The Squabble

I felt much more sober after eating, and my sense of smell began to dull back to its original state. The only downside now was that I was no longer hyper aware of Marco's cologne, and I found myself missing the scent of it pretty soon. Once we'd all eaten, the waiter came back to bring us the dessert menu. Marco turned it down, but I wasn't about to miss the opportunity to eat something expensive and make him pay for it, so I accepted and urged the guards to accept some desserts as well. Of course, Marco got mad at me, but I ignored him. He was like a child.

"Why are you doing what she says? Stop listening to her!" He glared at me petulantly. "And you, stop wasting my money!"

"Shut up. You kidnapped me, you should've known how expensive I am if you've been keeping tabs on me all these years," my eyes scanned the menu and I was thankful that I could finally at least make out the letters again. "I'm feeling like tiramisu, what do you guys feel like having?"

The guards were pensively looking at their own menus, and I waited patiently for them to decide.

"I think I'll have the tiramisu as well… actually, no, make it a panna cotta," guard from the front seat handed the menu back to the server and waited for the other two to make their choice.

"I'll go for the tartufo," left backseat guard handed the menu back and we smiled at each other like we were keeping a secret between us. Marco scoffed beside me and I elbowed him.

"I'll have the sfogliatella," guard from the right backseat handed the menu back, and the server nodded at us before heading to the back.

"You're really missing out on dessert, you know," I whispered to Marco while reaching up to fix my hair. "I hear their zabaione is really good."

"Where'd you hear that from? You've never been here before," Marco furrowed his brows and looked at me all puzzled.

"I heard it from the next table over," I gestured vaguely in the general direction of the table. "It just seems really unbelievable to me that you'd bring me all the way to fucking Italy like you couldn't just hold me in a cell somewhere in the North American area, or literally anywhere else in Europe."

"And risk your being in a place where your father has jurisdiction? I don't think so, pussycat."

My left eyebrow rose like a cobra waiting to strike. My anger was slowly beginning to boil, and I wouldn't risk making a scene by going off on him, but if he called me that again, he'd be choking on himself for dessert.

"You have jurisdiction in the Americas too, no? Why not just take me somewhere there?" I played with my fork and calmly waited for him to answer me. Whilst the Montenegro strong suit was mostly Europe and part of Russia, the DiBiancci's had taken over most of the West and the Mediterranean areas. In this game, there were only a scattered few top dogs, and everyone else was a subordinate.

"It'd be too easy for you to be found," was all he said, but I could tell he was hiding something. If my calculations were correct, Marco was scared of what my father would do if he found out what was happening. He wasn't keeping me hostage because he needed me so much, he was keeping me hostage because he was scared, as he should be.

When Salvador Montenegro unleashed hell, everyone heard about it.

Or, I could be wrong and self absorbed and the only reason he was keeping me around was because he needed me to leverage his way into stealing my throne. Either way, it didn't matter because I'd kill him before he got the chance to do anything. The only question was, how could I kill him without bringing down the wrath of the DiBiancci's upon me before I got the chance to complete my takeover? My only option would be to kill the entire family and just take everything.

It wouldn't be easy… their Middle Eastern units wouldn't react kindly to a woman killing off an entire family in power and taking over their businesses. Not easy, but not impossible. My name wasn't Montenegro for no reason. If I had to dispose of them, I'd do that too. The good news was, once I took power, it was smooth sailing from there. Unless of course they tried to plot mutiny, then I'd just have to kill everyone and replace them from scratch.

If my calculations were correct and I ended up having to go on such a killing spree, I'd have about three hundred deaths on my hands. Not great, but also not terrible. I already had about twenty bodies under my belt, what's a few hundred to add to the list?

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Marco gave me a side eye, and I realised that my eyes had been glued to the side of his face during the entire time I was thinking about death. He really did have fabulous cheek bones. That was the only thing I'd give the Italians credit for. And tiramisu, that shit was off the charts orgasmic, especially when one is high on that poppy powder.

"I'm not looking at you like anything," I cleared my throat and shifted, but when his guards weren't looking, I leaned in and whispered in his ear, "I want to jump your bones right now."

He flinched in his seat and stared at me like I'd lost my mind, to which I promptly began having a fit of giggles behind my hand. He looked so funny when I said something he wasn't expecting. I'd have to throw jokes at him multiple times or else I would never find any joy or comedic relief in this god forsaken country. "You're fucking insane," he muttered.

"So are you, mister chokes-a-lot, so are you," I smiled at him and looked away once our desserts arrived. "You can share my tiramisu," After taking a bite, I pushed my plate towards him and handed him my spoon. "It'll be like an indirect kiss."

"Shut up, Katarina… my god!" He snatched the spoon from my hand and shovelled some cake into his mouth.