knows everything. Inside that beautiful body, is a mind that burns even brighter. He knows the danger, and he doesn’t care. Or, even worse, he welcomes it.

Molly burns bright, and he doesn’t want to fade away. He wants to self-destruct. Go out in a blaze of glory. He saw the void was coming for him and he decided to welcome it with open arms.Come and fucking get me, you bastard.Could very well be Molly’s motto.

A dry, humorless laugh stutters out of me. Molly is saying that to me, as well as the void. Maybe I am the void incarnate. I’ve certainly been death bringer to many.

I stub the cigarette out, twisting to reach the ashtray on the bedside table. There is no bloody point in brooding and feeling morose.

I, Dario Bianchi, respected soldato of the Ajello family, unrecognized bastard son of the Don, have to go looking for a whore.

My knee grinds as I get to my feet. Alone in the darkness, it’s safe to grunt. I still hate it. I despise being weak. The pain shouldn’t cause me to falter. I should be able to push through it. I am a man. A soldato. I’m better than this.

Just like I’m better than babysitting a male hooker for my asshole of a capo.

I scowl as I flick on the light switch. Riccardo knows I’m capable of far more. He also knows all the rumors that I’m his bastard half-brother. He is keeping me down on purpose and there is not a damn thing I can do about it.

I have to prove I’m loyal. That I’m competent. There is no other option. No way out.

Guard Riccardo’s dirty little secret. Depose of the evidence once he has got his gay urges out of his system. Then move on. Pretend Molly never existed. Scrub him from my memory.

The closet door bangs open. The flimsy wood cracks a little. I glare at it. It’s cheap and nasty, just like this wholeapartment. All show and no substance. Exactly Riccardo’s taste.