Brutal Intentions: Chapter 2

I drop the six-pack of beer onto the counter among the boxes of vegan cookies and paleo protein balls. Artisanal fucking beer. I just want a cold one to take my mind off things, and I have to wade past shelves of quinoa and kale chips.

A freckled young man in a linen apron glances at my tattooed arms and ripped jeans in a way that tells me he’s not loving my presence here. “Anything else, sir?”

I wave a hand at him. “Please. I’m only sir in the bedroom.”

The cashier’s eyes bulge.

I glance at the goods crowded around the register. “I’ll take some gum and the phone number of a blonde who’s great at giving head.”

I get my beer and some gum in a paper bag along with a dirty look. “That will be twenty-four dollars and thirty cents, sir—cents. Thirty cents.”

Twenty-four dollars for some gum and beer? God, I hate it here. I give him a fake grin as I hand over my cash. “No phone number? I guess it’s not my lucky day.”

When I turn around, I run smack bang into a milfy type with dark roots, winged eyeliner, and a lot of gold jewelry. I smile down at her. “Or maybe it is.”

The blonde’s eyes widen, and she pushes out her definitely fake tits. I love fake tits. I love real tits. I don’t really care as long as the woman attached to them enjoys being fucked into the mattress.

Her husband, a man wearing a pastel shirt, loafers, and a sweater knotted around his shoulders, actually steps forward like he’s going to fight me. I nearly burst out laughing because I could flatten this guy with one punch.

I hold up a hand in mock surrender. “Please. I have children.” I flash a smile at his wife. “Or I will by morning. Want to party?”

The husband bristles like a wet cat. “I will call the police!”

For what, hitting on his wife? No one can take a joke on this side of the city. I pull my sunglasses down over my eyes, make my thumb and forefinger into a phone, and hold it to my ear as I take one last look at the blonde. “Call me if you like a big dick, baby. Looks like you could use one.”

The preppy man yells after me, “You’re wearing a wedding ring, asshole.”

I stare at my hand in genuine surprise. There is indeed a titanium band around my ring finger. I keep forgetting it’s there. Giulia chose it, and it’s etched with fussy decoration.

“Thanks for the reminder,” I mutter, shouldering through the door and out of the store. My black Chevrolet Camaro ZL1 is haphazardly parked among the minivans, and when I slide in and gun the engine, heads turn.

The longer I spend in the suburbs, the more I feel I’m going to go postal.

In Giulia’s perfect, white marble kitchen, I crack open the beer bottle on the edge of the counter. The bottle top goes skittering into a corner and I leave it there while I take a swig. The beer tastes like shit, and I stare dispassionately out the window and across the garden.

Someone’s laying on a deck chair by the swimming pool wearing a blue bikini. Mia, my shiny new stepdaughter. A smile spreads over my face.

Speaking of girls who like being fucked into the mattress.

What the hell was that the other night? I mean, I know what it was, at first. I was bored and angry, so I decided I’d go take it out on the one person in the Bianchi family who no one gives a shit about. We’ve got a lot in common, me and her. What I don’t understand is what Mia could possibly have done in her short life to earn everyone’s loathing. Her mom walks around acting like she doesn’t exist. Her uncles never kiss her hello or even smile at her. Everyone talks over her at the dinner table. I get the same treatment from my family but as a confirmed and constant asshole, I definitely deserve it.

I wanted to have a really good, messy fight with Giulia, so I thought I’d go into Mia’s bedroom and make her scream for her mom, but damn if Mia didn’t look cute in her tiny white PJs and feel even better wriggling in my arms. She didn’t scream, no matter how much I manhandled her, and then she went and masturbated on my fingers while she thought I was asleep like some delicious, slutty wet dream. My stepdaughter is as filthy as I am, and that blew my goddamn mind, so I blew hers by forcing a few more orgasms from her.

As she stared at my dick, I thought she was going to beg me to fuck her, but then she ran from me like a scared rabbit. Not very far, though. She can’t get far from me while we’re living under the same roof. The thought makes me smile as I lift my beer to my lips.

