Page 44 of He Should Be Mine

“If he does, will you…” He stops and bites his lip. “Will you stay in the flat?”

“Of course.”

I always do. It is supposed to be so I can guard Riccardo’s back. I don’t think that’s been my reason for a long time.

He nods and looks down at his cards. “It’s easier knowing you’re here.”

I don’t know what to say to that. There’s a part of me that aches to hear it, and another that wants to scream.I should be more than his escort to hell. I should be the reason he never has to go there at all.

Instead, I just nod.

We finish the game in silence. He wins. Barely. Probably because I wasn’t paying attention.

He grins faintly as he gathers up the cards. “You let me win.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“You cheated,” I counter

“Only a little.” He admits easily with a devilish smirk.

I roll my eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“And you like it.”

I don’t answer that.

Not because it isn’t true. But because the moment I say yes, the moment I let that softness slip into the air between us, is the moment I break the last rule keeping him alive.

Instead, I stand.

“Want lunch?” I ask. “We’ve got soup. Or soup.”

He laughs. “Good thing I like soup.”

I move to the kitchen again, but I don’t turn my back for long. Because I can’t shake the feeling that something’s coming. Something worse than bruises and silence.

And I don’t know if I’ll be strong enough to stop it when it does.

Chapter twelve

Dario

Another day of nothingness. Yesterday we played cards, today we are reduced to sitting on opposite ends of the sofa, staring blankly at the TV.

We are both far too on edge to do anything else, because we are both expecting Riccardo to visit. It’s been a couple of days and he has never stayed away any longer than this.

Molly has done his hair. The pink tips have been refreshed. The gold of the rest of his hair is glossy and shining. He is wearing a tight, blood-red rolled neck, long-sleeved cropped top. All his slowly fading bruises are covered, while his stomach is exposed and inviting. It’s genius. The tight white shorts can’t be comfortable, but he is not complaining.

The wedge style strappy sandals look as if they were overpriced. Against his red painted toenails, they look like they were worth every cent.

Molly is ready to ply his trade. He is ready to smile sweetly at Riccardo. He is ready to take him into his bedroom.

I’m not ready at all.

I’ve been firing off discreet texts. Making a few calls in the semi-privacy of my bedroom. I’m slowly, ever so slowly, putting things in motion. The feelers I’ve been putting out have been well met. No one likes Riccardo. I am going to be able to defeat him.