41. Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty
Olivia
R iccardo is coming for me. I can feel it in my bones. Alessandrio’s apartment was starting to feel like home, and Riccardo desecrated it. My teeth are chattering, icy fingers clawing their way down my spine. Riccardo was in our space. A space that once filled me with as much fear, before slowly feeling like home. And now it’s tainted. De Luca is dead and Riccardo put him there—because of me?
My body quivers with panic as I try to focus my eyes on the road. Alessandrio’s hand draws my attention as his claw hits the radio as he adjusts some settings. Classical music fills the van and I shift my eyes to him. He’s a walking, talking contradiction, all hard edges and vengeance and yet—and yet he’s thoughtful. I try to take some inconspicuous deep breaths as that same hand that adjusted the radio finds my knee, and its warmth chips away at the ice in my veins.
Beneath his touch, I feel myself relax, focusing all my energy on my breathing as we leave the city. I expected Lucia and Emilio to live in a place near the other Mafia families, but it appears they live even further out of New York. When Alessandrio pulls the van into a driveway before a security booth and a curling iron gate, I can’t even muster the energy to admire the sprawling home before us. Not as two armed guards greet Alessandrio with familiarity. Everything is feeling too real. I was just meant to play a part and now a man is dead and Alessandrio is going to leave me here so he can go back out into the danger.
The house sprawls beneath the early night sky, lit up from within, warm and inviting. Yet my entire being feels cold and empty. As we approach, I see movement in a window near the entrance and watch Lucia step out as Alessandrio pulls up before the steps. I don’t wait for him and climb out of the car as Lucia runs down the steps.
“Are you okay?” she asks, brown eyes wide with concern as they scan me and then Alessandrio.
“Yes,” I croak, feeling the weight of the events press in on me as I realize I only saw her hours ago.
And now everything has changed. I cast a glance at Alessandrio, his face an unreadable mask.
“Thank you for offering your home,” he says tightly.
“Of course. Don’t be silly, we are family.” That makes Alessandrio flinch and his jaw tighten. “You must be exhausted and hungry. I readied your rooms.” She gestures for us to follow.
“Only one room will be necessary,” Alessandrio replies, his velveteen palm slipping against my own.
I see Lucia’s mouth pull slightly up at that, but she turns and walks up the stairs. When we enter her home, I almost pause entirely in the entrance, two curving staircases leading up to the next level span each side of an entryway.
“Main living, entertaining area,” she points out before starting up the stairs.
I’m grateful for Alessandrio’s hand, allowing me to look around as he leads me up.
“That’s our wing of the house.” She points down a hall. “I set you both up in the other wing and gave you rooms with views.” We pass door after door and finally, after what seems like forever, Lucia gestures to two rooms and offers us a soft smile. “You can pick your favourite. Knowing you wouldn’t have time to grab clothes, I put a sweatsuit on a bed. It hasn’t been worn.” I could hug her, the kindness of this girl. “You are going back?” she asks Alessandrio and I can’t help the squeeze in my chest as he nods. “If you can’t grab her clothes, let me know and I’ll get Donatella to do an order tomorrow.”
“Don’t go back.” I almost feel embarrassed as the panicked words leave my mouth as I turn to Alessandrio —almost .
He ignores my outburst. “Thank you, Lucia.”
Our gracious host cringes slightly before departing down the hall, her gaze flicking back only once as Alessandrio tugs me into a room and shuts the door.
“Please don’t go back.” I feel my hysteria rising as he crosses the room, paws churning up the space.
He opens the door to an ensuite, entering without replying to me. Panic has me trailing after him, the tension in the air tangible as he turns the taps of a shower on, dipping his long deadly fingers in to test the temperature. Still, he doesn’t answer and I watch his powerful muscles beneath his dress shirt flex as he adjusts the tap. Done, he crosses the space to me and kneels. Surprised, I grip the doorjamb as he lifts my foot and removes the heel he put on me earlier. And still, he says nothing as all the while those fingers work, unfastening my shoes before unfastening my dress and slipping it off. I can barely breathe as he doesn’t deny himself, blue eyes sweeping across my naked breasts as he kneels again, expert hands gliding up my thighs to tug my panties down. There is a lick of disappointment in my belly as he stands to tower over me once more, eyes never leaving mine as his shadow consumes me.
“I have to go,” he says with such finality that I know arguing would be fruitless. “Emilio and I were just thrown into a shit storm,” he explains, leading me to the shower. “My brother needs me right now.” I make quick work of tying my hair up into a knot before he gestures for me to get in. “Here you are safe. Lucia and Donatella are here as well as many of our men. This is the most secure place for you right now.”