My phone rings in my pocket and the smile is wiped from my face as I see who it is. I keep my gaze fixed on Mia’s ass in the sunshine as I lift the phone to my ear. “What?”

“Hello, Lazzaro.” Faber, my eldest brother.

“It’s Laz, you fuck. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

Faber has always called me Laz, but since our father died, he’s started calling me Lazzaro. I know why he’s doing it. To put me in my place. Next, he’s going to demand I call him Fabrizio. I get this shit enough from my wife. Every time Giulia calls me Lazzaro it grates on me like nails down a chalkboard.

He’s Faber and I’m Laz. Why is that so hard for him to understand?

Faber ignores my question. “How are you and Giulia?”

I take an angry swig of my beer. “Why don’t you ask what you’re really calling about?”

“Well, is she?”

Pregnant. That’s my duty, to knock up Giulia Bianchi, because Faber’s got the idea that me becoming a family man will persuade me to settle down. “My brother is calling me to ask if I’m regularly screwing my wife. What a sicko.”

“Believe me, I don’t enjoy this any more than you do.”

My temper bursts apart like a volcano exploding. “Then give me what I’m fucking owed, and we don’t have to do this!”

My brothers are holding my inheritance hostage. My fair share of the family business that Dad started and that I’ve spent twelve years of my life sweating and bleeding for. Faber gets his money. My other brother Firenze gets his. But does Laz? No, they’re keeping their baby brother’s share from him because they don’t like how a twenty-nine-year-old man chooses to spend his leisure time. If I want to screw my way through every beautiful woman in this city, then I damn well will. I don’t care if my bedmates are strippers, waitresses, heiresses, or assassins. I just want to have some fun before I wind up with my blood and brains spattered across the sidewalk. That’s what happened to Dad, a bullet in his head as he was walking back to his car after a spaghetti dinner. His brother was gunned down in the street, too, and so was their father. Rosetti men have short life expectancies.

I can’t sue my brothers because our money is dirty, so it’s either murder them or play along, though if I have to silently screw Giulia’s dry pussy one more time, I might just load a gun. My wife doesn’t move when I fuck her and doesn’t make a sound. Ice-cold skin. Ice-cold heart. Ice-cold pussy.

“You can have your inheritance when you do what’s required of you.”

My lip curls. “Screwing that bitch is like fucking an ice block and you want me to keep going until she’s pregnant?”

Faber makes an impatient noise. “Spare me the details, Lazzaro. Just be a man and get the job done. You’ve never had any problem screwing anything before now.”

Like hell. I don’t fuck just anyone. I have sex with enthusiastic women who get so wet and hot it’s like I’m screwing a living, gushing furnace.

“It’s Laz,” I say through my teeth. “And you fuck her if it’s so easy.”

Faber sighs, and I picture him pinching the bridge of his nose. “You are my constant headache. Giulia has been calling me, Lazzaro. You need to put more effort into settling into your new family.”

His pompous tone ratchets my temper up to a thirteen. Giulia has been calling Faber to complain about me? That’s a fight I look forward to starting later.

“Oh, yeah? You put some effort into pulling that stick out of your ass. Go fuck yourself.” I hang up and toss my phone across the counter. The beer has turned sour in my mouth, so I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and neck half of it.

Marrying Giulia was the biggest mistake of my life because I can see what will happen next. Marrying her? Not enough for Faber. Moving in and playing husband? Not enough for Faber. Knocking that cold bitch up? Not enough for Faber. This was his idea, and I want my perfect, control freak brother to just admit it was a terrible one and give me my money.

If Giulia is already calling Faber to complain about me, then it won’t be long until he’s being driven up the wall. Faber hates complaining. Maybe I can get Giulia’s three equally cold and ruthless brothers to start calling him as well. With them all breathing down Faber’s neck, he’ll crack up and admit his idea was the worst he’s ever had.

