baelor's brat

⭑

The familiar black car pulled up beside you for a fourth time, and you tightened your coat around you. The driver’s side window rolled down again, and you kept your gaze forward as you stomped in your heels. Carmine’s driver simply gave you a look, having already said what he needed to say, and you pretended as if you didn’t see him.

“You know he’s going to kill me if you walk all the way home.”

Your lips trembled at the mention of your boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend—and you’d be lying if you said your feet weren’t killing and you weren’t wholly tempted to hop right in the fancy car. It was cold and your feet hurt and your throat ached.

You could only imagine the nasty bruise that would be there in the morning.

Your eyes watered again at the memory of his hands around your neck—not a first for either of you—but you hadn’t done anything this time. It was all him, and somehow you bore the brunt of some punishment as if you’d been the one screwing around. Your face crumbled and tears immediately spilled over as you recalled the sight of him and some blonde, and while, no, nothing looked outright wrong, his refusal to be straight with you had only worsened the thoughts already running around in your head.

Your tears made the cold air more biting as it hit your face, and you suddenly stopped, in turn causing the car beside you to stop too. Going over it again in your mind had anger bubbling up inside of you all over again, and before you could remind yourself how deep in shit you were already in, you opened the back door and slid into the backseat. 

You knew his driver felt relieved, and you almost felt bad.

As you reached for the bottle of champagne Carmine always kept in the sedan, you thought about the screaming match that had only occurred an hour earlier. It felt wrong to call it a match per se because it was mostly just you screaming and breaking things.

“I told you, Carmine,” you’d spat. “I told you!”

Another glass hit the floor, and you hadn’t cared to look at his face as you reached for another.

“Do I look like the kind of woman who shares a man? Who sits at home while you’re out God knows where with God knows who like some obedient little dog?”

Another glass narrowly missed his head, and you’d stumbled back when he took a step towards you, the kitchen island in between you.

“You might think there’s a bitch in this relationship, but I can promise you it’s not me–.”

The dark-haired man had started taking long strides before you even finished, and you’d hurriedly turned to escape the kitchen, uncaring of the glass under your bare feet. Your legs were fast, but not fast enough, and Carmine had the back of your dress tangled in his fist in no time. The slap that followed was loud.

You would have been proud of yourself if it hadn’t been for the hand around your throat.

“Control yourself–.”

“No,” you’d screamed, immediately descending into a fit. “I saw you, and all night you’ve done nothing but treat me like I’m stupid!”

His face was blurry from your tears, but that hadn’t stopped you from slapping him over and over. The wall shook from the force in which he’d shoved you against it, and as much as it had hurt, it hadn’t deterred you in the slightest. Satisfaction filled you when his shades clattered to the floor from the force of your hand.

Unfortunately the force of his hand was harder.

You’d sobbed at the foot of the stairs while Carmine stood over you, and it was the only sound in the house for a while. You suspected that anyone else in the place—a maid, a cook, a bodyguard—had long made themselves scarce from the moment you’d started throwing anything you could get your hands on from the second floor. He’d seemed content to let you cry for a while, and you’d heard him move.

You hadn’t needed to look up to know that he was walking towards those same dark shades you’d slapped off of his face. You’d suspected that he’d put them on before making his way back over to your hunched frame, and when he’d reached for you—the tips of his fingers just barely brushing your arm—you’d slapped them off again.

You were on your feet before he could react, grabbing the first pair of shoes you could find lying around before picking up what turned out to be his coat. You hadn’t spared him another glance as you’d swiped your purse up from where you’d dropped it on the floor, stomping outside into the cold, absolutely determined to walk home.

You had only made it maybe two minutes up the street when that familiar luxury sedan pulled up beside you, his driver begging you to get in. You were so angry that you couldn’t even find it in you to be moved by Carmine sending his driver after you to at least take you home. Normally it would have warmed your heart, but all you’d been able to think about was him and that woman. The other man had circled three more times to convince you to get in before finally succeeding on the fourth.

The whole way home, you alternated between taking a sip of champagne and pouring some out on the nice leather seats. Your face hurt and your neck hurt and your heart heart, and at this point all you wanted was to make Carmine as angry as he’d made you and find comfort in your bed that was thankfully empty of the other man.

