This situation has made me slightly unhinged where Violetta’s concerned and that’s another dilemma, not including what’ll happen when Carina finds out. I can’t be bothered with that shit today since I’m meeting my mother shortly.
As if that’s not enough to put me in the mood to kill someone...
I lean down and brush back a stray tendril of Violetta’s hair away from her face. Just looking at her causes my chest to tighten painfully. She is all that’s good in this world and when I told her to never change I said that because I love the way she is. But also because I didn’t want my iniquity to influence her in any way.
It could be too late already, but I had to try.
After running my fingers through the loose strands of her hair, I kiss her temple and then leave the room, quietly shutting the door behind me. Benito greets me with a scowl and his arms crossed, his stance challenging. I knew it’d be like this when his gaze drilled into mine last night, after watching me carry Violetta to the car with her holding onto me like I was life itself.
I regret nothing.
I hold up my hand and his mouth thins. “Whatever you’re assuming, it’s true, so let’s get that shit out of the way right now.”
“Really?” he drawls, pricking my temper. “So you’re saying that you fucked her and now you’re done with her?”
“No. I’m not done with her.”
“Really?”
I grind my teeth. “Yes, really.”
“What are your intentions then?” Benito narrows his gaze and it flares with his restrained anger. “Keep her around until she bores you? Get her pregnant and possibly marry her? Or not. There aren’t a lot of options to choose from. Even less that benefit her.”
I cock my head and raise a brow. “Are you sure you’re not jealous?”
“Boss, go fuck yourself. And I mean that with all due respect. If you can’t see that I’m watching out for Violet because I know how you are, then I’ll explain it to you. That woman is different. She’s not like those scheming whores you constantly fuck and forget. She’s young, not just in age, but in life.”
He jabs his finger in my direction, emphasizing each point with a threatening motion that has my muscles tensing. “You’re older and she’ll look to you for guidance in this situation, and not only that, she’ll make assumptions based on whatever happens between you two. You’ll be the measurement in which she judges all men going forward, and that’s a heavy responsibility because she’s learning what she does and doesn’t want in the future.”
“I didn’t realize I hired you to be a fucking psychiatrist, as well as a bodyguard.”
Benito shrugs, but the glint in his eyes is far from nonchalant. “I’m whatever’s needed at the time. Psychiatrist, bodyguard, hitman… You know the drill.”
The thinly veiled threat makes me respect him and want to kill him. However, if there was ever a person I’d trust with Violetta’s safety, Benito would be the one. Especially because he has no romantic interest in her. As pissed off as I am by this conversation, he’s right to say those things to me. In fact, he’s correct about everything.
And that’s why I hate it.
“You’re a good man, Benito.”
He squints at me in confusion. “Yes, I am, but why are you saying it?”
I walk up to him and clasp his shoulder, squeezing it out of affection. “Knowing you’re looking out for Violetta with such loyalty is something I can’t put a price on, but I do recognize the value of it.”
He grins at me. “Well, Icanput a price on it and I’ve been wanting a raise this year anyway.”
I shove him away with a small laugh. “We can discuss that when we’re back in Chicago.” My expression changes to serious and his does as well. “Keep her safe.”
“As safe as my cock in my hand.” He winks at me.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter as I walk toward the front door. Just like the last time I left, his laughter follows me on the way out, only this time I smile.
“Where would you like me to start?”
I recline on the leather couch and toss my arm across the back, staring at my mother from across the library in El Jefe’s residence. She looks like the woman in my memories, wearing a classic sundress and heels with her hair loose about her shoulders, as opposed to the shirt and jeans she was wearing when I arrived here. Seeing her like this unearths the part of my soul that harbors the child in me, specifically the ten year old who grieved the loss of his mother for decades after she was gone.
“From the beginning would be most logical,” I say.
Her gaze, identical to mine, narrows at my blasé response. We both know how much I want this information and me not begging for it bothers her on some level. Although, I’m not sure why. What did she expect?