I smile to myself. Not a bad plan, Laz. Not bad at all. In the meantime, I’ll step it up a notch.

And I know who I’m going to torment first.

As I head out into the garden, warm afternoon sunshine washes over me. Heat radiates off the white tiles and the swimming pool is a stunning shade of blue. Mia is laying on her stomach reading on her phone. Her legs are slightly parted, and I can see the outline of her plump pussy lips through her bikini. My mouth waters. Pussy that hates your guts and still gushes on your fingers? That’s my new favorite flavor. Pussy I have to steal a touch or a taste of in the middle of the night behind her mother’s back?

Fucking delicious.

Mia has no idea I’m standing over her. I tilt my bottle and trickle a thin stream of water over her pussy, delivering a cold shock to her sensitive flesh.

She gasps and turns over. “What the hell? What are you doing?”

“Making you wet.” I pause, letting my grin grow wider. “Again.”

I’m rewarded with a red blush that flames her cheeks. She grabs her towel and covers herself. “Leave me alone, Lazzaro. I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

“It’s Laz. How was school?”

“Like you care. Go do burnouts in a parking lot or something.”

“That reminds me. I was driving around all last week, and you know what? I didn’t see you with any friends, not even once.”

Her mouth falls open. “You were stalking me?”

I roll my eyes. “Please. So dramatic. Avoiding your mom is my number one priority, so driving is what I do. I passed your skinny ass purely by coincidence. So, what’s the story?”

“The story is mind your own business.”

There are photos of her with friends in her bedroom. Happy photos taken recently. I sit down on the pool chair next to hers and take a swig of water. “Let me guess. Your psycho uncles chased them off?”

Mia fights to hold on to her anger, but as her restraint collapses, her shoulders slump. “Just leave me alone, please. I’ve already lost my boyfriend and my friends. You can’t make me any more miserable than I already am.”

One of my eyebrows lifts. She had a boyfriend? What boyfriend?

She scrubs her hand over her face and sighs. “I hate it here. As soon as I can, I’m leaving.”

“I get it, kid. Family’s the pits.”

Mia sits up and glares at me. She has long brown hair and big brown eyes. Bambi eyes.

“Don’t call me , Lazzaro. We’re not bonding. We’re not going to be friends.”

I kick her deck chair. “I swear to God, if you call me Lazzaro again, I will throw you into this pool.”

Her eyes widen in surprise. “What am I supposed to call you? Dad?”

My mouth twitches, and I want to smile for the first time all day. A real smile, not a sarcastic one to piss someone off. “Kinky. But I told you. Call me Laz.”

Mia lays down and turns back to her phone. “Whatever, Laz.”

I stare at the long, slender line of her back and the curves of her waist and hips. She whatevered me, but I don’t even care because she called me Laz.

Breathing comes a little easier. As I cross the threshold back into the kitchen, I stop dead as I come face to face with Giulia dressing an enormous salad. Something is heating in the oven. There are discarded food packets all over the counter.

I walk to the fridge and grab myself another beer. It might be disgusting, but at least it’s alcoholic.

Giulia glances at the drink in my hand and her mouth tightens. “I see you’re working hard.”

I pick up an empty packet that lays discarded at her elbow and read the label. Beef stroganoff, one of those pre-prepared meals from a fancy catering company. “Darling. You cooked.”

Giulia shoots me a poisonous look. “Tomaso, Roberto, and Marzio are coming to dinner. Make sure you’re dressed appropriately.”

How wonderful, an evening with my wife and her brothers, men who get on my nerves even more than Faber does. I take an angry mouthful of beer and swallow it down. “I had an interesting talk with Faber earlier. Nothing makes a man feel more at home than his wife bitching to his brother.”

My wife picks up a pair of tongs and starts tossing the salad. “I talk business with Fabrizio. I’m glad someone in the Rosetti family has a head for figures.”

