Dante

 

I WAITED FOR her to leave before I even stood.

The guys looks of disappointment said it all. I was a jackass; I would always be a jackass and I was going to die alone. Great.

Val, my twin, waited with me at the table, Sergio gave her a kiss on the head then locked eyes with me and sent a mental, “I’ll cut your hand off if you make her cry” sort of look that had me believing he’d do much worse if I as much as made her flinch.

“You’ve changed.” Voice sad, tears filled her eyes. “Aren’t you happy here?”

Happy? That I was getting tortured by the guys? That they liked to torture me? That Sergio, her own husband, had already nearly killed me three times? Sure yeah, that was definitely worth celebrating. I’d asked for training, not realizing I’d been asking for ways to learn how to survive some of the worst torture the human brain could come up with.

“I’m… content.” The word tasted weird, sounded even weirder coming out. When the hell have I ever even used that word?

“How’s school?” She asked.

“Wow.” I kicked my chair back, “Really, Val? Are you suddenly my mom now? How’s freaking school? It sucks. I go to school with people who are too afraid to even look in my direction. I have no friends. More enemies than I can count. And while I’m in business class — trying not to bleed all over the floor, I can barely keep my eyes open enough to learn — and then I come home. To absolute hell. Granted, this is the life I chose, I just didn’t know that the road there would be lined with concussions and knife wounds.”

“The mafia isn’t pretty.” She looked down at her shaking hands, then hid them behind her back. “I’m afraid he’s going to die — like pretty much all the time.” More tears filled her eyes. “And lucky me, now my brother’s going to be in the line of fire. My twin. So maybe, you should stop thinking so much about yourself, and ask how people who love you feel about the choices you’re making.”

“What damn choices? I haven’t been given any!” I raised my voice.

“Well,” She eyed the other room. “You could start by actually being nice to Ella.”

Hated her. Hated her.

“You want me to be nice to Ella.” I repeated, reining it in. “How is that going to help anything?”

“Do it for me. Please.” Her voice pleaded. I hated it when my sister was sad, I’d rather die than make her sad. “She’s been through so much.”

So had I.

But telling Val all of that shit would only piss her off.

Telling her that I was still fighting.

Telling her that I was still allowing myself to get used, just in a different way. It wouldn’t fix anything.

“Fine.” I snapped. “In honor of Christmas and my annoying little sister by three seconds, I’ll be nice. Do we have any damn cookies or something?”

Val smirked. “That’s your plan? Bring her cookies?”

“She’s starving.” I hated that I noticed. Almost as much as I hated that I was probably the reason she was so shaky, so hesitant. I hated the fear I saw in her. I hated the shame I recognized in myself. I hated that when I saw her I saw so many things that kept me up at night — so many fears that I refused to acknowledge. She was a reminder. And reminders had no place in my life.

She was too thin.

At least the bruises had healed.

But most days I prayed they’d come back.

I really was that sick of a bastard.

Because those bruises.

They hid her age — and most importantly they’d hidden the beauty of her full pink lips, russet eyes, and sharp jawline. They’d hidden so much that I’d have to be blind not to notice how striking she was — or how fearful she was of her own beauty.

“Just give me the damn cookies.” I held out my hand.

Val got out of her seat, went into the kitchen, then came back with a plate of Christmas cookies. “Yeah good luck with that.”

“Shut up.” I shared a smile with her, the first in at least a week, and kissed her temple. “Go find your husband.”

She winked while I walked off toward the living room, the plate suddenly felt heavy in my hand.

Nixon put up the tree two weeks ago and every day, Ella sat underneath it like she’d never seen an ornament — smelled pine.

At least she made it easy to avoid her — I was thankful for that.

Be nice. Be nice. Be nice.

I knew how to be nice to family, to people I loved, ones that needed protecting, but everything and I do mean everything about Ella set me on edge. Friend? Enemy? I mean how did we even know we could trust her?

I swallowed, “Hey.” It was the best she was going to get. No wonder Tex thought I needed to get laid.

Ella didn’t look up.

In fact, I could count on one hand the amount of times she’d looked at me, really looked at me. Twice.

It wasn’t something I could easily forget — and I had a feeling that she felt exactly the same way.

Shit, was she really just going to sit there? Shoulders hunched, silky hair draped across her olive skin.

Hell.

I shouldn’t be noticing shit about her skin.

Or hair.

I licked my suddenly dry lips and sat down on the floor next to her. “I’m sorry.”

Her lips parted, and then, she frowned at the plate. “We can’t have food in here.”

“Nixon’s a clean freak that should burn in hell.” I said cheerfully as I picked up one of the Christmas cookies and took a bite then offered it to her. “Besides, I like to live dangerous.” I lifted the cookie until it grazed her lips. “Come on, live on the dark side, Ella, I promise I won’t tell.”

Her eyes snapped to mine.

I nearly dropped the cookie on the floor and tasted her instead.

Bad idea.

Really bad idea.

We were in a stare down I wasn’t sure I was going to win. Slowly her gaze lowered to my lips and then she leaned in and took a bite out of the cookie, face still pale.

“Chew.” I whispered.

She didn’t argue, instead she closed her eyes and let out such a small moan I almost missed it.

“How did you know?” She asked.

“About cookies?” I frowned, thankful for the subject change.

She nodded.

I could lie.

But it was Christmas.

And my sister did say to be nice.

So, even though, I knew I’d regret it later, I leaned in and whispered in her ear. “Day one, the first day you were here, you snuck cookies into your room. Day two, you did the same thing.” I hesitated. “Whose stash do you think you keep stealing, hmmm little thief?”

Her skin flamed red all the way down her long neck. “I’m so so—”

“—You’re lucky you know — that you have your own personal cookie fairy, who makes it his mission to keep you fed, regardless of what you may think about him.”

Too far.

I’d said too much.

I jerked back.

But not before she reached for my hand and squeezed it, tears filling her eyes. “Thank you.”

Her touch. I couldn’t take it. Didn’t want it, yet craved it. I slid my hand out from underneath hers and shrugged. “Don’t mention it, seriously, I don’t want anyone else finding the macaroons, and if you touch the chocolate chip ones tonight, I’m hiding in the pantry with a Taser. Consider yourself warned.”

I stood up.

I walked away.

My hand, where she’d touched, trembled, shook, at my side.

Damn it.

Being nice.

Had almost killed me.