When the car finally rolled to a stop outside of your apartment, you emptied out what little was left in the Perignon right onto the floor before leaving the empty bottle right on the seat.

For the fifth day in a row there was an incessant knock at your front door.

For the fifth day in a row, you ignored it.

It wasn’t anyone important, only Kenzie, and you merely stared at the wall as the pounding reached your ears. For five days you were in torment for both the obvious and not so obvious reasons. Your neck—and face—did indeed bruise just as badly as you suspected it would, and it was more of an inconvenience than anything that anytime you left the house you had to be extra meticulous about your makeup. You’d cursed Carmine with every pat of concealer to your skin.

Five days without him felt like a heaven you’d forgotten existed, but five days without him also felt like a hell you knew all too well.

Carmine was so bad for you—in truth you were probably so bad for each other—but you missed him like crazy. You’d gotten into fights before, a few of them much bigger than this, but this one hurt you the most. He hadn’t even been doing anything of consequence with that girl that night, but you had to be honest with yourself and admit that you hadn’t liked the way she looked at him nor stood near him. 

His refusal to reassure you had only made you angrier.

Before you knew it, half of his house was broken at the bottom of the stairs. You recalled how he’d looked at you—like some bratty child—and it had only pissed you off more. Why couldn’t he just give you what you wanted? Why did he insist on letting you stew in your thoughts? You’d come to the conclusion that your suspicions had to be correct then, and considering Carmine was Carmine, he wasn’t going to lie for anyone or placate anyone just for the sake of doing so.

You saw red.

You pulled your cover over your head when Kenzie knocked again, and you had half a mind to tell him to fuck off, but you knew that if you opened that door, you’d just be dragged right back to that stupid mansion. Like the previous days, it became quiet again after a while, and relief filled you as you relaxed. You had no intention of going back to that house nor that man.

You were still so angry at Carmine, and you’d meant it when you resolved yourself to leave him for good. It wasn't the violence but instead the way he made you doubt your place in his life, and you knew how messed up that was, but that was your relationship with Carmine Falcone. Through it all, you knew he would kill for you and never once make a fool out of you.

Now, you’d be content to never see his face again.

Carmine, on the other hand, wasn’t quite done with you.

It was the seventh day without him when you left your bedroom to find none other than the man himself sitting on your couch. You’d stopped short at the sight of the shadowy figure in the dark room—only lit by the light coming from your bedroom—and even before flipping on the switch you knew who it was. You couldn’t even find the strength to be mad at him, only wanting him gone.

He was dressed plainly—plainly for him—and he looked as menacing as ever in your living room dressed in all black with those same infuriating shades covering his eyes. You wanted to knock them off for a third time, but you thought better of it. When you huffed a sigh, he finally spoke.

“I thought I told you to change that lock.”

The lock on your door was faulty, something he nagged you about a million times, and you rolled your eyes.

“For what? You’d just have a key made behind my back, anyway.”

“Any one of these lowlifes in this city could break in,” he deeply commented, still not looking at you as he sat so relaxed on your couch.

“If someone wanted to break in, a brand new lock wouldn’t stop them, believe me,” you scoffed. “Besides, if I’m dead then you can parade your whores around the city as much as you’d like.”

You said it with a shrug, tone sweet and mocking, and Carmine didn’t like that. You swallowed when he stood, narrowing your eyes and keeping your gaze on him. It was only when he slowly moved towards you, finally facing you now, did you take notice of the huge box next to where he was sitting on the couch. Your gaze lingered on it for half a second before you were distracted by the man before you.

“Her name is Svetlana…” you made a noise at that. “...and she’s not a whore.”

There was a brief pause.

“Not mine, anyway.”

You tried to keep your face even, but you couldn’t hold back the slight frown that graced your features. You remained still as he got closer, but you couldn’t lie to yourself and say you weren’t nervous. This was the closest you’d been to him in days, and when he stopped before you, you eyed him.

“She’s moving to California…”

You shrugged at him as if to say ‘so?’.

“...and she knows how much you love that mink coat she has.”

Your lips parted for half a second before you snapped them shut, crossing your arms over your chest and frowning at him. It was deathly silent as the implication behind his words hung in the air, and you could feel your face heating up just as Carmine continued.

“Obviously she’s not going to get much use out of it over there, and we both know I can be persuasive.”

