I blink, realizing I’m distracted. “Does it matter?” I ask in return.
He laughs. “Now you’re fucking with me,” he points. “Does it matter…of course it does. Wouldn’t you be asking these questions if we traded places?”
I hum once and turn my attention to getting a few things out of the first aid kit.
“They couldn’t have killed my dad, he’s already dead, so, maybe not,” I reply with a bit of a smirk.
Suddenly, the back of my shirt at my neck is balled up in Carmine’s fist and he pulls me back to look him in the face.
“I’m not fucking around here, Soren. Why should I accept your help?”
I yank myself away from him, and he lets go of me more easily than I would’ve expected. “Well first of-fucking-all, you’re clearly not at your best right now. You smell like a fucking distillery, and you’re barely sleeping. Right? How many hours are you getting per night, two, maybe three? That’s after youpass out from the alcohol, hmm?” I turn to square up with him. I tower over him with my broad shoulders and cast a shadow down on his face. He somehow looks even smaller in this venue.
“Do not start shit with me; you don’t want to finish it,” Carmine snaps.
I step even closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “I do, and I will. You’re the one with more to lose, Dresvanni,” I growl out at him. “Your father was just shot down in his own office, possibly by the family of the very guy who just tried to rape you in your own damn office, and you’re probably drinking yourself to death. Fucking around with your cock out in the back of some filthy alley. You ain’t bringing guards with you when you go out, but you’re complaining when they don’t do their jobs. You wanna be all in control of everything, but you’re not. You’re a fucking mess, Car. You need someone to have your back when you don’t want to bring anyone else. You might not like it, but you need me.”
Carmine stares at me with those dark brooding eyes of his, and I watch his jaw shift and tighten as he grinds his teeth. Much more of that and he’s gonna need a dentist not me.
My own jaw and neck feel tense as I stand so close to him. Our chests nearly touch. There’s not a single drop of blood on me, but I’m beginning to wonder if I press against him, if Jackson’s blood with transfer to my t-shirt. Or maybe it’s too dried now.
“Why?” he asks me. “Just answer one question. Why do you care what happens to me?”
I don’t know.
That’s what I want to say. I want to tell him I care about him for some godforsaken reason that I don’t understand, but I know that’s a dumb idea. I can’t care about him. I shouldn’t. Everything needs to be for my own gain, for the family’s gain.
Not for some weird heart-on I seem to be acquiring. Worse than a hard-on, those can be taken care of in five minutes.
This? I’m not sure what to do with this. Obsession. This desire to see every part of him unfurl under my hands, at my doing. Perhaps even if it means his death.
No one will hurt him but me.
No one will protect him but me.
Only me.
“If you die, Alessio will never work with me,” I reply simply. I smirk a little, so he knows that it’s true but also doesn’t read into the frustration crawling up my spine.
He eyes me. “True. He doesn’t want us to work with you at all, but…” he trails off.
“Should I be asking you why?” I raise a brow.
“Don’t,” he mumbles. “I’ve had enough talking.”
I turn and grab a cotton pad and witch hazel from the counter and pour some on.
“Good. I’m getting tired of your voice. Let me clean the blood off your face,” I tell Carmine. He rolls his eyes and starts to step back.
“That’s unnecessary, I’ll just go home.”
Before he can move away from me completely, I reach out with my other hand and grab him by the back of his hair. Something I don’t realize I’ve wanted to do since I first saw him. My knuckles brush his scalp and he makes a sound low in his throat that I’m not so sure is displeasure.
“Just let me help you, you stubborn ass,” I snap. I grip his hair tighter as he tries to pull away from me.
“What the fuck,” Carmine grumbles and puts one of his hands on my chest. His eyes flash with icy cold anger and the next thing I know, his fist is meeting my cheek.
I fall back against the counter as stars blur my vision for a few seconds. I don’t recognize the pain, not really, instead the look on Carmine’s face strikes me harder.
