Jealous by Lena Little
8
Giulia
Julian rests one hand on the counter and takes a pull from a beer with the other.
“Tonight, I’m going to need one of those two.”
Julian twists his big body at his tree-trunk middle and opens the fridge, twisting off a non-twist off and offering it to me for a split second before pulling it back. “Let me get you a glass.”
“I’m low-maintenance, but thanks.”
Julian pours it in a glass anyway and his arm shoots out in my direction a second time. This time there’s enough time for me to accept and I do so by taking my first ever taste of alcohol. My expression pinches and I wonder how anyone can like this stuff.
“I’ll finish it for you if you don’t want to drink it.”
“Thanks.” I hand it back and rub my wrists where the rope was, a reminder of Julian’s debaucherous game, although I’d say it was anything but a game and the slight rope burns I’m sporting are going to serve as more of a friendly reminder of the pleasure he can give me…mixed with the newfound lust for pain that I’m developing.
Julian takes another swig, almost as if he’s getting antsy or having second thoughts about spilling the beans about this shooting story.
“We’ve needed to talk about these things. I’m glad we’re having this conversation,” he begins, to my surprise. He’s a big beast and I don’t picture him sitting down around the fire singing Kumbaya and discussing feelings. And he doesn’t take a detour in that direction and disappoint in the process when he begins. Instead choosing to spit it out, raw and unfiltered.
“You heard me mention prison a couple of times when we were leaving the card game. That’s because I hadn’t been out of prison more than twelve hours before I met you. And before you ask, no…I’m not fawning over you because I haven’t seen a woman in three years. I’d be the same no matter when I met you, where I met you, or under any circumstances. That said, I spent three years for possession of narcotics.”
“Narcotics? You don’t strike me as the type.”
“Because I’m not. Don Neto and I had an import-export business. Was making really good money importing emeralds from Bogota and then having them woven into bracelets, sparkly clothes for girls, and things like that locally. It was enough money, a lot of money. Plenty of money for me to be happy and I thought Don Neto and his family too…until it wasn’t.” He pauses, his jaw steeling as his eyes go blank as he’s no longer looking at me, but through me. A handful of seconds pass before he looks to the side, revealing the hurt on his face. “One day I catch wind that the fucker wasn't just importing jewels, but also…people. Women to be exact and young ones at that. I approach him at first he tries to deny it. I get him to confess and I tell him to cut that shit out immediately or I will kill him. Truth be told I was going to kill him anyway for doing it, but I needed to give him time so he could close down all the channels since I didn’t know what they were. As soon as I was sure he was completely out of that kind of bullshit I was going to off him. And I told him he had three days to unwind it. All.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing, and as someone who grew up considerably at risk for this kind of thing exactly, my heart melts that there are big, strong men out there still who don’t take advantage of their size but use it to protect others instead.
“So the second day after I threaten him I get S.W.A.T.ed. Yeah, a whole fucking S.W.A.T team shows up at my house out of the blue and finds heroin in my place. Heroin that he must have had planted there when I was out because there’s no fucking way anyone else would have the balls, or stupidly, to so much as try it, let alone pull it off.”
This is not what I was expecting him to reveal…at all.
“So the cops want names. Apparently, they’re trained well enough to know I’m not stupid enough to take that shit, and the litany of drug tests they ran me through obviously proved it to them as well.
“But here’s the thing. No matter how shitty the prick that deals in underground business and even shiny emeralds out of Colombia have an underground element to them, and I’m not talking about anything cocaine related, the fact of the matter is…I. Don’t. Snitch. I handle my problems like a man. Face to face with words or warnings. If that doesn’t work I move to fists and firepower. Catch my drift?”
I nod.
