Savage Little Games: Chapter 9

After our shopping is done, Salvato drops me and the purchases off at the penthouse before telling me he’s got work to do before dinner.

I try to call Cole the second his footsteps fade away from the bedroom. Of course, my son doesn’t answer. I send him a text hoping he’ll be more inclined to type back a response.

The rest of the afternoon is spent waiting for a response. One finally comes a few minutes before the required seven o’clock dinner.

I gave birth to him, work my ass off to pay his tuition, and all I get back after hours of worrying is one word.

If anything was wrong, hopefully he would call and tell me. At some point I’ll need to let Cole know where I’ll be staying for the next few months, but not yet.

I wish I could trust Salvato not to harm my son, but I don’t. Besides, there are other ways to inflict pain than by physically hurting someone.

I’m so busy worrying about the fucked-up things that the mafia king could do that I don’t even notice he’s in the room until he speaks.

“Ready for dinner?”

“Yeah. Yes,” I say as I slip off the bed and slide my feet into my shoes.

“You’re not going to change dresses, are you?” he asks when I walk up to him.

“No. What’s wrong with this one?” I ask.

“Nothing. Let’s go. Dinner is in the upstairs dining room.” He has more than one dining room? Wow.

“Who cooks?” I ask as I follow behind him, trying to keep up with his long stride.

“Hired chef. Why?”

“Right. I didn’t think you spent hours in the kitchen or anything.”

He doesn’t bother responding. In fact, his shoulders look tense as we walk up the stairs and into a formal dining room twice the size of the one on the first floor. There’s a long table that seats twelve, but only five places are set.

Salvato takes the seat at the head of the table, of course. I pull out the chair to his right. He opens his mouth to say something as I sit down, just before three beautiful women file into the room, leaving me speechless. There’s a brunette, a redhead, and one with jet-black hair. None of them look old enough to drink. And what the hell? Am I a blonde to complete his little collection?

They’re all dressed up like it’s a requirement, and they pull out chairs without thought, taking seats at the table as if they’ve done it hundreds of times.

“Who the fuck is she?” the redhead asks.

“Watch your mouth, Cass,” the mafia king says in warning.

“She’s in my seat.” The brunette huffs as she jerks out the chair next to mine.

“Is she wearing my dress?” That question comes from the one with hair as black as Dante’s. She’s sitting on the opposite side of the table in a chair next to the redhead, glaring at me. “Why the fuck is she wearing my dress?”

“Sophie!” That warning comes out in a near growl from Salvato.

Oh god. That’s where he got the clothes and makeup from? His…lovers? I thought he didn’t have sex in his bed! And my god, they are so young…

Wait. Do they all live on the third floor? Is that why I’m not allowed to go up there? Ew, I’m wearing one of their panties?

“Vanessa, this is Madison, Cassandra, and Sophie, my lovely, occasionally respectful, daughters.”

“Daughters?” I exclaim aloud, eyes nearly bulging out of my head. Trying to regain my composure, I lower my voice. “They’re your daughters?”

Jeez. No wonder they’re all so young. Where are their mothers? I’m guessing there is more than one since none of them look anything alike.

“Vanessa’s going to be staying here with us for a few weeks,” Dante tells them.

My mind feels like the exploding head emoji.

“Why?” the redhead asks.

“Because I asked her to stay,” he grits out which isn’t exactly true. He didn’t give me a choice.

“Welcome to our prison,” the brunette seated next to me mutters as she studies me. “Are you allowed to leave, or does he have you shackled here too?”

“Ah…” I look to Dante who rolls his eyes. “It’s for your own safety,” he says, as if what she mentioned is actually true.

“You don’t let them leave?

?” I ask him quietly.

“Only if I’m with them, and we have guards with us.”

“Wow. That’s…sad.”

The girls all turn down their glares by a degree or two.

“I have enemies every—” he starts.

“

don’t have enemies, do they?”

“Damn. Did she just interrupt him?” his raven-haired lookalike asks.

“And no, we don’t have enemies,” the brunette answers. “Only the Don does, right, Daddy?”

Hearing him referred to as is so freaking strange. In the bedroom, sure, but as a father figure, no. But it’s right there on his stern face, his love and protectiveness over them.

“This fucking discussion is over!” he roars in what I now know is not just the mafia king tone but his daddy voice.

All eyes lower to the empty plates obediently. Still, I can’t help pointing out, “Hypocritical of you to get pissed when one of them says fuck.” Maybe I’m still a little angry about him watching me try on clothes earlier. It was embarrassing, and it hurt my ribs.

