Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
ALISON
A fter the bomb Max had detonated before he left, I just couldn’t go on with the night’s plans.
Of course, Victor, being the gentleman he had already shown me he was, fully understood and even promised he would pick me up the next day so we could both check on Francesca at the hospital.
From what Matt had told me after the first freakout he had over the phone, she was doing just fine. He had finally learned she was pregnant with his babies.
Yes, babies.
They were having twins, and I’d never heard as much joy in Matt’s voice as I had today when he told me I was going to be an aunt. He had every reason to be the happiest man on earth, and I couldn’t help but feel relieved and happy for both of them.
After switching off and knowing they were safe, I was left alone with my thoughts. Stupidly, they were centered around Max and his pleas.
Why was he so bothered about my impending marriage to Vincenzo? The slight thought that he just might be jealous again flared me with a strange joy, followed straight away by a sense of disgust and reproval for what we had almost done.
He had a girlfriend, and I was acting just like my father in condoning and yearning for this unlawful and unfaithful thing that was happening between us. More than that, I was disgusted with myself for not wanting it to end.
I craved more. I craved to break him so bad he had no choice but to be real and honest.
I was looking forward to the next time I saw him, to the next time he lost his control again and kissed me with that dominant need to consume me. To punish me.
A heated shiver ran down my spine at that thought.
I was not one to be bossed around, commanded, or shoved. I always stood my ground, and no man was scary or intimidating enough to make me back down. I guess I took after my mother in that. But, fuck did I want him to do exactly that. To push me, pull me, dominate me until I was yielding to his every command, until I was undone in his hands. Undone in his touch.
The fire that barely blemished was now igniting into a raging hell that consumed every piece of me. That’s what I wanted, what I craved, and it was so, so wrong.
My phone rang again, and I flew to answer, thanking the distraction for pulling me from that fucking rabbit hole I seemed to keep falling into.
“Alison!” Jackson cried out as soon as I answered the phone.
From that single word, I could clearly tell he was drunk. I could hear his sobs through the otherwise silent line.
“He’s dead, Alison. I didn’t even like the motherfucker, but now he’s dead and I’m alone.” He continued, but now trying to control the tears that I could almost see were dashing down his flawless, sunkissed skin .
“Jackson, calm down. What happened? Who’s dead?” I tried as hard as I could to keep a calm tone, but after what Max had told me earlier, I was even afraid to ask.
I heard no reply on the other side, just bashing glass, breaking into thousands of unmendable pieces.
“Jackson, listen to me. Where are you? Are you at home?” Again, no reply. I wasn’t even sure he was still holding the phone. “I’m coming over.”
I hung up and darted from the bed, pulling on the first pair of jeans and t-shirt I could get my hands.
I hadn’t stopped to think about the fucking mess that had sent Francesca to the hospital or even ponder about what exactly happened for Max to be covered in blood and bruises.
I think it was a defense mechanism I developed over the years so I could deal with the atrocities that my Mafiosi family did from time to time. I loved them too much to let it all stain my perspective, so I kind of covered my eyes and pretended it didn’t happen.
But it was clear this was all reeking of Mafia business. Max’s bruises and cuts told me he had been in on it, too. Front and fucking center.
“Enemies. The good kind. Dead ones.”
What enemies he was referring to was a little less of a mystery now, but one I didn’t care to further unravel.
Beyond his cold words, I hadn’t asked him what happened for him to be all bloody and in such a miserable state, but between the stars he had put in my eyes from his demanding words and all the rest that followed, clarity and perspective were long gone and flying out of the fucking window.
I couldn’t deny any further that I was more than attracted to him, despite everything.
Fuck, how had I let that happen? It just didn’t make sense, but then again, I wasn’t quite sure that rational was something that could even remotely sweep me off my feet.
Was that what I even wanted?
Either way, I had to talk to him. I needed to clarify whatever this was because having these illusions in my head, as precious as they might seem, was most certainly not working for me.
