Yours Wickedly, Sierra

DANTE

I could have easily dodged the slap; I just stood there while the side of my face stung. I glared hard at Sierra.

A long time ago, I would have hit a girl for doing that and taking delight in it.

But it wasn't me anymore.

Besides, it wasn't smart to commit assault in front of a police department.

Sierra flinched, her fingers covered her lips as her eyes grew wide. "Omigod, I'm so sorry!"

I blinked, letting the rage simmer down, and flicked my fingers at Marco the driver—a silent signal not to intervene. 

"Don't tell Santini!" Sierra added.

I rolled my eyes. Of course, that's why she apologized.

Sierra straightened. "I mean, a little 'thank you' would have been nice."

Tilting my head to the side, I said. "You know what? You kind of remind me of an aunt—slapping me around while preaching about'courtesy'.”

Sierra scoffed, eyeing me. "You wish I were your aunt."

Without saying another word, I walked towards the car; Marco already held a door open for me.

"Wait, Dante," Sierra came up next to me. "How do you feel about breakfast?"

I shot her a look. "Doesn't Santini feed you glitter fairies?"

Sierra bristled. "I was just going to buy you breakfast, but never mind."

Then she started to walk away.

Turning to Marco, I let out a bitter chuckle. "Can you believe this chick? She wants to buy me freaking breakfast. Do I look that terrible?"

Marco's lips simply parted, but he couldn't say anything.

Yeah, I wasn't expecting him to compliment me either.

I shook my head. I could go for a damn coffee anyway.

"Yo, Sierra!" I called.

She turned to look at me.

Ten minutes later, we sat at a diner. I had a black beanie hat pulled low over my head.

A waitress slid plates of eggs, bacon, waffles, toast, and hot coffee onto the table.

Sierra looked up from her phone. "So, Gerald Locke's dad owns the biggest private capital firm in the city."

Diving into my food hungrily, I glanced up at her. "Yeah? So?"

"So, why'd you shoot him?"

I shrugged. Why was she interested anyway? I scanned the diner; there was only one other customer.

"Hey, he pulled a gun on me; I shot first. That's how self-defense works, sweetheart."

"That's not what really happened."

I narrowed my eyes. "Did those cops tell you that?"

Sierra leaned back in her seat, her eyes shifted, and she shook her head. "Hmm, no, I just read it...online?"

I didn't buy it, but I'll let it pass. For now. "You shouldn't believe what the media says about me; my business is my own."

"Well, you're a person of interest, Don," Sierra said, lowering her tone. "Like a news magnet, and only twenty-six? That's kind of impressive."

I looked up from my coffee. I was hungrier than I thought; I barely had more than a canapé last night.

"I must be losing my hearing, but did you just compliment me?"

"I just say what's realistic."

"Well, word of advice, and I'm serious, keep your 'realistic' opinion to yourself. And you don't breathe a word about the bail—especially not when you're yapping with your girlfriends.  Capisce?"

Sierra chomped into her bacon. "Once again, Dante, your sexism is loud and clear."

My lips tugged in the corner. "And it's also sexist to say using expensive men's hair gel is bad."

I don't know why I enjoyed watching her flare up; her face turned pink with embarrassment.

"I didn't write that note, and you really need to return it."

Ignoring that. I wiped my lips clean and signaled the waitress. "I'm stuffed."

I started to reach for my wallet, but Sierra held up a hand to stop me.

"I told you, I got it." Sierra handed her card to the waitress.

Honestly, I don't like women picking up the tab. The only woman I'd let pay is my sister, because she's a pain to argue with.

But still, the waitress probably thought I was a cheapskate with low balls.

"Ma'am, your card's been declined." The waitress whispered to Sierra, but enough for me to hear.

Yep, she was onto me.

"That can't be right; try again." Sierra said.

The waitress shook her head. "Yeah, it's definitely declined."

I watched Sierra pull out her purse, emptying cash and coins on the table, counting, and something twisted in my chest. You'd think being in a popular strip group like the Midnight Vixens would come with a lot of money.

Maybe Sierra was trying to embarrass me.

Feeling worse than yesterday, I handed my card to the annoying waitress.

"Hey, I got the complete bill." Sierra protested.

I shook my head, standing up. "Forget it."

Then I walked towards the exit, ignoring her calling me.

"Wait!" Sierra said.

I should have known better than to trust women.

Back at the manor, I took a long nap, showered, and did a quick change of clothes. Frankie was waiting for me by the door leading to the hallway to my father's—

My office.

I'd never dreamed of calling it mine. But here we are.

"How was Monte Carlo?" I asked with sarcasm.

Frankie smirked. "How was jail?"

I glared at him. "Delightful. Locke thinks he's a wiseguy, cheating me out of paying for the cigars."

"I told you to let me handle it." Frankie sighed.

"Yeah, who'd have thought the bastard would try to kill me, huh? The crackhead could barely land a bullet. See, they added a charge—turns out breaking some idiot's fingers, gets you fined. Fix that and the Locke thing too."

"You got it, boss."

I noticed Frankie's demeanor had shifted. "What?"

"You had a scheduled ten a.m. meeting." Frankie informed nervously.

I looked at my watch. "It's twelve-fifteen."

Frankie shrugged. "Well, he insisted on waiting."

Whatever, no one was more important than me.

Then Frankie unlocked the door.

Everything in me froze mid-step. 

Sitting on a bench in the hallway, Roriano Marchesi glanced at me. His eyes were as deadly as a viper ready to strike, while the memory of putting two bullets in his father's chest crashed back.

Rory stood, his voice cold and blunt. "Hello, Capofamiglia."