I grab the tongs out of her hand. My wife is forty-one and beautiful. Practically a ten. I’ve rarely screwed women more attractive than her, but Giulia never smiles. Never laughs. Has never once tried to make me feel welcome in this house or in her bed. The only time we talk is when we fight. “If you have anything to say to me, say it to my face.”

Giulia considers me, her head tilted to one side. “You’re a pathetic excuse for a man. You don’t hold a candle to your brothers, and everyone hates you wherever you go. You’ll be dead by the time you’re thirty.” She raises one beautifully drawn-on eyebrow. “Is that honest enough for you, darling?”

My hand clenches around the tongs. Giulia knows that my family tree is littered with Rosetti men dead before their time. She just cocked a gun with her words and fired it. Straight into my heart.

“Perfect,” I tell her, my jaw grit tight. “I like my snakes where I can see them.”

I toss the tongs down, grab a piece of cucumber from the salad, and stride out of the room. What I really want to do is put a fist through the wall and go out and get blind drunk. I bite savagely into the cucumber and notice there are bottles of red wine lined up on a side table in the dining room.

Or maybe I’ll just get drunk here and make myself everyone else’s problem.

Twenty minutes later, Mia appears in the dining room wearing a blue dress, pacing back and forth as she sets the table, ignoring me as I’m perched on a windowsill drinking a glass of wine. Giulia directs her with sharp words and pointed fingers.

Tomaso, Roberto, and Marzio arrive, and the thug-like men greet their sister with kisses and friendly words. I’m given a few baleful stares. Mia is totally passed over, but she doesn’t seem to be surprised by this and does her best to blend in with the wallpaper.

As we sit down, Giulia gives me an up-and-down look, and her mouth twists in disapproval when she sees I haven’t changed out of my ripped jeans and T-shirt.

I spread my hands and shrug. “What? You said be appropriate. My dick’s not out.”

My wife gives me a dirty look and then turns away.

The four siblings do all of the talking throughout the salad course. I’m sat opposite Mia at the far end of the table, and everyone pretends we’re not here. I have to snatch at the wine bottle every time it comes close; otherwise, I wouldn’t be offered a drop. Mia tries to take a piece of bread, but it all ends up on Roberto’s side plate.

I toast her ironically with my red wine glass. She gives me an angry little shrug, as if to say she didn’t really want bread anyway.

“We need someone to manage those imports, but who?” Roberto is saying to Giulia. “Have you got any ideas?”

My wife’s gaze rests on me for a moment. “No, I can’t think of anyone responsible enough.”

I lift my wine glass and knock the rest back. I’m wasting months of my life with this woman. Once I knock her up I could fuck off, but that means leaving my kid to be raised by an ice bitch who can’t stomach her own daughter. Faber thinks I have no scruples, but that doesn’t sit right with me. It shouldn’t sit right with any man.

I drink steadily as the meal progresses. For a while, I try to play footsies beneath the table with Mia, but she kicks me so hard in the shin that I go cross-eyed for a moment.

As we’re eating our beef stroganoff, Marzio is telling his siblings an obnoxious story about getting a waiter fired for spilling wine in his lap at a restaurant.

“I can’t wait to have a son and for him to turn out like you lot.” I jerk my chin at my wife’s brothers.

Giulia’s lip curls. “Lazzaro, you’re drunk.”

I reach for the wine bottle and top my glass up nearly to the rim. “Not drunk enough. And it’s not Lazzaro. It’s Laz.”

“It’s piece of shit,” Marzio mutters. Mia is reaching for the dish of buttered beans at his elbow, but instead of passing it to her like the gentleman he thinks he is, he picks it up, serves himself, and then puts it down out of her reach. He didn’t do it by accident, either. It was only for a split second, but he looked her in the eye as he took the dish away.

My gaze swings from Mia to him and back again. No one else at the table noticed the exchange. I open my mouth, and Mia anticipates what I’m about to do.

“Laz,” she whispers with a shake of her head, her huge Bambi eyes begging me not to say anything.

But I never was any good at shutting up.