“But what about you?” I hate the weakness of my question as I settle beneath the warm spray, feeling some of the night’s tension ease. The idea of him going out there, going back to our home while those creatures are still out there makes me feel a deep, horrible sense of fear.
He leans back against the vanity, eyes watching me. “Olivia, this is what I was made for,” he replies simply, and I furrow my brows. “I am his retribution.”
“You are more than that.” His eyes flash as I spit those words.
It’s my turn to fall silent. I don’t want to relax in this shower knowing that when I step out, he will leave and go put his life on the line as if it’s all he has to offer. A shaky hand pumps body wash into my palm as I frantically wash myself, feeling his eyes on me. Done, I shut the taps off and step into the white fluffy towel held up by a pair of monstrous hands. He leaves the room but returns moments later with folded clothes in his hands, a simple baby yellow sweatshirt and matching sweatpants. I tug them on, feeling my anger begin a slow, arduous simmer beneath my skin. At least I don’t feel cold panic anymore. There is a heaviness in the air of things we aren’t saying, words that are static crackling around us, and yet I push past him back into the massive bedroom. I find my way over to a bay window, and fold my arms over my chest like a petulant child, scanning the dark landscape. When he draws near, I make no moves to speak or acknowledge him. Soft lips and fur brush against my temple and still I remain as unmoving as a rock battered by a turbulent sea.
“I’ll be back later,” he laments, and his presence lifts.
My heart twists. It fucking twists in a way that makes me clutch my chest. What if he doesn’t come back? What if he gets hurt? All he has ever known is that he is expendable, his life less important than the family, and it’s unbearable. I whirl from the window.
“Alessandrio!” I call running from the room.
He pauses and turns back to me as I run to him, launching myself so he catches me against his body. My face finds his neck, inhaling the scent of his fur and committing it to memory. When I lift my head to stare up into his face, I bite down on the tears that threaten.
“Come back to me.” I may be dramatic, but this ugly fucking world of his has shown me tomorrow is never a guarantee.
A cocky smile pulls across his lips. “Don’t worry, princess. I am not done with you yet,” His mouth collides with mine, hungry lips and tongues converge in a promise of tomorrow. I am breathless as he sets me back down. “Now go back to that room so I can leave,” he says, turning me and pushing gently.
I glare at him over my shoulder, that cocky smile still curving his wicked face as I make my way down the hall. I point an accusatory finger back at him. “See you later.”
His only response is a salute before I return to the room and close the door. I try not to think as I climb into the massive bed, try not to focus on anything other than my breathing as I fight off the panic. He will come back. He has to come back. I pray for the first time in a long time, pray to whoever will listen to make sure he is safe as I drift off to sleep, the exhaustion of the night’s events weighing on my eyelids.
It’s almost like my prayers are answered when, in the dead of night, I feel the softness of fur caressing my skin, warm claw-tipped hands from a creature I love push beneath my clothes. Earlier promises are fulfilled as they stroke and tease my body, before I am stripped bare and at the mercy of his powerful thrusts. My release is hard and desperate, and I muffle my cry in his neck, his hard length expanding with his own release, as our bodies clutch each other. I marvel at how much quicker sleep finds me with his arms around me.
It’s hard to ignore the tension and weariness of the two Greco brothers over breakfast, each lost in his own thoughts. Lucia and I exchange small talk over the meal prepared by Donatella as we sit on the patio despite the cooler weather, the portable heaters chasing away most of the chill. Our hostess is dressed in a fluffy oversized sweater and black tights, her long hair thick and straight around her shoulders, held off her face by a cream headband. Lucia is the picture of youth and beauty, the impact of it amplified by the presence of her husband at her side. Emilio’s fur has been trimmed, his horns polished, and he’s wearing his usual white dress shirt and black pants. Once I wondered how it worked, the size difference, his monstrous features—now I know from firsthand experience. It does work, and it’s consuming and primal.
My eyes are drawn to Alessandrio, cutting a monstrously casual figure in a black sweatshirt and matching sweatpants. I am momentarily at a loss for breath as my eyes settle on him. Unlike his brother, there is a wildness to him. They are cut from the same cloth and yet sewn together differently. This morning I wanted to ask Alessandrio everything, needed to know what they had learned and what had occurred after he returned to his apartment. His mood, however, has been dark since the moment we got up, the warmth of the late hours evaporating with the rising sun. However, I need to know, have a right to know . So when Lucia stands from the table, making a quiet excuse to her husband, who looks as though he’s ready to follow her, I find my chance.
“I need to know how bad things are.” Alessandrio’s head snaps up at that, his eyes boring into me and I flick my gaze across to Emilio, who is watching me with an uneasy look.
