Mistress of Vendetta

CHAPTER FOUR

“Where are you coming from at this hour?”

Sonny heard Joanna’s voice before she appeared, and the pleasant haze he’d carried home evaporated on contact. He shut the door and slumped on the couch. A faint throb formed at the back of his head, the kind that reminded him why he avoided arguments when he was tired.

“I don’t remember you being my mum, Joanna,” Sonny said while removing his coat.

“I’m your girlfriend. I deserve to know where you’ve been, leaving me waiting for you,” Joanna said as she approached him, her voice rising. “You came home driving like this? You’re stinking drunk. Oh, you’ve been with your mistresses, right?”

“Well, Joanna, if you must know, yes. I’m drunk. It’s been a good few days at work, if that makes you feel any better.”

Joanna quieted and walked around to stand in front of him. He lifted his head slowly.

“I’m happy for you,” she said. “You’re always like this when it’s money.”

“Oh Joanna,” Sonny said. “It’s a lot of money.”

She softened at once, dropping her robe to reveal her silk nightgown. She straddled him and loosened his tie with a gentle pull. She traced her fingers across his chest, down his abdomen, stopping at his belt. Sonny exhaled and placed his hands on her waist, steadying her. Then he lifted her, set her aside onto the chair beside him, and leaned forward with a grip that closed around her upper arm. Joanna let out a startled sound as she tried to twist away.

“Sonny… Sonny, you’re hurting me,” she said, pulling at his hand, but his fingers stayed locked around her arm.

Then Sonny let go and she gasped for air.

Her chest rose sharply as she pressed her hand to her throat while he watched her with a grin that didn’t soften. His amusement lingered even as she tried to steady herself, and the room felt smaller with him standing over her, still riding the thrill of the night and the drinks he had thrown back.

“You’re a leech, Joanna. You know that? A leech,” he said, the laughter still caught in the back of his voice. “You don’t care what happens to me. You don’t care how I’ve gotten the money. You never have. All you care about is money and the things I can buy you. And how do you pay me back? By walking around here behaving like a slut? I don’t need a slut tonight. Get the f**k out.”

“Sonny, I’m—”

“What?” he yelled, and she flinched as she reached for her robe, pressing it against herself for some sense of covering. “You don’t care what I’ve done. What if I told you I killed someone on this last job, hmm? You’d still want the money, wouldn’t you?”

Joanna didn’t answer. Her shoulders shook as she hugged the robe to her chest. His stare hardened and she shrank under it.

“Get the f**k out.”

“But Sonny, I didn’t m—”

“Out!”

She didn’t wait for another yell. Her movements were frantic as she gathered her clothes and shoes, stuffing them into a small bag. Within minutes, she was stood by the door, hesitating long enough to look at him one last time.

He didn’t look back.

He didn’t shift, didn’t offer a word. He stayed where he was, as if she’d already stopped existing. When she turned away, she left the door open behind her.

“Petty b***h,” Sonny muttered, laughing under his breath as he got up and closed it himself. He walked back toward his room and sat on the edge of the bed, letting the weight of the night settle. The drinks, the celebration, the tension of the future—it all tangled together in his mind. He thought about the underboss position and how the other capos wouldn’t want him anywhere near it. He thought about what he wanted anyway. He knew ambition was only useful if you lived long enough to enjoy the rewards it brought.

A sudden thud broke through his thoughts. He grabbed his revolver before he remembered he wasn’t alone in the house.

Diana. She existed.

He stood and moved down the hallway, wishing he could close the space faster than his legs allowed. He knocked once and opened her door. She sat at the edge of the bed in her nightgown, her head bent as soon as she saw him.

“Good evening, sir.” she said softly.

“Quit with the ‘sir’ bullshit. Maybe when I’m older.”

“Okay.”

He looked around the nearly empty room, then dragged a chair to sit in front of her. He placed the revolver across his lap, not threatening her with it, simply letting it rest there as if it belonged in every conversation he had.

“I want you to intrigue me,” he said.

“I wouldn’t know what to say, sir,” she replied, still keeping her head down.

“Start by looking me in the eye when you talk to me.”

She lifted her head, and he smiled before he could stop himself. He wondered what her smiling on purpose would look like.

“So, Diana, intrigue me.”

“I lived a boring life. My mother died giving birth to me, and my father blamed me for taking her away. He treated me badly.”

“So you stole her beauty too?” Sonny asked, and she smiled. It came easily, showing even white teeth and a face that held too much softness for the life she had lived.

“Oh, and I’m seeing you stole her smile too.”

She laughed and looked away, a soft sound that broke for a moment through the tension, but it faded quickly and disappeared. Her smile followed it. Sonny didn’t blame her. He could imagine how many things weighed on her shoulders.

“You must have had a hard life.” Sonny said, hoping he sounded halfway compassionate, though he wasn’t sure if he knew how to sound like that at all.

“I don’t assume you’ve had an easy one either.”

Sonny exhaled and tilted his head. “And why’s that?”

“Because you’re a wise guy. Wise guys don’t have easy lives,” she said, lowering her gaze again. In that moment, Sonny thought about how ‘wise guys’ came about to mean made men.

“Well, not all wise guys have it rough. But most do.” Sonny checked the revolver, spinning the cylinder before setting it back across his lap. “But no, Diana, I didn’t have an easy life.”

“I’m sorry about that.” she said, and when he looked at her, he saw she meant it. The sincerity hit harder than anything she’d said so far. It made him smile, even as something in his chest sank.

“What would you say if I told you to spend the night with me?”

“I would say to you, sir, that I am not a whore.” Diana said, her voice firm even though she sat so small in front of him.

“That’s true,” Sonny said, the smile still on his face. “Because I own you.”

She lowered her head again and played with the hem of her gown, her fingers tight against the fabric.

“Stand up,” Sonny said, and she obeyed, albeit slowly. He rose as well and took her hand, pulling her toward the window where the light fell strongest. He stopped her there and held her face in both hands, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. She turned her head away, but he followed the movement, letting his touch glide along her neck and behind her ear until her breath caught in her throat.

“You’ve got pretty eyes, you know that?” his voice had lowered, softened, even though his body stood close enough that she could smell the alcohol on him. She took a step back, and he followed, then another, until her back reached the wall, and she couldn’t look anywhere else but at him.

He took her wrists and lifted them above her head, pinning them lightly against the wall. She stopped resisting, the tension leaving her arms even though her breathing stayed uneven. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to her neck. She exhaled, long and shaky, and she didn’t try to pull away.

“Goodnight.” Sonny said abruptly as he released her wrists. He stepped back and walked out of the room without another word, leaving her standing.

* * *