“Exactly! Thank you!” his lookalike says.

“Why is she even here? I get the feeling that she doesn’t like you very much,” the redhead tells her father.

“Her name is Vanessa. And she doesn’t like me,” Dante replies as he glowers at me. His blue eyes are dark and threatening before he adds, “

.”

“I am like, so confused,” the brunette whispers with a sigh while rubbing the side of her head.

“I bet she doesn’t last a week,” the redhead says as she grins at her sisters.

“Three days,” the brunette counters.

Smiling, the raven-haired one throws in her guess. “Five days at the most.”

“Your father paid seventy-six thousand dollars to bail my ex-boyfriend out of a hole and made me agree to stay here with him for seventy-six days so he wouldn’t kill him.”

Three jaws simultaneously drop as they turn to stare at their father. Dante looks like flames or lightning is about to shoot out of his eyes to strike me down.

“Wow, Daddy. That’s fucked up,” the black-haired one remarks.

“They didn’t need to know all of that, did they?” Dante grits out. “You and I are gonna have a chat later, butterfly.”

“Butterfly?” the redhead repeats, her nose wrinkled in disgust. “Ew. She already has a pet name?”

“I’ve worked as a cocktail waitress downstairs in one of the lounges for four years. He saw the butterfly tattoos on my back and has called me that ever since.”

“And she loves it,” Dante declares.

“No, I don’t.”

“This is so weird,” the brunette remarks. “It’s like we’re in the .”

“Anyway…” Dante says loudly. “Let’s eat.”

As if waiting for the cue, several servers appear out of thin air, bringing covered dishes into the room, placing them before each of us. Water glasses are filled for the girls, red wine for me and Dante. Then the staff all disappear.

When the servers are gone, Dante sounds slightly calmer when he asks, “What did the three of you do today?”

“Same old,” they all say at the exact same time.

“I would love to know what you all did today,” I tell them. “And to get your names again, one at a time instead of all run together.”

“And I’d love to escape this hellhole, but I’m shit out of luck,” the brunette declares.

“You know how you can leave,” Dante tells her.

“I’d rather be here bored out of my mind than free and fucking some old guy!”

“What?” I ask in confusion.

A growl from Dante has the brunette slumping down in her seat. She sips her water, refusing to even pick up her fork. “Whatever. My name is Madison.”

Brown hair is Madison. Got it. One down, two to go. Then I process what she just said.

“You want her to marry a random man?”

“He’s not random, and this discussion is over,” Dante grits out. He doesn’t appear to be eating much either, just pushing food around on his plate.

In fact, the one who looks most like him is the only one shoveling food in as fast as possible. When she notices me watching her, she says, “I burned like thousands of calories on the tennis court today.” Her blue eyes narrow and she adds, “And my name is Sophie.”

The one who looks like Snow White is Sophie. The brunette is Madison. Which means…

“You must be Cassandra,” I say to the redhead who rolls her eyes.

“No shit.”

Ah, Cass is crass. Snow White is Sophie. The brunette is Madison. I definitely have it down now.

Not much else is said as I nibble on the chicken, pasta, and vegetables. Everyone declines dessert and then flees the table.

Even Dante is up and out of there, so I follow him back downstairs.

As soon as we’re alone in his bedroom, I slip off my shoes. “So…that was awkward.”

Looking out at the sun setting over the city he says, “Nobody bled, so it went better than I expected.”

“Did you actually think they would attack me?”

He doesn’t turn around when he answers. “You or each other. They’ve never got along very well.”

“Do they all have different mothers?”

His head seems to droop at that question. “Yes.”

“Where are they?”

“Dead.”

“Dead?” I repeat. “All of their mothers are dead?”

“Yes.”

Holy shit. I thought the rumor about Dante killing lovers was a dark exaggeration.

“What…what happened to them?” I’m compelled to ask.

“That’s none of your fucking business,” he snaps.

“You’re mad at me because I asked a question or because of what I said at dinner?”

“I’ve got shit to do. Stay here,” Dante tells me. Then he storms out, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him so hard it makes me startle. Which I absolutely hate. I don’t want to be afraid of him. I reassure myself that I am not afraid of Dante Salvato. He’s not really angry at me. I don’t think, anyway.

Even when I don’t mean to, I guess I just have a tendency to say things that piss the mafia king off. And why that bothers me, I have no idea.

But I have no plans to follow his command, to stay like I’m his freaking dog.