Poisonous Pleasure

Chapter Eleven

"Don't you dare threaten my woman." Malachi's tone left no room for objection; objection meant death on the spot. Clèmence knew Malachi was one second away from pulling his gun, but for now she was rest assured that he would protect her even when she had committed a wrong.

"Learn your place, chien." She spat. Looking dead into Tomas' eyes, she smiled wickedly: "I made sure your whore for a sister was real fucked up; even the street beggars wouldn't want to fuck that stupid wench." Clemence cackled, still sitting on Malachi's lap, and she moved forward as if wanting to tell a secret. "She could also get face reconstructive surgery if she doesn't die by then."

"Clèmence, that is enough from you. Your spiteful behavior won't be tolerated now". Malachi drew her closer to his chest, his arms wrapped like bands around her waist. She didn't dare mistake the position for affection; he was restraining her. She had no idea why. But, for now, she would gloat and muse in absolute glory.

"I would be the one deciding what would happen." With that, Clemence frowned at Malachi's statement; she didn't want to leave the frying pan and jump into hell. Malachi's punishments were legendary in the famiglia, and no one had lived through them, both "friend" and foe. She knew his protection could only go so far; she had to pay one way or another.

"Amour, forgive me," Clemence put on a sobbing face; she was good at acting, and she hoped he didn't see through her lie because, if given the chance, she would burn Bianca to a crisp over and over again. She deserved what she got. "I promise I didn't mean to leave her unconscious and start a fire; I didn't want to burn the house down either." Clèmence made her voice tremble. "She provoked me; she hit me first and called me different names!"

She added the last bit, saying that she hoped that would nail the coffin: "You know how my painting room is my sanctuary, and she tainted that with her vile presence?" She made sure her eyes were leaking water by the time she was done, and going for the heart-wrenching sob, she turned and rested her head on his chest, crying into his body.

"What a stunning display," Tomas said. She could hear the sneer and hatred wrapped in his poisonous voice: "Someone would have to pay for what you did to my sister. Madre is on the verge of going mad, and you speak to me about provocation-".

"Lower your tone; you would speak with respect."

"I dare not misstep, Don," Tomas swallowed. She could hear the fear and reverie in his tone; he knew not to cross Malachi even in anger.

"Don't play favorites with the issue, Don," Tio Crisobal added. She had forgotten the old bastard was in the room, and for sure, he would take the side of the idiots. She wasn't going to let him ruin this for her; she was getting out of this position unscathed.

"How this little woman could overpower one of our own and start a fire and leave her for dead is something that would forever baffle me." He paused for effect, probably trying to cement her grave through that notion. "It should never be taken lightly. People would talk of your indulgence in your woman's whims," Cristobal implored.

Clémence felt her heart jump to her throat. Cristobal had used one of every man's weaknesses against them, which was their pride, and Malachi was a prideful man. He would never let anyone doubt him in any way, shape, or form. He would kill them before they could even think of doing so. Clèmence was in limbo at the moment, hanging between the threads of life and death. Her face still pressed against his chest, but his hands were no longer at her waist, binding her. She feared the worst.

The silence after Cristobal had spoken was deafening; she knew Malachi was thinking about how to handle the situation. Clèmence bit her lip, drawing blood, and now she was on the verge of actual tears.