Sleeping With the Enemy

Sequel: Chapter Eighteen

Anthony

I've faced my share of rough situations in my life. I've been in jail, shot at, nearly taken hostage, ran off the road... Growing up in the Mafia makes you tough, if nothing else. You learn survival tactics early on, most importantly—an impenetrable, stone-cold mentality. By the time I was twelve, I had a poker face that could rival the most ruthless of me, able to hide any fear or emotion with the flip of a coin.

Never back down, never give in, never show an opponent any weakness.  But one thing I never learned was how to keep that level of composure and restraint when the "opponent" I was facing was the enraged father of the woman I was in love with.

Somehow, facing Brandon put the fear of God into me in a way that nothing else ever had. Maybe that was because I finally had something I couldn't bear to lose, and he had the power to rip the carpet right out from underneath me.

It was deathly quiet as we left Gemma, and went into the house. The slam of his office door cut through the silence like an exclamation point on the entire situation, and I felt the thud in my chest. As many times as I'd thought about this conversation over the last few months, I had no fucking clue what to say.

Brandon across from me, the warm glow from the desk lamp illuminating his face in an eerie way, and maybe that was on purpose. I couldn't see his expression, couldn't read him, and had no idea what I was up against. He seemed content to sit in the tension for as long as needed, but my heart was racing so hard it was nearly pounding out of my chest. This conversation was the only thing standing in the way of my relationship with Gemma, and I couldn't fuck it up.

I respected Brandon more than just about anyone on the planet, and I was thankful for the chance he gave me, but Gemma deserved someone willing to fight tooth and nail for her, and I was prepared to do that if need be.

"I haven't been completely honest with you." My voice was low and quiet as I battled the bundle of nerves tightening my chest.

"Yeah, I think that's clear." He pressed his lips together.

"Brandon, I swear, I never intended..."

"I'm not interesting in hearing how you didn't expect this or never intended for it to happen or ay other excuses. I have questions, and you're going to answer every single one of them, and we'll go from there." The biting authority in his voice stopped me in my tracks. I wasn't used to that from him, but I guess I deserved it.

"Yes, sir."

He rubbed his temples before speaking. "You and Gemma are..."

"Together. Dating. A couple. Whatever you want to call it." I said.

"Sleeping together?"

I hesitated, but the sharp look in his eye spoke volumes, so all I could do was nod in confirmation.

Brandon let out a heavy sigh, leaning forward onto his elbows. For a man usually so poised and even keel, I could tel he was flustered, and very uncomfortable with the conversation. "For how long?"

"A few months now. Since the attack at the nightclub and she stayed at my house." I said. "But honestly, Brandon, nothing happened until I was absolutely sure it was what she wanted. She was processing so much, but this thing between us had been building for weeks. I never would have tried to..."

He held his hand up to silence me. "Anthony, I may not like the situation you and Gemma have put us in, but I have enough respect for you to know that you would never try to take advantage of her. You don't have to say that."

His assurance helped me breathe a little easier, although I knew there was more to come.

"So for the last two months, the two of you have been sneaking around, hiding this from my wife and I, and potentially putting Gemma in even more danger." He said matter-of-factly, clenching his jaw and leaning back in his chair.