Raw Bloody Power
Chapter 14
26%
14
LET THE GAMES BEGIN
Ivory
To: Ivory Belluci
From: Rio Guerra
Subject: SERIOUSLY?
You blocked my number? Christ, how old are we, Ivory?
I re-read the two-line email from last night for the millionth time. I’ve yet to respond to it and I don’t intend to. It’s not warranted. I owe him nothing, and to be completely honest, I’m beyond irritated he went sleuthing to find a point of contact—my business email, no less—all for that. Two-fucking-sentences that are nothing more than click bait, a cry for attention.
He’s not getting it from me.
Closing out of my email, I tap into my texts and click on my thread with Lucia. My brother told me she was having Braxton Hicks earlier this morning and he’s gone into full-on “Lucia’s in labor” mode, despite the fact she’s very much not. I bet him a hundred bucks she wouldn’t give birth for another two weeks. He took it.
Someone didn’t read the baby book.
Me
How’s it going over there, mama bear?
Three little dots instantly dance on my screen.
Port St. Lucia
Tired of laying in this damn bed. And if your brother makes me drink ONE more glass of water, I’m putting eye drops in his whiskey.
The ungodly cackle that shoots out of my throat earns me a few curious stares from suburban trophy wives and stay-at-home-moms trying to enjoy a couple hours of peace while they get their nails done. Even the tech working on my pedicure drags her gaze up for a moment, her lips quirking in a smirk.
I just cackled so damn loud, the entire nail salon gave me a unanimous dirty look. Thanks for that.
Also third tri has made you vicious asf. Where did my sweet little Lucia go?
Sorryyy!
The “It’s me…Jessica. I’m in here” gif of Rob Schneider appears below that, nearly choking me on my saliva.
I’m in here, I swear. Hangry, tired, uncomfortable. If your niece could heed her eviction warning right about now, that’d be great.
NOT YET. She has to wait until after her party!
And preferably two more weeks, too.
She will, trust me. With my luck, I’ll go over my due date.
My brother seems to think otherwise lmao.
Because your brother heard the word contractions and has completely blocked out anything else since.
He comes in here every fifteen minutes, no lie. Brings me a glass of water every hour on the hour.
I’m half way through my reply, chuckling under my breath at Santo’s expense, when my dad’s contact picture pops up on my screen. I stare at it fondly for a moment as the device vibrates in my hand. It’s him and me at graduation, his proud smile beaming as he hugs me to his side. Swiping my thumb along the screen, I accept the call.
“Hi, daddy.”
“Principessa... Did I catch you at a bad time? ”
“Not at all. I already left for the day. Dascha offered to close up so I could come get my nails done. I was long overdue for a fill. Why? What’s up?”
Silence filters through the line for a beat or two before he clears his throat. “Well,” he sighs profoundly, “we have a problem.”
I immediately sit up straighter, my spine locking ramrod straight, and almost swallow my tongue in the process. My pulse picks up speed, too, a dozen scenarios varying in severity flickering through my mind in a reel. “What happened?”
“I just got off the phone with Federico. He’s at the port with the boys picking up the shipment and?—”
No.
“Please tell me it was there,” I interject, pinching the bridge of my nose as my temper instantly flares, threatening to roll in and flood my rationale like high tide.
I swear on everything holy…
“It was… but not all of it.” His tone isn’t accusatory or indignant by any means. In fact, he sounds more befuddled and concerned than anything else.
All the while, I’m sitting here fuming like a steamboat, not only at Rio for clearly playing me like a damn fool, but at myself for actually believing he’d remain true to his word.
Maybe he would’ve if you hadn’t left with Koshka and blocked his number, that little voice in my head argues.
I push it aside for the moment and refocus on my dad who’s now asking if I'm still on the line. “Yeah, I’m here. How much is missing?”
“Half,” he imparts, nothing less, nothing more .
Half? That’s two-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars!
A feral growl builds in my chest, stare narrowing on the picture of a french manicure hung across the room. If it weren’t because the nail tech is still very much painting my toes, I would’ve stormed out of here by now and been well on my way to pay my ex a little visit. “I’ll handle it when I get out of here.”
That’s hit number three, and if he thinks I’m just going to take it up the ass like?—
“No, Principessa,” my father booms. “I love you dearly and I appreciate you wanting to help your old man, but it’s time I step in. Give me the name.”
My heart stalls for a second before slamming against my ribcage and freefalling like the Tower of Terror. I can’t tell him. There’s no way. After everything that’s happened thus far, World War Three would descend upon New York in a matter of hours if I so much as confirm it was Rio all along. “I… I…”
“Ivory,” he warns, spiking my anxiety to the umpteenth degree. “Tell me.”
“Not now.” I’m scanning the opulent room, tracking my line of sight over every single woman to ensure I’m not their current point of focus. “We’ll talk about this when I get home.”
“Ivory Katerina Belucci…”
I cringe a little at the sound of my government name spoken with that Italian lilt, especially coming from him. I’ve never enjoyed or purposely set out to defy my father. Even when Rio and I were sneaking around as kids, indulging in a relationship we knew damn well was forbidden, I hated myself for going against him. But I was young and in love, and I knew being honest about it wouldn’t end well.
