DUTY

FOUR

The dress hid little. To the point that I considered setting the Halloween candy outside and taping a take as much 'as you can carry' note to it. Surely, it'd be better than facing heated mom stares I was bound to get.

Fuck it.

You're Mila f*****g Scott.

With clammy palms, I stroked the beads of the dress again. They hung off the bodice as little glittering icicles. Two thin straps the only defense against the weighted dress from hitting the floor. My wild hair felt somewhat contained in a simple headband a long banded feather.

Every step to the living room was echoed with the beads chiming and trilling. I bent down in front of the entertainment center, jabbing at buttons until a bass ebbed through the room. Anything to cover up the sounds falling off me.

To my surprise, the house was empty save for the usual stragglers. Halloween and a Friday night - I had thought we'd be packed. Admittedly, I'd been more than a little excited to waltz around my home while people parted for me. While people watched me and my man live the life they wanted.

But that would require Tom to be here.

A twist of the dial and the treble jumped, words floating through the room. As the tempo rose, I fell into a shimmy, mesmerized by how our new light fixture flecked light off the beads, each one a collection of mirrors. I was more a disco ball than a flapper. Each braid of beads followed my movements, half a second behind, slapping at the bare skin of my thighs.

I got it.

If it was socially acceptable, I'd be found in one of these dresses every day.

The front door slammed, harder than our doorman, Freddy, ever let it, pulling my attention.

Roman, feet spread, hair matted with water locked eyes on me and bound across the room. A reckless hand wound around my arm and then he was pulling, tugging and yanking me down the hall. When prying his hand off didn't turn fruitful, I began scratching, sinking nail into the thin skin of his hands eliciting an angry groan from him. From across the room, our guests, the so called regulars stared and stilled. No one crossed roman, a god among men,

"Stop it." He hissed, flicking a wet lock of hair off his face. He threw open my bedroom door and shoved me inside, entering behind me.

I looked up at him, getting on even footing. He was tall, awkwardly so when he stood this close to me, my neck craning back, hair draping down my backside. "What do you think you're doing?" I demanded stepping backward to give myself some air.

"Saving your f*****g ass. Just stay in here."

"Unlikely."

Trouble wrinkles creased my forehead. "Did you just slap my hand away?"

"I'll do it again." he looked at me intently. His eyes a swirl of maybe every color to exist. But beyond the rainbow, beyond the hypnotizing effect, I thought I saw a hint of guilt. Guilt over what his duties were, over what he was doing to me.

"Classy." I snorted and jumped onto our bed. "Is Tom safe?" I asked.

A long pause while Roman's eyes darted over the room, assessing the side tables, the dresser, the bed, me stretched across it. "Yes."

I relaxed, wiggling further up the bed, sinking not the mattress hyper aware of Roman's illicit presence in my bedroom. I sat up slowly, crossing my ankles out in front of me. "Can you at least put out the candy? It's Halloween."

"No one's stupid enough to trick or treat here."

I frowned. I suppose that made sense. "I would." I shrugged. Always important to hit up the big houses, they had the best candy.

"I know you would." he sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping to accommodate him. "A flapper?"

"You like?"

"It's fitting. Outrageous, immoral woman with a taste for danger."

"They were the first independent American woman." I shot back covering my stomach, "So I understand your distaste. You'd rather a woman be shoved in a room and kept out of the way. "

"You have no idea what I want."

"Hard to hear the truth isn't it Roman?"

Without flinching, Roman took a step backward and burst out laughing. "I don't expect the Don's w***e to understand me."

That was enough. Regardless of Roman's loyalty, Tom would never let someone speak to me that way. I pushed off the bed, slipped out of my heels and ran, throwing open the door and padding down the hall. The bare wood stinging my feet. Roman's domineering steps just behind me, I ran into the main room and slid to a stop. Bare feet sticking to the floors, I skidded, tripped and fell on my knees.

Tom drenched in red had a phone in his ear, a body at his feet. Around him, men with the same coloring debating something, pointing at the body at each other.

Rough hands grabbed at my shoulders, Roman dragging me up, pulling me back from the crime scene. I thrashed at him. the second's battle caught Tom's eye. His expression changing immediately at the sight of me being manhandled.

I almost smiled. I would've if tom hadn't strode across the room dragging with him the stench of blood and sweat.

Roman froze, caught by his boss. hands going slack around me, he raised then and stepped away. Tom steeled a murderous glance at Roman and dropped it, pulling me into him, coiling his arms around me, burying his face in my hair.

Wet warmth covered me, thick and sticky anywhere tom held me. We stood like that for a long moment. And in that moment, I knew.

I knew that whatever people said about the drug trade, whatever the papers called the don. Heartless and cruel didn't fit. The way he shook around me, gripped me like a lifeline, I knew this, that body, the blood was something that tore at him.

As sudden as the hug came, Tom cut it short, releasing me, his hand tracing the hollow of my cheek. "My beautiful flapper," he whispered.

I spun for him, the front of my dress stained a splotchy pink, individual beads soaking and clinging to the red, desperate for the pigmentation. Barely, just barely there, the trace of a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

Tom dug in his back pocket. for a phone, for a gun, for that tiny bottle of white candies. I wouldn't have even been surprised if he'd pulled out a hash brown.

But all my guesses flew out of my head when he dropped to his knees and revealed what he grabbed. A ring.

A white gold band delicate, exploding upwards to hang onto the diamond front and center.

"Marry me."

Not a question and not a command.

A plea.

There, Roman raging behind me, a stranger decomposing behind Tom, the both of us soaked through in blood, I nodded.

"All you of. Everything. I love you." I dropped to my own knees and wrapped Tom up in my arms.

"You own me." He murmured as he slid the ring on my finger.