The Storm

Chapter 27

Atlas

"Guiseppe, didn't the Missus tell you not to drink so much wine?" Daryl says, laughing at himself.

Guiseppe shrugs and takes another sip. "She's got nothing to say. As long as I keep my pockets open, Ruby is out of my hair."

Daryl holds his glass up, then takes a great sip from his whiskey to drink on Guiseppe's words.

Jeremy shakes his head, still finding the other men amusing though.

"That reminds me, Guiseppe. Ella wanted to meet your wife for some dinner party. How about we ditch it and go to a bar instead?" Daryl says, showing a smug smile.

"Tomorrow?" Guiseppe asks, Daryl nods. "Can't. I'm meeting with our maid for a good time, if you know what I mean."

All the other men start to laugh like cheating was the most normal thing ever.

Suddenly, Daryl turns to look at me. "When's your wife's baby due?"

My wife's? It's our baby, not just hers. "Little under three months."

Guiseppe laughs, then claps his hands together. "Ah hell. The crying is the worst, y'know?" He laughs again. "Swear to god, if I had to share a room with my wife and any of that crying kids...I woulda thrown them out so quick."

"Why did you have kids or a wife if you want neither?" I ask.

"The status. And ya need some to take over as CEO one day, y'know," he answers far too quickly. "Plus, Ruby was hot when we got married. Now she's just old. Can't tell me you married that hoe of yours for love and all that shit."

Jeremy next to me rolls his eyes, seemingly as annoyed as I am.

"I did," I say. "I married that 'hoe of mine' for love." Shaking my head, I let a disbelieving chuckle out. "Did you really dare calling my wife a hoe?"

Guiseppe shrugs. "They all are. Fucking the gardener daily. Or the mailman, hell, even the chef. Whoever stops by more often. Only spending money, that's all they good for."

"Guiseppe," Jeremy says. "Just cause your wife does that, doesn't mean everyone else's wives do it."

My eyes find Sierra's. Her cheeks are slightly flushed, and it certainly can't be from alcohol. Her eyes tell me she's just as annoyed as I am. I wonder if they're having the same disgusting conversation as we do here, or if she's just annoyed from listening to trophy wives brag about...whatever they've got to brag about.

"Hey, man. Heard good ol' Jeff lives next to you," Daryl says, slapping the palm of his hand to my nape.

I shrug him off so quickly, the movement alone lets him back off. "Touch me again and you'll be living six feet under his property."

Daryl holds his hands up as if he were surrendering.

"No need to get all pissy, Atlas. Your whore not blowing you enough? Ever thought about getting a side-whore?" Guiseppe tries to protect his dear friend.

I intertwine my own hands, resting my chin on them. With my eyes slightly narrowed, I find that bastard calling my wife a whore. "Can't say I have."

"Well, you should."

"Guiseppe," Jeremy warns, but he stays ignored.

"Just say your wife doesn't touch you. Though, if I were Ruby, I wouldn't go anywhere near your dick either," I say.

"Can't tell me your whore still gets down on you." How old is he? 15?

Just then, Guiseppe hands the waitress passing us by a $100 bill. Without any context. He just hands it to her.