The phone rings.
I jolt so abruptly that I splash vodka over my jeans. My heart is thumping so hard, that I can’t get my breath back. I pause for a moment, my hand at my throat. It’s still ringing.
Fuck!
I don’t recognize the number, but the only other call I’ve made has been to my father, and it wouldn’t be him.
Fucking answer it! Answer it before he hangs up!
“Hello!” I gasp down the line as I take the call.
“Well, hello, Andrea.” The sound of Mark’s voice has bile rising up my throat. “I heard the good news. Seems you had second thoughts about that bullshit sham of a wedding you thought you’d get away with.”
When I answer, my voice is barely audible. My throat’s so constricted, it’s like my airway is completely blocked.
“Mark,” I choke out. “How are you?” I say it because nothing else comes to mind. After all these days of raging and plotting and picturing him dead, I can’t find words. What do I say to the man who murdered my brother?
He laughs, though there’s no real humor; he just sounds oily.
“Come on, Andrea, don’t try to tell me this was a social call.”
“Um…no. I uh…wanted to talk.”
“Talk, huh?” he scoffs. “I’m guessing an apology would be a good place to start. But from you, I doubt it would be worth shit.”
“I’m sorry,” I say huskily. He laughs again.
“Oh, Andrea, you’ve been practicing. That almost sounds convincing.”
“I need to see you,” I continue. “To explain.” Just the thought of his face makes me sick to my stomach. I take another bolstering mouthful of vodka.
“Oh, you do, do you?” I can picture him smirking. “Decided to do the smart thing and save your father’s legacy?”
I don’t fully understand what he means by that, except that it’s likely that my fucking father has gotten himself into trouble with this man. Of course, getting in touch with Mark has nothing to do with bailing dear old Daddy out of his shit. My father can rot, for all I care.
“When can we get together, Mark?” I ask. “I’d really like to see you. To make amends. This evening, maybe?” My voice is sounding firmer, thank God. I take another sip of booze and imagine carving that smirk off his face with a blade.
“No can do, babydoll.” He laughs drily and my heart plummets. He’s changed his mind. He’s going to tell me to get lost. My chance is gone. “I’m out of town at the moment. In Columbia on business.” Relief floods me; almost makes me feel giddy.
When he pauses, I know it’s for dramatic effect. I’m pretty sure he’s letting me process the fact that he’s definitely not in Columbia for the cocoa beans.
“When will you be back?” I ask. The thought of avenging Kyle’s death adds enthusiasm to my voice. Making this pig pay for killing the brother who was just trying to protect me…it’s all I can think of.
“Soon,” he says. “And I think it would be amusing to hear what you have to say to me.” I hear him making a wet sound as if he’s licking his lips. “I also think it would be amusing to spend some time fucking you again. Tell me, Andrea, is that tight little cunt of yours still so dry, or have you learned to juice it up since I first had you?”
I try not to choke on my vodka. Dry? The fucking Mojave Desert would look like a goddamn wetland in comparison if this man ever got near my pussy again.
But it might have to happen. If it gets me close enough to slash his throat. To see him jerking and convulsing as he gasps out his last breaths in a pool of his own blood on the floor. If it takes fucking him to get near, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything. If I have to plunge a blade into his throat while his cock is in me, it will be worth every stinking second.
“So, what do you say, Andrea?” Mark’s voice interrupts my murderous musings. He’s lowered his voice as if he thinks I’ll find it sexy. “Think I can make your pussy cream?”
I drain the last of my vodka and set the cup down.
“Why don’t you meet me, and we’ll find out,” I say.
Chapter 5
Mateo Ricci