“It’s bad,” Alessandrio snaps, a simple response as if that’s all I need, but I shake my head.
“I figured as much.” I glare back at him before turning my attention to Emilio. “Was De Luca’s murder a message for me?” As I lay in bed this morning, Alessandrio curled around me, I had time to think—too much time to think.
I hear Alessandrio snarl, but ignore him, my eyes boring into the Greco boss. When he nods, guilt is fast and hard. A man was murdered because I took the Dolmino seat.
“It is more complicated than just that, however,” Emilio explains. “Marco Galdano is your brother’s ally in the Outfit. We knew he had someone protecting him when he went to ground, and now we know.”
“But Galdano was Leonardo’s man, no?” I grasp for straws, trying to make sense of this.
“Yes and no,” Emilio continues. “Galdano is the son of a powerful member. His alliance has always been one of his own choosing. It’s why De Luca didn’t end him at your engagement party. He knew to do so for his disobedience would cause more shit than it was worth. Galdano has shown his hand by murdering his boss and implicating us in that murder.”
A vicious game is at play. My gaze slides to Alessandrio, who is watching me, brows narrowed and eyes full of wrath.
“What now?” Let me in. My eyes plead with him.
“I find Galdano. I get his confession on tape to clear our names, and then I find Riccardo.” It’s the viciousness of the word confession that sends a shiver down my spine.
There is no doubt in my mind that Galdano will not survive his questioning, and yet I am okay with that death. It’s necessary and deserved. And then Riccardo. But will it be that easy? Again, it’s my fear that grips my tongue, fear for him. There are so many variables that could go wrong when guns are involved. I know he sees all the things warring on my face, the doubt, and the fear. It seems to harden his resolve. He checks his phone and turns to Emilio, the door shutting on me.
“We need to rally the men and begin our hunt.” And just like that, he becomes capo and everything that I know of Alessandrio vanishes beneath the weight of his duty.
I see Emilio’s uncertainty as he seems to note his brother’s icier visage, but he nods and stands. Alessandrio also stands, and I'm left anticipating a sign from him—a look, a touch, or just a word. Nothing is what I get as I watch him follow his brother into the house without so much as a backward glance. It takes me back to before—before we built this fledgling thing that still feels so fragile. Anger replaces fear as I stare out at the gardens and the beach beyond. So cold, so calculated. And he just expects me to sit here and wait on tenterhooks for his safe return? I need to move my body, exhaust myself and maybe take a nap. Since yesterday, there has been a bone deep exhaustion riding me, and I know at the root of it is stress.
I find Lucia in the kitchen, her pretty face drawn and brows tight. When the door closes behind me, she jumps slightly and looks at me with eyes as wide as a deer who has been caught in headlights.
“Sorry.” I wince. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Her own answering wince has me realizing we share the same stress.
“All good. Comes with the territory, really.” She laughs without humor.
“Am I allowed to go for a run? Outside, I mean?”
Another wince. This time, her face looks uncomfortable. “We have been asked to remain on the grounds. Security reasons, you know?”
I know . And that’s why her reply doesn’t surprise me. Alessandrio probably made it very clear I wasn’t to leave without his company. Because he fears for my safety? Or because he fears betrayal? That is the million dollar question.
“We have a gym, though? With a conveyor belt machine of death,” Lucia offers.
My spirit instantly lifts. "You say death, I say life.”
With an answering laugh, she leads me through the house, and I take mental notes just to make sure I don’t get lost in this massive space. The gym is incredible. A view looking out onto the grounds and beach, filtering in natural light and in the distance, I watch the murky ocean crash against the shore. Much like Alessandrio’s gym, this one is mostly weights based, but there are two treadmills pressed up against the far wall near a window.
“I’ve never used them before, but maybe I might join you after I bake,” Lucia says, brown eyes watching me.
“As if you could outrun me,” I tell her, mimicking Edward Cullen.
Her face lights up, mouth popping open in surprise. “You watched it?”
“I had to after you basically called yourself a killer.”
“Oh.” Her laugh is genuine and sounds like music. “Emilio told me as much.” At the mention of her husband’s name, it’s like someone pulled the curtains the way her light dims and worry destroys her glee.
I have no words to soothe her obvious anxiety, not when I feel like I am drowning in my own. I take solace in the fact that I am not alone in this. Someone else feels the same way I do. So when she leaves, I thank the gods for Alessandrio’s thoughtfulness and the sneakers he bought in our bags. It’s like he knew I would need this, knew I would need to exhaust myself to find a way to relax, and that makes my anger at him ebb. Soon, it melts away entirely as I run for my life, on the ‘conveyor belt of death’.