“Are you fucking kidding me?” Beni exhales and furiously taps the screen. “I just got rid of a section and you’re already sending shit my way.”
My lips twitch as a smile threatens to take over. I press them together to repress it, but when Beni starts cursing in Italian, calling the game a bigger waste than “a hole you can’t fuck,” I can’t hold it back. The smile feels strange at first and then becomes more natural with every slur he mutters.
“Son of a whore,” he grits out, his forehead scrunched in concentration. “Cock sucking bitch nuts. ”
I clear out another large chunk of lines and send it over to him, feeling triumphant. Beni yells at the tablet and then slams it on the couch.
“This is such fucking bullshit. You cheated.”
I’m smiling when I shake my head and I hold the device up so he can see I haven’t done anything unethical.
“Whatever,” he mumbles. “When I don’t feel like slamming my fist against the wall, we’re going at it again. And don’t you dare practice between now and then. Go back to your porn.”
I shrug, my smirk still in place, and he winks at me.
“Benito.”
Both of us swing our heads in Tristano’s direction at the sound of his voice. Beni gets to his feet to walk over and sit in Octavia’s unoccupied seat. Tristano leans forward and places his forearms on his thighs, his mouth pulled tight at the corners. Although I can’t see Beni’s face, I can make out the stiffening of his shoulders from the tension that just appeared.
A brief conversation passes between the two men, with Tristano doing most of the talking, and when it’s over Beni resumes his spot next to me.
“You got me in trouble, missy,” he whispers. Before I can respond, Tristano calls my name. Beni winks at me and says, “I guess we’re both going to the principal’s office today, huh?”
I give him a quick nod and make my way over to seat myself in front of Tristano. He hasn’t moved from his position and his proximity to me is unnerving. I clasp my hands together and rest them in my lap, waiting for whatever lecture he’s going to give me.
“How old are you?”
The question from him is like a slap to the face, catching me off guard. I blink rapidly as though I don’t understand, but in reality it’s because I’m confused as to why he’s asking. What does my age matter to him? It’s not as though it’s a prerequisite to keeping me alive.
He cocks his head and the intensity of his stare grows. I almost squirm in my seat because of the nervousness skittering through me but catch myself. I don’t want him, or anyone else, to know what I’m feeling. If they know, they can exploit it.
“Did you hear me?” he asks. Whether or not Tristano realizes it, he leans toward me again, putting him even closer.Tooclose.
I slowly nod.
He narrows his gaze, the silver in his eyes bright like newly minted coins. “Then why aren’t you answering me, Violetta?”
My throat goes dry, prompting me to swallow and his focus shifts to the column of my throat. Only it doesn’t return to my eyes. Instead, it lowers to drift past the expanse of my breasts, my stomach, and then stops at my thighs. This time the urge to squirm is too great and I can’t stop it. Tristano snaps his gaze back to mine.
The liquid silver of them resplendent with ardor.
“Do you have the ability to speak?” he asks.
Facing this question is something I’ve been concerned about ever since Carina left me in Tristano’s care. Do I lie and save myself the trouble of communicating since I have no reason to speak to anyone? Or will it be worse if he were to find out that I lied?
I’m of little importance to him and a temporary responsibility, so whether or not I talk shouldn’t be a big deal. Tristano will eventually get over my abnormal behavior just like everyone else. Because of this reasoning, I nod my head.
“Interesting,” he says, drawing out the word. “It would appear that you only respond to yes or no questions.”
My heart stutters in my chest at the implication he’s going to circumvent my decision for silence. Even answering a single inquiry could open up the passageway for more questions and that’s not something I want to go through. Because it’ll ultimately lead back to why I went quiet in the first place.
And I try not to ever think about that.
When I do, it’s like someone’s put a vise around my throat and the pressure is so great that if I speak, the very breath needed to produce sound will choke me. It happened when I saw Carina after two years, first at our father’s house and then again at our cousin’s wedding. Both times I thought I would pass out just from seeing her. She is the trigger for my fear.
And Ugo, if I ever see him.
Except I’d shoot him; hopefully as fast as Tristano could.
