12

12
Six

I looked around the large room. It was a lounge, with a large bar behind me, tables set in a homely manner, and men sitting around nursing their drinks. Bottles were strewn across the floor, and soft music played in the background.

The only thing missing was scantily clad women strutting from one end of the lounge to the other. The men talked loudly about some dumb thing I couldn’t keep up with.

I really did try at first, but the obnoxious tales they told usually ended with loud laughter and the rest of the group joining in. They were stories they had told countless times before. They were family.

And I sat amongst them, a stranger, sipping whisky with an expression that barely masked my boredom. My fingers tapped idly against the stem of my glass, and every few minutes, I checked my watch.

If I had it my way, I would have been long gone, anywhere but here. Gatherings like this were never my cup of tea.

But I couldn’t leave. Not yet.

So instead, I let my mind wander.

My mind wandered to the one place that had become a safe haven for me. Freedom.

Fantasizing about my freedom was the only escape I had left. I pictured a life far from these men, from Marco, from the obnoxious men that sat around him, from the fast life.

A life where I didn’t have to sit through these gatherings, pretend to enjoy their company, pretend to belong. A life that was quiet.

A sudden, raucous laugh pulled me out of my thoughts, and before I could brace myself, a burly man beside me clapped me hard on the arm.

My muscles tensed at the unexpected contact, but I forced myself to offer a small, tight-lipped smile, annoyed but tolerating.

Then, as I tuned them out again, a voice caught my attention.

“Capo, you never introduced your bride to us,” one of the men said, his tone laced with curiosity. “She’s a petite little thing, isn’t she?” He asked and laughed.

His laughter was the most annoying sound I had ever heard in my whole life. It made me want to grate my nails across the wooden table. My eyes snapped up instantly.

My grip around my glass tightened as my eyes darted across the room looking for who had spoken. My gaze landed on a tall man with a full head of unruly dark curls and an overgrown beard.

That man, his face had stuck in my memory. He was the man who had told the pathetic story of a girl he had raped at the club and had the nerve to laugh because he thought it was funny. I raked my brain trying to come up with his name, but I couldn’t.

Marco chuckled, amusement flashing in his dark eyes. “Francesco, you fearless son of a bitch.”

Francesco.

So that was his name.

The men leaned in, their interest piqued. Some nodded eagerly, others voiced their agreement.

“Yes, yes,” a few chorused.

“Come on, Capo, she’s part of the family now…” another urged, grinning. “We should be officially introduced.”

I could feel my grip tightening around the whiskey glass, the smooth surface pressed against my palm. I hated where this was going. I hated that it bothered me this much.

Marco, still smiling, turned to one of the men. “Could you call Maria for me?”

The men cheered in excitement.

Marco still had a stupid grin on his face.

Not long after, the man who had gone to call Maria appeared with her by his side. She was the older maid.

He waved at Maria. She appeared swiftly by his side and bowed her head in obedience.

“Send for Arabella,” Marco instructed, and as she turned to leave, he added with a smirk, “Tell her to wear something nice for me.” He gave her a knowing smile.

She merely nodded and turned to leave.

A few of the men chuckled under their breath, murmuring things to each other.

I shifted in my seat, the movement stiff, my jaw clenching.

Marco caught it immediately. His eyes flicked to me, sharp with amusement. “Six, are you okay?”

Our gazes locked.

A small but tense standoff stretched between us, the air thickening.

“I’m fine,” I muttered. The lie was unconvincing, even to my own ears.

Marco’s smirk widened.

“Pour him a fresh glass, Francesco,” he murmured, reclining in his chair like a king on his throne. “I want him to feel at home.”

Francesco, always eager to please, did as he was told.

“That’s enough,” I muttered as he was pouring, but he continued to pour the glass until he filled it to the brim and began to cackle.

I didn’t know what was more infuriating, his blatant disregard of my wishes or his ear-scratching voice. I grabbed his hand and squeezed his fingers. “I said it was enough,” I said through gritted teeth.

The room had suddenly grown quiet, all eyes turned to us. My grip on his fingers tightened, and although no sounds came out from his mouth, his face was contorted in pain.

I could feel Marco’s eyes on me, and then he called my name. “Ease up, Six, we are relaxing…”

I didn’t let go of his hand.

“You know better than to infuriate Six, Francesco, his reputation precedes him…”

“Can he not take a joke?” Francesco asked in a strained voice.

“No,” I answered simply and let go of him.

It took a moment for the tension to ease, and everybody went back to talking. I kept stealing glances at the stairwell; Arabella took her precious time. At some point, Marco started glancing at the stairwell too.

She should have been down any moment now. Oh, but she was stubborn. In the short time I knew her, I knew that much about her. She was openly challenging the Capo.

Marco had already begun to shift uneasily in his seat. Even the men had noticed her delay.

“What are you doing, Arabella?” I whispered underneath my breath.

“Six!” Marco yelled out my name.

I looked up at him.

He pressed his hands on the table and leaned toward me. “I need you to go upstairs, grab a fistful of her hair, and drag her to me!” he said through clenched teeth.

I rose to my feet, and just as I was about to leave, she appeared at the head of the stairwell. All eyes turned toward her.