11. All About The Hearts
Chapter 11
All About The Hearts
Antonella
“Yes, you are,” his voice is low.
I gulp, my throat becoming increasingly tight. Did he say what I think he said? My hair’s a mess and I’m covered head-to-toe in bacon grease.
I snort, waving my arms to gesture down to my clothes. “You’re silly .”
“Am I?” He towers over me, taking my chin in a firm grip. The pad of his thumb grazes my bottom lip ever so slightly, quivering underneath his touch.
My eyes bounce between the both of his, down to his lips, and back up to his eyes again. It’s like he is staring directly into my soul. Finally, I nod in response to his question, the corner of my mouth threatening to quirk up.
His eyes narrow in on my lips, then back up to my eyes again. “Am I silly? Or just vocal about what I want? No, Antonella. I wouldn’t call it silly . I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get what I want, when I want.”
My jaw clicks shut and I run over my top teeth with my tongue. There’s an unwelcome pit forming in my stomach—and deep in my core. A nauseating mixture of incredible arousal, embarrassment, and desperation.
“Antonella, you may act as high and mighty as you want. But deep down…” His pupils flare, igniting with a passion I never knew existed in reality. The tips of his fingers trail down from my cheek to my jaw, down my neck, stopping at my collarbone. He wraps the full with of his hand around my neck, squeezing.
I swallow. Hard. The pressure of him choking me sends an electric jolt straight to my sensitive core, awakening something within me.
“Deep down I know you want this. You want us. You’re stubborn enough to keep up this facade—how you can’t commit to me.”
My hands tremble at my sides, threatening to fly up to his and pull him away. But I don’t want to stop him.
He whispers, “ But look at you .” A devilish smirk twitches at his top lip. “Even your own body betrays you.” His other hand slides up my thigh, grazing the goosebumps he’s caused to appear across my skin. “You haven’t been with anyone since you moved in.”
How could he possibly know? I have to call his bluff on this one.
I scoff, rolling my eyes. “That’s not tr?—”
“Oh, but it is.” A devilish grin spreads across his lips, causing me to become weak in the knees. As if I didn’t already have terrible, cracking knees. Didn’t need help in that department, yet here we are.
“You’re watching my every move?” I hike up a brow, curious how he’ll respond.
“It’s easy to give in—harder to resist. Why do you?”
Typical deflection.
I squint. “You’re going to ignore my question?”
“Why do you resist me?” he asks, in a more of a breathy growl this time, desperation oozing from him.
We’re going to end up chasing each other’s tails with the back and forth unanswered questions. He’s more bark than bite with me and more often than not—I find my mind wandering to the thoughts of how his bite would feel.
“I don’t know,” I admit. Tiny droplets of sweat bead at my hairline. “Why are you watching my every move?”
“Would you like me to whisper it in your ear?” He hums, leaning in and tilting his head as if he’s about to kiss me.
Oh, my God . Fuck it. I don’t want to stop him.
If the handsome, kind—yet slightly threatening—man standing before me wants to kiss me, who am I to stop him? I’ll never make the first move, of course.
Because, bawk-bawk. I’m a chicken.
I blink when my eyes refocus on him leaning in further toward my face. My lips purse together slightly, preparing for the kiss. My hands are slightly trembling at my sides as languidly my eyes flutter halfway shut.
Our first kiss .
A kiss which doesn’t come.
“Because I can’t help myself. My soul is crying out for yours in a way I’ve never felt before. I need to be as close to you as my existence allows,” he whispers, his hot breath hitting my earlobe. And instead of kissing me, I can feel him pick up a piece of bacon off the plate I’m holding, and hear him crunch down.
My eyes fly open, heat spreading across my cheeks out of pure embarrassment, enjoyment.
Then, like the stronzo he is, he winks at me and pats the top of my head. He turns the opposite direction and walks out of the kitchen, without another word.
Leaving me standing here— mortified .