Before I knew it, between the unrelenting thoughts and mental rehearsal of the conversation I hoped we’d have, I finally arrived at Jackson’s building, finding the door to his apartment wide open. All the lights were off, just the moon and the street lights to shine on the view of the chaos that greeted my arrival.
Jackson was lying on the floor, arms and legs spread, with a drained bottle of tequila clenched in one of his hands. I swept the glass and debris away from beside him with the soles of my shoes, making space for me to take the spot right next to him.
His eyes were as dark as night, stranded on an invisible spot on the ceiling, not blinking once, even as I placed a small kiss on his forehead. As intimate as we had been, this was the single most caring gesture we’d ever shared.
He seemed calmer than he had been on the phone, or maybe just in an emotional coma after the shock of the truth of facing the death of a loved one. I had an idea of the who. I was just missing the what and why, but my support didn’t depend on it. I was almost sure that I’d been the only person he had called.
We both lay there in silence for what seemed like an eternity, but right now, any sound seemed like an intrusion to his mourning, or maybe I just didn’t know what to say.
Words couldn’t fix anything, so instead, after a while, I let my hand find his and squeezed the fingers I had managed to catch, letting him know that I was still there.
I had my eyes glued to his expression, looking for any sign he could give me of how to help him deal with one of the worst pains life could give us. I had gone through it not long ago, so I knew exactly how he felt.
The emptiness that took over your chest after crying all that you had to cry, the silent screams that still reverberated in your mind and spread to every piece of you, even though the silence was emperor in this clusterfuck of loss and pain.
“How can it hurt like this?” He finally spoke, just above a pained whisper, still not deviating from his spot on the ceiling. “I hated him and what he did my whole life, and it still fucking hurts.”
My breath hitched in my chest as I figured Jackson was talking about his father. The undeniable knowledge that it was connected to Francesca’s kidnapping. The unsettling certainty about who had done it and why sat heavily on my chest.
“He was your father, no matter what.” Something about that statement brought tears to my own eyes. He’s my father, no matter what.
Jackson finally turned towards me and curled into a ball before releasing the pent-up tears once more. I tried to cover his body with mine, holding him against me as he shook in waves of sadness. I cradled his head in my hands, soothing his short hair and placing small, caring kisses on his scalp as I murmured encouragement against his skin.
“I’m here. Let it all out.”
I knew that more than just the pain of loss, he was dealing with a lost life and connection with his father. With the regret of all the unsaid words, the remorse of postponed encounters because life fucking got in the way. And above all, the guilt of just not being on the same page and allowing resentment to steal whatever life they could have had together if they had just set those differences aside.
I tried to transfer to him any calmness I was still able to retain after seeing such a strong man crumble in my arms. As it turned out, strong men broke just as badly as fragile girls like me.
I kissed his face, his forehead, his teary eyes, trying with all my ammo to soothe his pain with the affection I was sure he lacked during his whole life. Soon enough, he was settling as his lips found mine, fusing together in a heartwarming kiss.
Jackson had never kissed me like this, or I had never felt it the same way.
He held the back of my neck with his hand, drawing me closer while his tongue stroked mine in long, slow, savoring kisses, drenched with a feeling that I couldn’t label. There was more than just lust flowing between us, more than just a physical connection.
Somehow, his touches, his kisses seemed deeper and more meaningful than ever.
Jackson stood up, pulling me up along with him, helping me shake off pieces of glass attached to my clothes and hair. Some mix of rationality and clarity kicking in, with probably a dose of numbness provided by the booze.
“Thank you for coming, Beautiful,” He murmured against my lips before he kissed me again.
I was moved by this sensation of need, wanting for him to make me feel. Just feel. Just like he had done a minute ago. I was almost drunk on it. More than lust struck, more than searching for a physical release, I was searching for something else. Something I had no idea what it was.
Connection, maybe? I don’t think that’s it .