Not that it ended well anyway…
“Pa, please. I can’t talk about this right now. Just let me get home and we’ll discuss.” Don’t really know what I’m gonna say when I get there, but at least a minor delay will give me time to figure it out.
Again he puffs a breath. I can all but see him rubbing a flustered hand down the length of his face, likely sitting in one of the plush leather seats opposite his desk. “Fine. But I want you in my office the second you walk through that door. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper.
The call cuts.
My stomach roils in a disquieted tilt-a-whirl, lurching the contents of my lunch upward. He’s upset, I can’t fault him for that. I just hate that I’m the cause. What am I supposed to tell him? Or better yet— how am I going to lie my way out of this? As if it couldn’t get any worse, a text from my brother pops up on the screen.
Santorini
What the fuck is happening? Pa told me half the shipment is missing?
Fucking fabulous.
Me
That would be correct.
WHO is it, Ivory? Tell me right the fuck now so I can sort this out before the man has a goddamn heart attack
No. I’ll handle it.
Just like you handled it in the first place? Tell me.
NO.
Ivory…
Santo…
Tell me or I swear to God.
Get your ass to confession and say some Hail Marys. I’m not telling you shit.
WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?
Because I said I’m handling it and you don’t listen. Worry about keeping your wife comfortable. AND STOP GIVING HER WATER. SHE’S GOING TO PISS HERSELF.
His reply mentions something about how I’m in over my head while simultaneously asking how I know about the water debacle, but I don’t respond. He can sit and stew for all I care. I do, however, contemplate replying to Rio’s email and ripping him a new one. But what is that going to do?
Nothing, absolutely nothing.
Surely, that’s the result he was hoping for, too.
Swiping out of my texts, I open up my Kindle app and tap on the monster smut I barely started a few days ago. The hero is this massive wolf who owns a gym—he’s a total cinnamon roll—and falls for this adorable, thick queen of a baker who works at the bakery down the street. I’m obsessed. Five minutes into the fourth chapter, though, the drop down notification at the top of my screen has my eyes bulging like a cuckoo clock.
Call me Miss Popular today, apparently, because my phone never goes off this much. Tapping it, the new thread opens up, leaving me to stare at the message.
Benedikt Koshka
I’m not sure if the 24hr rule is still relevant these days lol, but you’ve been on my mind all day. I would very much like to take you out and finish our conversation.
Much like Rio’s email, I reread it several times. Yes, we traded numbers before I got out of his car, but I wasn’t expecting to hear from him. At least not so soon. I don’t know how I feel about it to be completely honest.. He’s hot as fuck, there’s no denying it.
To go out on an actual date with him, though?
There wasn’t a huge spark for me, a real connection to justify it. I had a good time, I’ll admit that much, and I got free drinks out of it. And making the choice to leave with him was purely to avoid getting back in the car with Rio. To push his buttons. But I was there for one reason, and one reason only.
Had Rio not been dangling that damn shipment over my head, I never would’ve met Benedikt.
Benedikt who also got hit last night by the same damn person.
And that, my friends, is when it slaps me across the face .
I might be against snitching on Rio to my family for obvious reasons, but Benedikt isn’t family…clueing him in on the who behind his missing products—if he hasn’t realized or figured it out already—will be sweet, sweet revenge for Rio’s transgressions. I can help him, and in turn, he can help me. Plus, I’ll get a free meal out of it, and when was the last time I went out on a real date?
Me
I’d like that. When did you have in mind? And to answer your question, no, I don’t think that exists anymore. Chivalry is dead lol.
As soon as I hit send, the nail tech wraps up with my polish and directs me to one of the dryers at the front of the chic salon. She carries my bag for me and all, hooking it over the back of the chair before clicking a few buttons on the machine. My phone drones again as I’m handing her my Amex.
Is it really, though? Am I not asking you out to dinner?
You are, yes.
We’re not all the same, malish. Some of us actually value the concept of courting and a relationship. Anyway, what does your schedule look like this weekend?
Malish. I still have no idea what that word means. I’m assuming a pet name?
You’ve used that word several times now. Care to tell me what it means?
And duly noted. As far as my schedule goes, my sister-in-law’s baby shower is on Saturday, and knowing my family, it’ll linger into the evening. Friday could work, though.
Russian equivalent for baby…
Would you be opposed to Wednesday night?
Dying to see me that badly, are you?
YES. I can wait until Friday, but I would love to see you before then.
Is it bad that I recoil a little? Not only at the pet name reference, but at the fact that he’s so…forward. Like I said, he’s got the looks, but I don’t know. This is weird. It’s weird, right? He can’t possibly be this into me so soon.
Give him a chance. You never know…
Wednesday works. I don’t have anything pressing happening the following morning, and a mid-week outing sounds like fun.
Wednesday it is then. How does 7pm sound?
Sounds great to me.
It’s a date. Dress nice. I have the perfect spot in mind.
How nice are we talking here?
What you wore last night was perfect. Something along the same lines will do.
Sexy in satin. Got it.
You said it, not me.
But you were thinking it…
Maybe, maybe not. The world will never know. I’ll see you Wednesday, gorgeous.
See you Wednesday!