“ Oh, Madone,” I whisper to myself. I wipe the beading sweat off of my forehead with the back of my hand. Stupida . Why did I think he wanted to kiss me?
I’m the queen of delusion.
The sun’s rising up over the sparkling lake, casting a golden hue onto the water. The warm summer breeze picks up, flowing effortlessly against me.
Stopping for an iced caramel macchiato at the café before coming here was a great idea. This hits the spot. Iced coffee. Nice breeze. Not having to stress about my living situation. Best decision I’ve ever made… So far.
“What do you do for fun?” I peer up at him.
“Fun?”
“Sì… divertimento.” I laugh, flipping my hair over my shoulder. His expression shifts from relaxed to a more serious expression—furrowed brows, flat lips, everything . “Okay… no fun.”
“I don’t have much time for it.”
“Oh,” I say, my tone lowering in disappointment.
Not much time for fun because you’re killin’ people. Aren’t you, Giordano? Why am I not running for the hills? Why am I living with him? And why do I want to kiss him right?—
“What about you?” He grips my arm gently and pulls me aside from someone passing by us. I need to start paying more attention to where I’m walking.
“Mi dispiace.” I lean into his touch, catching myself enjoying it more than I probably should. “I do love reading. I don’t have the time either, but I adore it.”
He hums in response as we sit on a wooden bench. The waves lap seamlessly into one another onto the jagged, rocky shore.
We are up on a walking path at least ten feet higher from the lake, blocked off by a metal fence and sharp rocks.
“Tell me about yourself. What makes you… you ?”
His low laughter rings in my ears. “My family immigrated here from Tropea, Italy when I was five years old. That’s when I met Xander, we’ve been best friends ever since. He was my neighbor. Same age as me.”
I nod. Come on, give me a little more. “ Family ?”
“I have a mother, and a younger sister. Her name is Giulietta. She’s slightly younger than you—twenty-five.”
“And your father?”
His entire body stiffens, including his face. Touchy subject?
“Sorry, perhaps I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it’s okay. He died a year ago,” he says.
“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss.” I languidly drag my gaze from the top of his scar, trailing it from his brow to his jaw as I place my hand on his thigh. He places his hand on top of mine. Do I ask how? Or is it too personal?
“ How ?” I ask anyway.
“Murdered,” he says nonchalantly.
My eyes fly open. Murdered? I mean, it’s Chicago, after all. Not exactly one of the top safest cities to be in.
But murdered ?
He wouldn’t have killed his own father, right? No. There’s no way. Giordano’s all about family and protecting what he loves. From what I can tell, at least. Could he be going after the people who did it, then?
I inhale sharply through my nose, about to respond.
“Let’s talk about something else, shall we?”
“Sì.” I wince while taking a sip of my iced coffee. Michelle made this bitter as fuck.
“That’s why I didn’t get one.” He laughs.
We sit in silence. A comforting silence, filled with a newfound connection instead of awkward eye contact.
The early morning power-walkers, dog-walkers, and people on their way to work in their own little lives pass by us. The squawking of birds, barking of dogs, crashing of lake waves, and honking of horns are the only sounds of life between us .
My phone vibrates in my pocket. My mother. She never calls. Not unless?—
“I’m sorry. I have to take this.” My brows knit tightly together as I stand and walk a few feet away from him—who’s still on the bench now with a perplexed look on his face.
Same .
“Mama?” I skip the traditional greeting and going straight to a worried daughter.
“Toni, you need to come home as soon as possible.” She sounds exhausted and scared, not at all like her usual charismatic self.
“What’s wrong?” My heart’s now beating in my chest as if I ran a marathon. Anxiety settles deep in my stomach and my palms immediately start sweating.
“Your father he… he collapsed. He had a heart attack. He’s okay, we’re at the hospital.”
Rightfully so.
Tears prick my eyes as I nod a whole bunch. Why am I nodding? She can’t see me. It’s a regular phone call, not a video. My heart drops into my once butterfly filled stomach. Now, all I want to do is throw up and cry.