Loudly and to the table in general, I ask, “Why do you all treat Mia like shit?” Everyone goes on eating and talking, but I know they heard me.

I slam my fist on the table and every glass and plate jumps. “

, why do you all treat Mia like shit?”

Silence falls. The brothers exchange dark glances that say, .

Giulia glances from her daughter to me. “What are you talking about? My daughter can speak for herself if she has something to say.”

Yeah. Except she doesn’t, and now I’m angry enough to do it for her. I give Mia one last chance to speak up, holding out a hand to her and raising my eyebrows. “Well?”

Mia’s lips are tightly closed as she stares at her plate. There’s no trace of the young woman who talked back to me out by the pool. Why is she so scared around these people?

Giulia gives me a small, sardonic smile, and turns back to her brothers.

But I’m not done yet.

“Didn’t I hear a rumor about Mia once?” I say loudly, tapping my chin and pretending I don’t know the reason why all the Bianchis hate an eighteen-year-old girl.

Because I do. I know every last excruciating detail.

Mia is staring at me with huge, pain-filled eyes. Tears are collecting on her lashes, and she gives another shake of her head. She wants me to shut up, but I’m not going to. I’ve had a gutful of family bullshit today, and every Bianchi is going to feel my wrath.

I lift my glass and take an enormous mouthful of wine, pretending to think. As I put it down, I nod as if I just remembered something. “Oh, I know. It’s because of that family scandal my precious, prissy wife caused by screwing around behind her late husband’s back. Giulia got knocked up by a . . . kitchenhand, wasn’t it?” I swing my gaze to my wife.

Actually, it was the owner of her husband’s favorite restaurant, but I say kitchenhand just to get on her nerves. Giulia shoots me a look full of hatred and clasps her wine glass so hard that it might shatter at any moment.

I turn my nasty grin on my stepdaughter. “Mia’s not a real Bianchi. Oh, Mia. How could you do this to your family?”

Not technically true, but it’s how her family treats her. Bianchi is my wife’s maiden name and the one she passed onto her daughters. The Bianchis are a far more prominent family than Giulia’s ex-husband’s and she didn’t want to let her name go.

Mia breathes in sharply, trying to suck those tears back in and pretend like nothing’s wrong. I wait for someone, anyone, to leap to their feet and rip me to shreds for laying the blame of Giulia’s infidelity at Mia’s feet.

No one speaks.

No one moves.

No one even looks at Mia.

Tomaso turns to his sister and resumes their conversation.

I shake my head and take another mouthful of wine. I had to piss people off day after day for ten years in order to receive this sort of treatment at home. All Mia has to do is exist.

She and I stare at each other across the table. She’s breathing fast, but quietly, like she terrified of drawing the tiniest bit of attention to herself.

I pick up my fork and stab it through some green beans. “Pathetic.”

I pass the rest of the meal in silence and so does Mia. She doesn’t touch her food, and no one asks her if she’s feeling all right or if she’d like anything else. When one of her uncles gets up to smoke a cigarette on the terrace, she mumbles something about wanting to be excused and hurries out of the room. No one gives her a second glance.

I get up and follow her.

She’s half running to her bedroom, but I catch up to her in the hall upstairs, grabbing her by the arm and spinning her around to face me. “Wasn’t that interesting? What an dinner.”

She rips her arm out of my grasp, her face creased with emotion. “Screw you, Laz.”

Anger races through me. I grab both her shoulders and push her against the wall. “Oh, you can say it to me, but you can’t say it to them? They won’t lift a finger to defend you, Mia. Not one of them. Some family you’ve got.”

“How dare you bring up that scandal at the dinner table? Their silence wasn’t about me. They were appalled by you.”

I scour her face with narrowed eyes, wondering if she really believes that. Maybe she just desperately wants to. I’ll be doing her a favor by helping her realize that no one gives a damn about her.

“You’re all alone, Mia. No one cares about you. The sooner you accept that, the better.”