Carter raises a thick eyebrow at me, a smirk gracing his wide jaw. “You look cute when you’re angry.”
“I’m not submissive,” I repeat, making sure he gets the point.
When I was in the Kalahari Desert with the Valangana freedom fighters, I was obligated to shut my mouth and keep the peace. At that time, I was submissive, and look where it got me. My father is dead, and I’m married to a man I don’t even know. Submissiveness got me nowhere, and I’m not about to play that role again, especially not with my new husband.
“I’m going to hop in the shower. Help yourself to the pizza once it arrives,” Carter says, turning to the side and walking away toward the bathroom.
I glare at him, watching his thick back and small butt as he goes. I have to admit, he has a body to die for, but I’m not going to submit to him just for that. I have standards and self-respect, which may or may not come as a surprise to him. Regardless, he’d better get used to it because I’m not going to back down just to have a nice relationship with him.
When you lose everything, priorities change. I never thought that I would find myself in such a challenging situation as I am in now, but mafia life was never easy to begin with. It’s not a life many people would choose. Most are born into it and know nothing else. For me, my story is very much the same. The mafia is in my blood, violence and all.
I’ve seen men die before. I’ve been the blood drain from their faces until they were as white as the ghosts they were fated to become. I’ve seen pools of crimson, and I’ve seen rows of corpses. I’ve seen cartel killings and innocent people caught in the crossfire of drug deals gone bad. I thought I had seen everything, and that I would be unmoved by even the most grotesque images of death.
I was wrong.
Most people see their loved ones grow old, withering away in hospital beds or in nursing homes. It’s not often you see the lifeless body of your father being dragged out of a compound like a sack of rice. The amount of disrespect that the Valangana had for my father disgusts me even now. I’d kill them all with my bare hands if I got the chance.
But I probably won’t. It’s not safe in that region anymore, not that it was ever benign to begin with. Bheka started a war with his actions, turning against his allies and seizing power in the area.
As it turned out, he already had guns, and the meeting with my father was a trap. He flexed his power by playing that hand, challenging anyone to stop him from killing one of the greatest, and nobody did. My father died so that Bheka could feel like a king, when all he will ever be is a snake, sitting on a throne of corpses in the desert.
I tried to console myself after my father’s death, saying that Bheka wasn’t worth the breath in my lungs. Still, I would scream into my pillow at night and dream of the blood that splattered against the molten sand, drying black in the burning sun. I needed a therapist, but I never got time for it. From a funeral dress to a wedding gown, my life has progressed with anxiety impatience.
I can smell the pizza a split second before the knock on the heavy master bedroom door comes. I rush toward it, excited to replace the nervous churning in my stomach with hot greasy food. I’ve always been a sucker for pizza.
I swing open the door to find an elderly man in a suit holding a large pizza box on the palm of his hand like a waiter holding stacked plates. He smiles at me, the wrinkles on his face creasing drastically. He appears to be a sweet old man, and he quells some of the angst in my stomach.
“Your pizza, ma’am,” he says, holding the box out to me.
I take it in both hands, feeling the satisfying weight of the hot bread, sauce, and cheese as the pizza shifts against the cardboard inside. “Thank you,” I say to him.
“You’re very welcome, Ms. Dormer. Or should I say, Mrs. Calandro?”
I shake my head. “I’m not changing my last name, but you can just call me Honey.”
“Very well, Mrs. Honey. I hope you enjoy your evening. And if there is anything I can get for you, anything at all, just give me a call, and I’ll be there.”
I nod. “Thank you. I will.”
He smiles, then turns to leave.
I close the door, thinking how nice it is to have someone like him around. If this is Carter’s choice of assistants, then he can’t be all that bad of a guy. Nobody that nice would want to work for him if he were a complete monster.
I don’t bother trying to find a table for the pizza. I place the box on the bed and open it, taking a deep breath through my nose as the steam rises up from the box. After all the cake and intricately cut fruits and vegetables, I’m just thankful to have something hot and greasy to enjoy.
I pull a slice from the box, knowing that I’ll burn the roof of my mouth once I take a bite, but I’ve given up being patient. Life is short and can end at any time. Why not enjoy it?
I lift the slice to my mouth, but I almost choke on the damn thing when the bathroom door flies open in a gust of steam and aftershave, and Carter steps out completely naked. I divert my eyes, turning my torso ninety degrees as the blood rushes to my face. I didn’t see anything but a blur of tan flesh, but
