Vicious little mouse
Ettore
I stood nude,dripping wet in front of the bathroom sink with swirls of steam curling around me, fogging the mirror. My heart thumped in my chest as I kept my heavy gaze on the uncovered bullet wound just above my breastbone. I lifted my hand and felt over the reddened surrounding area, hissing through my teeth when I poked a particularly sensitive spot.
An inch lower.
The blood pumping through my veins turned ice cold.
A single inch lower and nothing could have saved me.
I clenched my jaw so tightly that my temples throbbed. I could see the steady heartbeat jump at my throat. My eyes flashed as the thought of what could have been danced in my mind.
My lip curled in repugnance when I thought about her, crying in the next room. I wasn’t moved by her tears because despite what happened today, I wasn’t a stupid man. She wasn’t crying with genuine regret. She was crying because her abhorrent plan failed and now, she had to deal with the consequences like a big girl. “Vicious little mouse.”
With a shake of my head, I snagged a towel off the shelf and patted myself dry. I tried my best not to get my wound wet, but avoiding the odd few droplets of water was impossible. My touch gentled as I passed over the wound, but even though I barely grazed it, a sharp sting speared through me, and I watched in irritation as a droplet of blood pooled at between the staples holding it closed. That single droplet quickly turned to two and then a thin trail of blood was making its way down one side of my body. And that was about all I could take on this incredibly taxing day.
I laughed bitterly, shaking my head while pressing the towel to the seeping lesion. “Oooh. You vile cunt.”
Of course, I get saddled with a loose cannon.
I didn’t know Vittoria Vero before today. Unfortunately, I had the displeasure of dealing with her sister, Vincenza, multiple times. Our families’ roots were deeply entwined. It went deeper than just a solid partnership. The friendship that my father had with Renato Vero spanned decades and when he was killed, Vincenza and Vittoria were left orphans. They weren’t the only ones to feel the loss. If I didn’t know my pops so well, it would have been presumptuous to assume Renato’s death brought on his early retirement from our firm. I never asked the question outright, but a heavy sadness cloaked my dad after the tragedy with Renato occurred. He hasn’t been the same since.
It was my father who suggested I take a Vero as my wife.
I didn’t bother to hide my disdain at the idea. I’d been married once before. It took him months of gentle coaxing to get me onboard. He called it penance. I didn’t feel such a drastic step needed to be made to make amends – In fact, I didn’t think amends needed to be made at all – but here I was, married under God to a twenty-one-year-old nutcase.
“Should have seen it coming,” I rumbled under my breath, disappointed in myself.
Yes. I should have. But the moment I saw her, I was blinded. I couldn’t seem to see past her beauty. There was something about her. Her eternally wide doe eyes were the prettiest shade of brown I’d ever seen a person wear. Her hair was long and thick, flowing in waves down the delicate line of her back. She was small but soft. She had hips and her ass was full but firm. I couldn’t take my hands off of it while she ground her hot, wet pussy down on my cock, reaching for her high.
It was then I was reminded that she was a virgin and I took her far too roughly. Perhaps I should have felt guilt over it. A normal man might have.
I didn’t.
The thought of taking her again and making her hurt had my flaccid cock turn into a fat semi.
I was her husband. She was mine. Nothing more than a lifelike toy for a man to play with.
I could walk out of this room, force her to her knees, order her to open her mouth and drive my cock down her fucking throat. I could drag her by the arm and bend her over the arm of sofa, spit on her other virgin hole and push inside without a care for her enjoyment. I could take her again and again, fucking her raw, twisting her into the most humiliating positions, biting her smooth skin until she was as bruised as my ego was, taking what I needed then pushing her away, leaving her small, stretched hole dripping with my cum.
I could do it if I so desired.
My head turned and I glanced at the closed bathroom door.
Right then, I was mad enough to consider it.
Listen to you.
And just like that, my cock deflated along with my wrath.
“Fuck,” I said as exited the bathroom and walked nude into the master bedroom, tossing the bloody towel aside as I went through my bag, finding a pair of black cotton pajama pants. I didn’t bother with underwear, just slipped them on, replaced the gauze over my wound, retrieved my phone and dialed the number, standing by the window, looking out over my city.
God. She’s just a fucking kid.
Vittoria was just a girl. Sure, legally, you had to consider her an adult, but if I had to be impartial about it, the truth was all I saw was a young, stupid girl who did an idiotically reckless thing and was now cowering somewhere in the suite, terrified for her life.
I wouldn’t go to her. She didn’t deserve comfort and I certainly wouldn’t be the one to provide it.