I sniffle. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, Mama. I’ll call when I’m there. Ti voglio bene.”
“Ti voglio bene,” she whispers.
I gulp, ending the call and quickly walk over to Giordano. The sentences are forming in my mind, yet the words are refusing to come out. “I um… I have to go home.”
“Okay, we can walk back.” He stretches his arm out for me to take. I grip onto him for support. Emotional. Physical. Everything.
“I mean home home. My father h-he—” I can’t breathe . My words are stuck again and now I’m hyperventilating. “He’s in the hospital.”
“Oh, amore. Mi dispiace. Andiamo.” He takes my hand in his. My sob’s caught in my throat .
The way his hand grazes gently across my skin gives me more butterflies—in a comforting friend way. Right? Or am I trying to convince myself of a lie?
I wipe the tears from my face. I don’t want to have a full blown mental breakdown in front of this man, but here I am. Breaking down. And he doesn’t seem to mind a single second of it. If he does, he’s kind enough to not say a word. My babbo is sick.
The situation warrants a little crying.
“Here.” He holds out a small, black card.
“What’s this?” I take it in my hand. A bank card. I tilt my head, squinting at him. It has my name on it— not my account. A black unlimited credit card—definitely not mine.
“If you need anything, I’ll take care of you—even when I’m not with you.” He closes my hand around the card.
“I cannot accept this,” I whisper.
The thought of financial security nips at the back of my mind. No . I can’t use him for his money. I can’t touch it. It’s not right, even if he wants me to. Living with him is enough for me. Well? Maybe… No. No, I can’t.
“You will,” he commands.
What would happen if I didn’t? He won’t hurt me. I finally nod in agreement. At the least, it will stay in the wallet for emergencies . And so he’ll shut up about it. If he wants to be bossy about spoiling me, I’m going to be bratty and not spend a single dime.
Out of spite.
“Please, take the car.” He snags the keys off of the dresser and holds them out. He’s giving me everything .
“Car, card—are you about to hand over the deed to your house, too?” I snort as relaxation overcomes me. His version of the princess treatment is way beyond my league.
“Baby, you can have my last name and everything I fucking own, and I’ll worship the ground you walk on.” His voice is a gravelly whisper.
My eyes widen as I stop all movement. Pause. He said what ? What am I supposed to say? Jump into his arms and have him solve every single problem in my life?
Tempting, actually.
I raise both of my brows and purse my lips. Debating .
No, I can’t.
Can I?
No.
Yes?
Well, maybe.
I shake my head as I continue to pack an overnight bag for myself. “I can’t.” I sniffle. “I’m not in a stable condition to drive far, anyway.”
It’s not a lie. Besides the fact I haven’t driven in a long time, and now’s not the time to pick it back up—in an expensive car. A car, which is not mine.
“Then, at least let me take you to the train station?” He places his hand on my back, a gentle caress swirling my shoulder blade. The sense of comfort he’s bringing to me is entirely welcome.
“Fine.”
“ Fine ,” he copies my pitch of voice. Which earns him a melancholy giggle from me. He’s confident in himself because I finally agreed to one thing, I’m sure. “Allora, is your mother going to pick you up? Are you staying at a hotel or their house? Do you want me to pick you up there? Or will you take the train back here, too? Please, tell me when you arrive safely,” he rambles as he’s walking toward the door.
So many questions .
“Are you also going to request my location ?” My hands drop to my sides, holding a blue sweatshirt at my hips.
I regret asking because of one simple fact—he may take me up on the offer. I’m hesitant on the whole killer slash not killer suspicion. Maybe taking a weekend away from him is a good thing.
We’ve become too close too quickly.
“Not a bad idea, amore. But no.” He chuckles, leaning against the doorframe. Is he trying to convince me to not go? ‘Cause that’s how he’ll do it. “I don’t need your location.”
Phew. I swallow the lump forming in my throat. That was a close one.