Your throat felt tight, and you briefly glanced away from him. You didn’t know what to think, feeling utterly embarrassed, and you could feel your eyes watering. To keep yourself from embarrassing yourself any further, you lashed out, of course.

“Persusaive,” you snidely repeated. “She wants to fuck you.”

Carmine merely tilted his head at that, gaze boring into you from behind those shades.

“I’m sure she does,” he agreed. “...just as I’m sure you’d love taking her coat from her instead of buying a brand new one for yourself…because she wants to fuck me.”

You felt your heart skip a beat at that, something settling in the pit of your gut that made you feel warm. You and Carmine stared at each other for some time before you finally broke, face crumbling as you looked away.

“Why did you let me think you were fucking her?” you tearfully wondered. 

He didn’t answer right away, opting to move closer until his chest brushed against your arms. You kept your gaze on the wall as he leaned in, and Carmine brushed his lips against your cheek—the bruised one. His facial hair tickled your skin, and when he kissed you, he lingered.

“...you’re beautiful when you’re jealous.”

When you slapped him this time, it was weak, and you both knew it.

“You’re such an asshole,” you cried, shaking your head. “I don’t want your fucking coat.”

Carmine raised an eyebrow at you.

“No?” he wondered, backing up.

“No,” you spat.

You watched him open the box, and despite what you said, you couldn’t take your eyes off of it as he pulled it out of the box. It was just as beautiful and plush as you remembered, possibly even more so now that you’d taken it from that plastic Barbie who’d been looking at Carmine like she wanted to wear him. When Carmine neared you with it, you swallowed.

“Just try it on,” he murmured, and before you could even attempt to protest, one of his hands was pulling at the belt on your robe.

His fingers grazed your skin, and you shuddered, hoping he didn’t notice. You let him slide it off of you, the fabric whispering to the floor, and you gazed at him from beneath your lashes as he swung his arms around you, the thick fur fabric landing gently on your bare skin. He put your arms through it, and you hated how good it felt.

When his hands rested just under your jaw, you closed your eyes at the feeling of his lips on yours.

“It’s perfect on you, beautiful.”

You pulled it closer to your skin, pulling away a bit.

“Really?”

He only hummed in response, leaning in again and pressing kisses to your throat. You tilted your head, letting him, and you softly exhaled when his hand slid inside of the coat. You couldn’t hold back the small smile when his fingers crawled between your thighs.

“You going to fuck me in her coat?”

Carmine made a noise of disapproval, pushing his fingers into you and making you gasp.

“Your coat,” he corrected. “I’m going to fuck you in your coat.”

You wanted to be in his lap, and Carmine obliged, hands on your hips as you pushed yourself down onto his cock over and over again. The thick winter piece slid off of your shoulder as you gently rode him, lashes fluttering as he kept a firm grip on your waist. You didn’t know if the sweat was from your movements or from the fur on your skin. It was probably a combination of both, but you didn’t care.

When Carmine pressed kisses to the bruises on your neck, you moaned, head thrown back to allow him to do so. His hands were tight on your hips, and his pants were rough against your skin as you pushed yourself down onto him. You could feel the cool metal of his ring against you, and you reached down to place your hand on top of his.

Your other hand was on the back of the couch.

You hadn’t touched Carmine in a week, and as mad as you were, it was also killing you inside. At the time, the thought disgusted you, having convinced yourself he was seeing someone else. Of course, now that you knew he wasn’t, you didn’t want him to take his hands off of you. 

When you leaned in to press your face into his neck, he moved your hips over him for you. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed at how wet you were, sliding up and down his cock with ease. You could hear it every time you covered the length of him completely, and the jealous and vindictive part of you was turned on even more because of the coat that was now yours, gracing your skin as you fucked your boyfriend, the article of clothing once owned by the same woman who wanted what she couldn’t have.

Million Dollar Man

Carmine Falcone only has a few precious things in his life. You’re one of them, and that’s why he kisses every bruise he leaves behind.

Mo Money, Mo Problems

You're a nightmare to deal with but Carmine wouldn't have it any other way.

Blood Money

When you left Carmine this time, you were determined to stay gone, completely forgetting how little of a choice you actually have in this relationship.

𓂇 dividers: @firefly-graphics+ @moonstoneandmoonlight