Snapping Point

8.

"You're still here?" I asked Ottavio as I approached his car and spotted him smoking by the side. "Thought you'd be long gone by now."

"I decided to stick around for you." Ottavio dropped the last bit of his cigarette and ground it into the ground with his boot. "Ready to roll?"

I had left him by his Ford a while back to check on my father and the others after being bombarded with a myriad of issues I had to handle. Unfortunately, Rossi's conversation had dragged on, and my mother's lingering anger from yesterday had made our pleasantries a tad too long. As for Bianca, we weren't on speaking terms—her decision, not mine. But at least Claudio was somewhere far from this estate.

My cousins had headed to the bordello a while ago, except for Marco, who was busy entertaining Gina and his wife with endless tales about his adventures in the city. I had briefly gotten caught up in his jokes and lost track of time, so I hadn't expected Ottavio to still be waiting, especially since he mentioned Shed had been blowing up his phone.

I slid into the car and fished out my pack of smokes as Ottavio rounded the vehicle and joined me inside. He firing up the engine. "You won't believe this. Claudio's been..."

"Saw it coming," he shot back, as if he'd already guessed what I was about to say. "Rossi caught us in the garden two nights ago while I was helping him get inside." He glanced ahead and peeled us out of the estate. "Knew Claudio was toast when he planted one on Gustavo's wife, thinking she was Bianca. Pathetic."

"What? Don't fuck with me." Angry and shock lingered in my tone. So that was why my father wanted him gone. Here I was thinking it was just about his boozing. Turns out, he was also hitting on other men's wives by mistake.

"Telling you, man. Rossi clocked him for it and ordered him to leave the estate on the spot, but Ma wasn't having it."

My jaw hit the floor. This all went down two nights ago, and I was completely clueless. Where the hell was my head at? Normally, stuff like this didn't slip by me—I was either in the mix or informed to handle it.

I glanced at Ottavio and caught the smirk playing on his lips as he chewed his gum. "Where the hell was I when all this went down?"

"Nutting?"

He hadn't even tried to be less filthy with his thought process.

I chuckled. "Yeah, right." Right about playing the tough guy around the girl, giving orders, and barking about what not to touch and what to cook. What a psycho. I was too damn pathetic to admit that I'd been skulking around her, stealing glances and avoiding her space like it was quarantine time.

Those eyes. Those lips. Full, rounded tits just begging to be touched. Ugh. My mind was spinning in and out of focus, all because she was lurking around my territory, unaware of the monster in me.

I couldn't figure out why my feelings toward her were so fucking different. Maybe it was because I hadn't conquered her yet. Perhaps my competitive spirit was just too fucking stubborn. It wanted to check her off the list and move on to the next challenge. Until I did, I'd feel like a kid infatuated with a new toy... or worse, a horny teenager discovering masturbation for the first time.

I toyed with the idea of making a move, of dominating and ordering her around until she finally gave in and begged to be fucked.

But then I quickly opted for the easier route: moving on to a new conquest.

At least that would guarantee she wouldn't come back to me on her knees, begging for more, or worse, me desperately hunting her down in Bologna...for more.

I didn't want to give my mind a chance to second-guess itself and its decision to stay away. So, to distract myself, I decided to engage Ottavio. "Guess who rang me up two nights ago?" I asked after a moment's pause.