way out of this situation is with a bullet between my ears.
"Roll up the window, Carlo," Esmeralda says. Her voice is tinged with an irritation I almost never hear. I give it a minute before complying, letting the drops of rain hit my forehead and cheeks, bathing me in a kind of clarity I'm sorely lacking. My wife--my dear, sweet, quiet Esmeralda--refuses to use my preferred name. "Mike" isn't a boss's name, in her opinion. "Carlo" commands respect, and I'm the son of the boss, so I better be fucking respected. Not that it matters. If my men knew what I'm about to do, they wouldn't respect me. They might fear me as their capo , and they might do as they're told, but that's not respect. Fear doesn't buy loyalty--only respect does that.
Esmeralda clears her throat, and because I can't handle a disagreement about getting rain on the fucking leather of a car she didn't work to buy and doesn't even drive, I press the button, effectively cutting myself off from the outside world. A world where most people make it through their entire lives without getting blood on their hands. Inside this car, though, the world is a very different place. It's no place for children.
"What are you thinking?" Her voice is back to being soft and careful, as if I'm going to punish her for speaking.
"We could turn around," I say. My voice is even and cool, as if I don't care. It's a lie. I care too much.
"Nonsense, honey. We're going to pick up our babies. You still want them, don't you?"
A disgusted laugh escapes me at the sound of the bullshit flying out of her mouth right now.
"It doesn't matter what I want."
"That's not true. We made a deal. I get Michael and Alexandra for my own in exchange for my acceptance."
Sliding over the seat, I sidle up to the woman I swore to love, honor, and protect, but I feel like doing none of that shit right now. "Acceptance?"
"I accept that, no matter how much I love you, we both know you married the wrong sister."
I turn my body toward her and drag my hand up the tops of her thighs, over her flat, barren stomach, between her breasts, and to her neck. My hand clamps down and squeezes until she gasps for air. My nose skims across her cheek, and I position my mouth near her ear.
"I do this for you, and you learn to keep your mouth shut. You are my wife, my property, not my fucking equal. This is my penance for liking the feel of your sister's pussy more than yours, but don't mistake this gift for anything more than it is. If I had my way, we'd forget your bitch sister exists."
I push her away and ignore her panicked gasping for breath as I slide back to my original position and roll my window down again.
"We are forgetting her. After this, she's gone," she says softly, almost fearfully. "It'll just be you and me and our babies."
"If you want those little complications to see their first birthday, I suggest you don't leave them alone with me. Accidents happen, especially at their age. I'd hate for your niece and nephew to drown during bath time."
"My son and daughter, Carlo," she snaps loudly and with an anger she's never exhibited before. "Those babies belong to me, not that bitch. You demand my submission, but you don't have the courtesy to respect what you're given. You want me to learn my role, well, daddy, you need to learn yours."
The driver pulls us up to the curb of a cheap motel and stops the car. I feel vaguely ill at what I just said but push it down. There's no room for weakness in my world, especially now. So I get out of the car, ignoring Esmeralda as she climbs out the other side.
We didn't always used to be like this. I met Ruby first, and then I met my wife. One pursued me, and the other had to be chased. Twins, but so very different. Nearly identical in everything but their coloring and demeanor, Ruby is pure fire and Esmeralda is icy cool. Ruby is loud and insufferably opinionated, while Esmeralda is what my father calls "the perfect Mafioso wife." The woman I married was perfect. At
"Roll up the window, Carlo," Esmeralda says. Her voice is tinged with an irritation I almost never hear. I give it a minute before complying, letting the drops of rain hit my forehead and cheeks, bathing me in a kind of clarity I'm sorely lacking. My wife--my dear, sweet, quiet Esmeralda--refuses to use my preferred name. "Mike" isn't a boss's name, in her opinion. "Carlo" commands respect, and I'm the son of the boss, so I better be fucking respected. Not that it matters. If my men knew what I'm about to do, they wouldn't respect me. They might fear me as their capo , and they might do as they're told, but that's not respect. Fear doesn't buy loyalty--only respect does that.
Esmeralda clears her throat, and because I can't handle a disagreement about getting rain on the fucking leather of a car she didn't work to buy and doesn't even drive, I press the button, effectively cutting myself off from the outside world. A world where most people make it through their entire lives without getting blood on their hands. Inside this car, though, the world is a very different place. It's no place for children.
"What are you thinking?" Her voice is back to being soft and careful, as if I'm going to punish her for speaking.
"We could turn around," I say. My voice is even and cool, as if I don't care. It's a lie. I care too much.
"Nonsense, honey. We're going to pick up our babies. You still want them, don't you?"
A disgusted laugh escapes me at the sound of the bullshit flying out of her mouth right now.
"It doesn't matter what I want."
"That's not true. We made a deal. I get Michael and Alexandra for my own in exchange for my acceptance."
Sliding over the seat, I sidle up to the woman I swore to love, honor, and protect, but I feel like doing none of that shit right now. "Acceptance?"
"I accept that, no matter how much I love you, we both know you married the wrong sister."
I turn my body toward her and drag my hand up the tops of her thighs, over her flat, barren stomach, between her breasts, and to her neck. My hand clamps down and squeezes until she gasps for air. My nose skims across her cheek, and I position my mouth near her ear.
"I do this for you, and you learn to keep your mouth shut. You are my wife, my property, not my fucking equal. This is my penance for liking the feel of your sister's pussy more than yours, but don't mistake this gift for anything more than it is. If I had my way, we'd forget your bitch sister exists."
I push her away and ignore her panicked gasping for breath as I slide back to my original position and roll my window down again.
"We are forgetting her. After this, she's gone," she says softly, almost fearfully. "It'll just be you and me and our babies."
"If you want those little complications to see their first birthday, I suggest you don't leave them alone with me. Accidents happen, especially at their age. I'd hate for your niece and nephew to drown during bath time."
"My son and daughter, Carlo," she snaps loudly and with an anger she's never exhibited before. "Those babies belong to me, not that bitch. You demand my submission, but you don't have the courtesy to respect what you're given. You want me to learn my role, well, daddy, you need to learn yours."
The driver pulls us up to the curb of a cheap motel and stops the car. I feel vaguely ill at what I just said but push it down. There's no room for weakness in my world, especially now. So I get out of the car, ignoring Esmeralda as she climbs out the other side.
We didn't always used to be like this. I met Ruby first, and then I met my wife. One pursued me, and the other had to be chased. Twins, but so very different. Nearly identical in everything but their coloring and demeanor, Ruby is pure fire and Esmeralda is icy cool. Ruby is loud and insufferably opinionated, while Esmeralda is what my father calls "the perfect Mafioso wife." The woman I married was perfect. At
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