“But there was no way to do that while I was being detained. But, somehow, one day I’m in the detention facility and a quote unquote ‘crazy guy’ breaks in and starts shooting up the place. Here’s where it gets ugly. That crazy guy is actually underage. So his record gets expunged, but being someone who can get to the bottom of things I track this shithead down. His last name is Angel. Kind of a unique name right? Well, I dig some more and find out his real last name is Angelino. That’s the name on his birth certificate…in Sicily. So I dig some more. Have someone get in contact with his biological mother, who luckily is pissed at the man who fathered the child because he doesn’t even acknowledge her existence. But, the boy of course longs to know who his father is, longs for that connection, and the father uses that opportunity, plus the fact the boy is young and full of piss, vinegar, and testosterone, and flies him over to the states and brings him into a little bit of the bad boy life, or at least this poor kid’s perceived version of it from films like The Godfather.”
“So what happened to the boy?”
“Nothing, because he was underage and somehow was able to walk with some sort of counseling program and whatever other bullshit offer they made him.”
“So you’ve never tried to track him down?”
“I didn’t have to. He tracked you down.”
“What?”
“Jake Adams, your class partner. The second name change in less than half a decade. The minute I saw the little shit in the parking lot I knew who it was, and he most certainly knew who I was too. But I wasn’t about to deal with him with you standing right there.”
“I could have turned my head.”
“But I doubt he was working alone. Surely there were more guys right there watching the whole thing go down, ready to take me out. That’s why I just gave him a friendly warning to stay the fuck away.”
“That’s what you call friendly?”
“You’ve seen how I operate. There’s no middle ground.”
“I…I owe you an apology. I didn’t know.”
“You owe me nothing. As a man, it’s my job to protect you and not bother you with the specifics of why I’m doing it. Your job is to enjoy life with a smile on your face at all times and not a worry in the world. Worries are for me to flesh out before they become problems, and eliminate them in advance of any trouble.”
“So you’re planning on…”
“Like I said. Those things are for me to worry about. Let’s let it go and you just give me a big smile and know I’ve got everything under control.”
I’m speechless. My entire body is just still. I’m not in shock per se, but I definitely don’t feel like I’m lying in a hammock on a beach in Puerto Vallarta either, sipping on a margarita. I feel the extremes, but somehow they balance me out into this really grey area. And for some reason, Julian’s sharing makes me feel like sharing. But first, I want more answers because I have no idea when he’s going to open up again.
“How is the emerald business shady?”
“You’re still paying off cops, customs officials, employees who try and steal…stuff like that. We tried to run it above board for a long time, but it just didn’t work. Customs officials want fake taxes, even though we declare exactly what we’re bringing in and are ready and willing to pay those taxes. Local cops try to shut our organization down, saying we don’t have the business permits which are printed in plain view. Employees try to recreate our business model or just steal product outright.”
“So you’re not exactly the baddest of bad guys?”
“I deal with guys that are lower than a snake’s belly, so sometimes I have to get in the weeds and play their games. Sometimes becoming more, more often than not the longer I stay alive, especially on the inside.”
“You mean prison?”
“Exactly. Don Neto’s first hit backfired so he tried again more than a few times. Sleeping with one eye open becomes a real thing, but I’m not about to do it much longer. We’re getting out of here, me and you. Going someplace and starting fresh.”
“What makes you think I want to do that?”
“I may have fallen in love with you at first sight, and didn’t give a damn what was in your past, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t check it just to know.”
“You spied on me!”
“It’s called intel in the circles I run in, and yes…I know you haven’t had it easy in life.”
“I don’t need any handouts or anyone feeling sorry for me.”
“Good, because if you were that kind of girl we wouldn’t have gotten this far in the first place. I believe in honor, courage, and commitment…not just to oneself but to the relationship. And I need a woman who’s faced some adversity and overcome, not some Instagram influencer whose plane ticket from Bali to the Bahamas gets canceled and she throws a first-world shit fit about how the world is out to get her and how life is so tough. I don’t wish difficult lives on people, but I sure as hell respect those that have had them and found ways to overcome them.”
“Because you can relate.”
“Exactly, because we’re one in the same, me and you.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
“Takes one to know one.”
“What am I thinking right now then?” Almost on cue, my stomach growls.
Julian just cocks his head to the side as if to say ‘checkmate’, and I can’t help but giggle. “What are you hungry for, Beautiful?”
“I saw a Subway a few blocks down the other day. I’d really like to get my hands on a footlong meatball sub if possible.”
