I am pissed.
So fucking angry at the man standing in front of me.
I suck in a deep breath before smiling at the man beside him. "Hi Drew," I said, placing out a hand. Drew nods in return, ignoring my open palm. With discomfort, I close it and withdraw the hand. "I didn't know we were going to have company." I fake laugh wanting to punch Anthony across the face.
"He won't be staying with us," Anthony clarifies. "He will be resting on the floor below us."
I didn't ask that. "He can stay here with us. I don't mind," I said, remembering how the penthouse has like a hundred rooms. All right, a hundred rooms are exaggerating, but there are a lot of rooms here - plus a freaking pool!
"I mind," Anthony said.
Drew cleared his throat, "I will be downstairs where I rightfully belong until the party," he babbled and made his escape.
Anthony shrugs off his coat and then hangs it on the wall. "You're angry," he said, making his way back towards me.
I twirl my body and walk towards the couch. "I can never be angry at you, my great lord," I said, before refocusing my attention back towards the TV. I don't understand why I call him a freaking lord, but I already did so I cannot take it back.
Anthony sighed, grabbed the remote, and turned it off. He places it down on one of the many tables inside the room and settles himself beside me. "Don't be angry," his tone is somehow edgy.
"How can I ever be angry at the great mafia leader?" I said before standing up. "Unless I have a death wish."
He grabs my wrist and pulls me into his lap. "Mio Cuore."Don't you sweet talk to me! I bit my lower lip and looked away. Anthony grasps my chin. "I'm speaking to you."
I stay quiet, feeling my thighs automatically tighten underneath his burning gaze. Quickly, I avert my eyes, feeling the burning sensation beneath my stomach knowing it is not the time to feel that way.
"It was just one cigar," he said. He knows exactly why I was upset. The moment he walks into the building, I can smell the smoke and alcohol radiating off of him. Even better, fucking perfume!
I continue to stay quiet, knowing if I open my mouth, I may say something I'll regret later.
"I had to do it, for formalities," he states.
I swallow, removing my face from his grasp. "I don't care if you do or not. I'm not the boss of you." Rather you're the boss of me.
"You do care."
"Why should I care?"
"Because I promise you I'll stop."
"No," my voice cracked. "You never promise me. It was just a verbal exchange between us like the contract, so you can break it anytime without consequences," the tears began dripping down my eyes.
It's not the fact that Anthony smokes that bothers me. While he was out the whole day, I sat in the penthouse. It's quiet. For the first time in a long time, there wasn't any screaming or anything I had to do. I could reason without any interruption. While he was out, I sat there, reading the contract over and over.
The contract Anthony said doesn't matter anymore.
For me, it matters.
It's an insurance policy. If Anthony ever decides to kick us out, he promises to give us a fortune. Anthony says it doesn't matter because he will never do that.
However, when he walked through the door with the scent of cigars, perfumes, and alcohol. I realize it's all just words - a verbal exchange.
The contract does matter.
