His Revenge (Smoke & Mirrors Duet #1)

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

LEO

“When you have to be a dick and lay down the rules, don't use your actual dick.”

O pening my front door I notice that the light is on in the living room and only one other person has access to my house. Internalizing my sigh, I step into the room and see that there are three people in my house, not one. The conversation between my father and Enzo cuts off as I walk into the room. Sitting on my couch is my father, and by the look on his face, I know that I have no choice in what he is about to do. Brick by brick, I put up the walls between the skin shell that I inhabit and me. I need these walls to do all the things that I have done and see all the things I have. While few will understand, things with my father have been transactional since my mom died, and if I react at all to anything he will use it against me.

My eyes pass over him and Enzo to land on her dark hair that she is using to cover part of her face in an attempt to make herself smaller. She doesn’t want to be here and is afraid of what comes next. She is sitting in my living room, well soon to be her living room, and feels unwelcome, not like the spoiled mafia daughter I thought she would behave like.

“Care to fill me in,” I say flatly, to avoid any emotional draw being picked up by my father. The way that my mind reels in her presence is unlike anything else on this Earth. How I want to take her pillowy lips on my own until we are both panting and breathless. The way I am physically drawn to her, not just her beauty but every part of her drives me insane. I have an undeniable urge to lift her chin to remind her of the fact that she will be my queen and I am the only person she will bow to. Pushing those thoughts to the far region of my mind, I force myself to focus on my father's body language.

“It is time for you and your bride-to-be to live together and start combining your lives as we get closer to the wedding. I have brought her to you to ensure that you live up to the expectations of being my heir,” My father monologues, but the threat in his words is clear even without the menacing tone. It takes more effort than it should to keep my jaw from clenching. I hate being told what to do, especially in my own home. This is why I moved out of his house as soon as I turned eighteen. My father stands, adjusts his jacket, and walks past me to the front door with Enzo close behind him.

I am standing here exhausted from a long day of bloodshed and now my Butterfly is here and I am not prepared for this. Nothing with my father is ever handed over this easy and there is more going on here. He views me as just a pawn in his game, but he hasn’t figured out that I am the puppet master here. While he is here I need to act indifferent toward her but I can see the slight reddening of her eyes. She has been crying. Enzo follows my father dutifully out of the door to their car in my garage, leaving me with my Butterfly and a single suitcase.

“My personal guard is missing and our fathers’ discussed the next steps to keep me safe while they look into it,” she says while looking at the floor. Breathing deeply, I cannot tell if the way she is acting out of grief or subservience. This is not how I want her to submit to me. The time will come where she will be on her knees following my instructions to earn her release, but today she needs her fire. Closing the distance between us, I lift her chin with my fingers until our eyes make contact. The make up covers most of the evidence of her tears but her eyes have a hint of redness beneath the black that cannot be hidden.

“You will always be safe in my home from every other person. Very few people have access to my private residence. You do not answer to anyone else in this house but me,” I utter matter-of-factly. Removing my hand from her supple skin takes effort for me, but I know it’s for the best. My hand moves on its own to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

“Follow me, Butterfly.” I say as I turn toward the hallway. As much as every fiber of my being wants her under me after my kill today, she needs to earn her place in my bed. For now I will have her in the room across the hall from me where she can be monitored while I figure out if she is a queen or a pawn in her father’s game and where her allegiance lies. As I open the door to the room, I see her hiding her wince. She is fucking afraid I am going to keep her like a prisoner. She isn’t wrong or right on this. I was unprepared for her to join me today.

“Set down your bag and anything else in here and I will meet you in the kitchen. Can you find your way?” I question, and she responds with a curt nod at a loss for words. The look of unbridled shock on her face is enough to put a smile on mine; she did not expect the mafia prince to be civil. Taking a step out of her way I let her take in the room fully. It is a larger bedroom with a King bed in the center. The wall closest to the door is built-in bookshelves that Rome helped me fill. Next to the walk-in closet and en-suite bathroom there is an older desk. While I may not have expected guests in my home today, my father is unpredictable and I always keep the interior rooms locked aside from the spare bedroom where Rome sleeps when he doesn’t want to go home.

With the adrenaline from today’s kill, I hadn’t intended on making food and was just going to drink a protein shake, but if I do that I know my butterfly will go hungry instead of asking for anything. If I make food at least she will eat to be polite even if she isn’t hungry. The fridge is slim pickings since I don’t often eat at home but with her here I will need to have more food stocked, but I need to know what makes her smile and what food feeds her soul before I send my housekeeper shopping. I quietly roll up the sleeves of my black shirt so I don’t add any blood to our dinner. I can count the number of times I have cooked for someone aside from Claire. The quiet and solitude is my peace, and I had no intention of changing anything. Having the sound of someone else in my house typically sets me on edge but with her here safe I can breathe easy.

The pasta I dried yesterday should pair well with a clam cream sauce and garlic knots that I brought home from the restaurant. While I make quite a bit of my food from scratch, the best baker within one hundred miles supplies the restaurant’s bread. Setting the oven to three hundred degrees, I put the bread in to warm while I make the pasta. The water for the pasta goes on the stove, when I hear her steps approaching me.