“I got good news. There’s an authentic Italian sandwich place half the distance as Subway. We can walk. Get out of the house for a second. The air is thick in here after our little talk.”
“True, but I need to lie down after everything that’s happened this morning. My head’s still spinning.”
“I want you by my side. I don’t want you out of my sight until we’re on the road putting this place, this entire country, in the rearview. And even then I’m always going to be watching over you.”
“What about college?”
“Pretty sure they have those where we’re going.”
I slap him on the arm and we both laugh. “I just need some space for a few minutes to process everything.”
“You put your address on any forms you gave the school?”
“Just the P.O. Box like you told me.”
“And you used the burner phone number?”
“Which sounded crazy paranoid at the time but now I can only say thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me. Ever. Although you can show your appreciation on your back later.”
“Okay, enough,” I tease, slapping his arm once again. He’s so big and thick I have no clue how I’d ever be able to do anything physically to him if I even tried. “Wait? What about your shoulder?”
“Government doc took the bullet out and put a plate in there. I can remove it next year if I want.”
“Does it set off alarms at airports?”
“We’re going to find out tonight.”
“Where are we going?” I beg, but he doesn’t budge. “Pleeeeease?” Still nothing. “Daddy!”
“This is the one time that’s not going to work. Now put on a sweater and let’s go get you that sandwich.”
“It’s hot outside,” I argue.
“And you’re as hot as they come and I’m not letting another man look at what’s mine. Make it a turtleneck while you’re at it.”
“Very funny.”
I go for a light blouse that he bought me after we swung by my old place for the last time yesterday and I emptied out my single dresser and got my deposit back.
But as soon as I have the sweater on I plop down on the bed. “I really need to just relax a second. Please?” I try one last time, moving in closer and cupping his balls with one hand as I slide my head up and underneath the bottom of his T-shirt, my head hidden from view, yet pressed against his chest.
“You’re acting like a little kid,” he laughs.
“You mean like this,” I add, stepping up onto his toes. “But the correct terminology is I’m acting like your Little Girl. And if Daddy is nice then I’ll be ready and waiting when you get back. And I’ll be in my naughty mode too.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“Pushover,” I tease, pulling my head out from underneath his shirt and running to the corner of the room before he can spank me.
“One authentic Italian footlong meatball sub coming up in less than fifteen minutes, or your money back.”
“Wait? I have to pay?”
“You’re gonna pay with that pussy of yours…later.”
“Gladly.”
He gives me a wink and then steps out the door. Not ten seconds pass by until I hear him bark, “Why isn’t the door locked behind me yet?”
“Coming!” I run to the door and lock both the doorknob button and the deadbolt.
“Security chain too.”
“Okay, okay!” I do as I’m told and then hear his motorcycle fire up, the engine making the glass shake and my panties moisten instantly.
“That’s my one of a kind man,” I say to myself. “My Daddy. My everything.”
The man who’s protecting me and keeping me safe even when I don’t know it. And not asking for any recognition or so much as a thanks in return.
Now that’s a real man. And one who’s going to get one heck of a thank you when he gets back.
I run to the bathroom and grab my makeup, ready to try and make myself into the best devil I can in the next fifteen minutes. Because when Daddy gets back I’m going to be his naughty little girl.
Before I even have my mascara applied I hear the rumble of his motorcycle and a second later he says, “Forgot my wallet,” in the most frustrated tone I’ve ever heard from him. It’s so odd it almost doesn’t even sound like him, but obviously, it is. Who else has that trademark Ducati motorcycle sound that gets my heart pumping and makes me forget everything else in this world as it announces my Julian is near?
“Coming,” I yell, racing to the door and unlocking the series of locks. But just as soon as I slide the chain to the side and yank the door open, ready to jump up in his arms my entire body freezes.
“Nice to see you again, Giulia,” Don Neto says, holding a pistol off the side of his hip, pointing it right at me.
“I—Julian’s will be here any second!” I announce.
“Keep your voice down, bitch,” he warns, and instantly Jake darts out from behind him and wraps my mouth in duct tape before throwing a black bag over my head.
