24

Carmine
The last two days have been horrible.
She won’t look at me. She won’t speak to me. She kissed me goodnight, but they were emotionless and meaningless, and I found myself hurt by them. I miss her playfulness, her anger and her lust. Anything is better than the cold shoulder she’s been giving me.
When Gianni stops in front of the library, Delilah doesn’t even wait for the SUV to stop before climbing out of the car, throwing her backpack over her shoulder and walking to the entrance to meet her friends for the study session.
I sigh and start to get out, but Gianni stops me. “She’s very strong, but you’ll need to soften a bit if you want this to work.”
“I can’t.” I hang my head, watching her vanish into the library without even looking back at me to see if I’m following. “I can’t afford to be soft.”
“If you don’t try, even a little, she’ll resent you. I don’t know what happened, but tensions are high enough; we don’t need it high at home too. Fix it, Carmine. We need her. She’s the reason Ari is alive.”
“I don’t know how to apologize for what I did.” I rub my temples when my head begins to pound. “I was an asshat. Her words, not mine.”
He chuckles and pats my leg in reassurance.
“I called her a prostitute. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but I was…” I don’t know how to explain it, and I wave my hand in a circle over my chest. “I was feeling things.”
“Ah.” He says, nodding. “Things. They get us every time.”
“I pushed her away. It’s what I do. It’s what needs to be done in this line of work. If she ever dies, I can’t waste time grieving.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You’d get revenge. You’ll kill anyone that hurt her. It’s okay to admit you feel something for her. It’s obvious you already do.”
I step out of the car and try not to be bothered by his honesty, but I am.
“Remember,” he adds. “Soft.”
Soft.
What the fuck do I know about soft? I kill people, torture, trade weapons, and sell drugs. I’m not a good man.
What the hell do I know about being soft?
I slam the door shut, and Gianni drives away leaving me in front of a college library. What the fuck am I doing here?
I build places like this. Hell, there are probably college kids here who buy drugs from the runners I have in the city.
I remember being a low-level runner, being the one doing the shady deals and following orders to work my way to the top.
Well, I did.
I killed my way to the top.
My father didn’t treat his men with the same respect as I give mine. I don’t kick my men when they’re down, and I pay them fairly. Some have families they have to support, and I know this isn’t an easy world to live in. Making good money makes it a little easier.
With confident strides, I make my way to the front door. The breeze picks up, and a leaf hits me on the shoulder. I watch it fly away, getting carried through the wind, a promise of a storm swirling above me in the sky. Not even that leaf will have peace. Soon enough, it will be soggy and worthless, stuck on the ground and stepped on or in a gutter somewhere.
Because that’s life if you don’t know how to survive it-you’ll be caught in a storm, and you’ll drown if you’re not careful.
I survey my surroundings, noticing a cafe to the right and the smell of freshly brewed coffee captures my attention.
Soft.
I can…try. I combed her hair. I can be soft.
That’s when no one was looking.
Not knowing where she is, I pull out my phone and use the GPS to locate her. I follow the trail, passing a few people, and pretend not to hear their whispers about me. I do enjoy knowing people fear me. I like passing a group of people and knowing they recognize me.
Fear is the most powerful resource on the planet, and once I have someone’s fear in my hands, I can use it against them to get what I want. It’s an indispensable tool.
I stop at the door and realize it’s a private room. I don’t bother knocking. I stroll in, and Christy looks up, surprised, but Delilah doesn’t.
She isn’t wearing her ring.
I grind my teeth together to stop the rage, causing my fists to clench at my side.
“Oh, hi.” Caleb waves, but I ignore him.
Ethan is there, but he is sitting next to Christy. Good. I’m glad he took my ultimatum seriously.
I stand at the head of the table and splay my hands across the surface.
Soft. Be soft.
“Would anyone,” I try to relax the tightness in my jaw, “like a coffee?”
“You’re offering to get us coffee?” Christy sets her pen down and crosses her arms, looking from Delilah to me, knowing something is going on.
I nod. “I am.”
“What’s the catch?” she asks. “I don’t have a thousand bucks or anyone for you to take a hit out on.”
“Christy!” Ethan hisses.
“What? We all know that what happened at Delilah’s house wasn’t an accident or so-called,” she makes air quotes, “old fireworks going off.” She props her head in her hand and blinks at me. “Right?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I’m not going to admit the truth. The less she knows, the better. I don’t like to be spoken to like that, and it’s taking every bit of my self-control not to show her the consequences of her disrespect. But Delilah would never forgive me. “There’s no catch. You’re studying hard. I want to help. So, would anyone like a coffee? Perhaps, some snacks?”
Delilah still won’t look at me, but her chin quivers. Her lips pinch as she blows out a breath. She’s trying not to cry.
I did that.
That’s my fault.
“I’ll take a large coffee with two shots of espresso and three pumps of caramel with the drizzle too. And I want whipped cream on top.”
“I’ll take that too,” Caleb says, kissing Christy on the cheek.
“Me too. If that’s okay,” Ethan asks, quietly. He doesn’t want to cross the line again.
“Sure. Delilah?” I ask her, hoping she’ll say something to me. Anything. I’ll take her cursing me out at this point, but the silence has to stop.
I didn’t realize I’d care so much so quickly. Even though she’s only been in my life for less than a week, I feel like I’ve known her forever. We fight like we have known each other forever, as if it’s a habit we can’t break.
“She’ll have the same thing,” Christy speaks up for her friend, knowing Delilah is angry with me.
My heart sinks, doing that fucking thing I don’t like for it to do. It’s annoying. How have people dealt with this constantly?
I bend down and move her hair from her shoulder. I don’t miss how she moves away from me, but I wrap my arm around the back of the chair so she can’t go anywhere.
“Sweetling, please talk to me,” I whisper into her ear, aching to hear her voice, needing to hear her anger.
Something is better than nothing, and I’ve been without anything for far too long to ever give up on the something I have with her.
She remains silent, and I sigh staring down at her bare ring finger. I hate it. She’s mine, and everyone should know it. I look at my hand; a black band settled to show everyone I’m hers.
Delilah doesn’t know I wear it for her. She thinks it’s all a show, but I happen to like knowing I belong to someone, that I am a part of something other than the job.
I’m hers.
“I’ll be back with the drinks,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “I miss you.” I bend down on her other side, uncaring if anyone sees. I go to reach for her hand,
but I pull away instantly.
Maybe she no longer wants my touch. Christy gasps, but I take that moment to leave, hitting the door on my way out.
I leave the study room and march toward the cafe. It’s welcoming for the most part, with a fake wood counter and grey chairs around square tables where a few students are seated.