We slowly stumbled into the living room, our lips constantly sealed together in the most pained of kisses, sending shivers down my body, my chest almost caving in a strange paradox of pain and intimacy. It was like I was giving myself to him for the first time ever. Truly being in the moment for all it represented.
Jackson sat on the couch, pulling me onto his lap to straddle him. Our bodies glued together like a fortified magnet, fitting into each other as the final pieces of a puzzle.
He kissed me again, and it was nothing like every other time. Today, there was a different weight to each stroke of his tongue against mine, and I wasn’t sure I could take it.
Jackson released my lips, his forehead resting on mine while his eyes bore deep into my soul. I couldn’t hold his gaze, so I turned my face to the right. The way he seemed to be reading me was freaking me out.
He grabbed my jaw and forced my eyes back to his, calming my uneasiness by taking control. Jackson’s expression was placid, a peace that heavily contrasted with the storm raging through my mind. He was supposed to be the broken one, not me. Why was his affection scaring me?
“Feel, Alison. Don’t think,” He whispered before kissing me again. The same unsettling novelty in that kiss that seemed to first deepen my resistance, but ultimately flipping the switch of rationality to mute.
I freed myself from the constrictions of my thoughts, opening up to full delivery, vulnerability, and submission, despite the fear that strangely drove through me.
It was just a kiss. Why was I feeling so undeserving?
“What have I done to ever deserve you?” He said as if he’d heard my thoughts. Jackson hugged me tightly to his chest, drawing soothing circles on my back.
I smiled against his chest, not really knowing how else to respond. I wasn’t as special as he was making me out to seem. I was just… me.
“Having the woman you love by your side in times like these makes all the difference in the world,” He mindlessly said while my eyes shot open as wide as saucers, my body tensing with every one of those words.
He abruptly looked at me, finally realizing what he had said, the looseness of his tongue only hitting him after the words were already out there.
“Did I say that out loud?” I nodded in confirmation with a small, shy smile on my face. “Shit, I’m sorry. I wasn’t supposed to say anything. Fucking tequila,” He grumbled. “Either way, it doesn’t matter. It wasn’t supposed to happen, it just fucking did. But I’ll fix it. I’m going away for a couple of months, and I’m sure I’ll be cured once I return.” He looked away from me, setting his eyes on the other side of his living room. “You’re a fucking Battaglia. I would be killed before I had even the slightest chance to be with you out in the open.” He chuckled ironically. Little did he know that I was already taken. My heart by one man and my future by another.
There was a hint of madness behind his tone, his words completely uncontrolled and unfiltered.
“Jackson…”
“It’s okay, Princess. You don’t need to say anything. I know you don’t feel the same way. I’m not even sure it’s true for myself.” He was right. I didn’t feel the same way. This was never supposed to turn into anything besides a fun time.
Yet, in his confession, I found my own truth. There was a clear name barging into my mind as he said the word love . His face was all but clear, staring at me, judging me for kissing someone else .
He didn’t want me. He always found a way to push me away. So fuck his judgment.
Jackson and I were a good fit, physically compatible, and theoretically a perfect match besides our family history, but the spark of more than what we had just wasn’t there.
But these kisses that we had just shared lit something inside me. A new spark of hope for something greater and deeper. A new thirst for love and connection. Even though I didn’t love Jackson, it seemed fitting that my first crush was the one to awaken me to that possibility.
Jackson cupped my face in his hands and looked deep into my eyes. “I like you, Alison, but that’s because you are an incredible woman with a fire I’ve never seen in anyone before. How could I not? Maybe I do love you. Who could blame me?”
“I’m sorry, Jackson, I just…”
“You don’t have to apologize. I should have never said anything. Maybe it’s just this dark place I’m in right now that makes you shine brighter in contrast. I truly never thought about it before. Don’t hold it against me, okay?” He brought my face up to meet his and placed a soft, lingering kiss on my lips.
It somehow felt like goodbye, even though we were both still sitting right there.