16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
FIAMETTA
“ Y ou came,” I say, when Crue makes it over to me. I saw him from a distance, just standing there with his hands in his pockets, his glowing green eyes locked on me. I feared the interruption was going to scare him off. He isn’t much of a people person, but I could hardly chase my fellow mourners away.
“Of course. I had to be here.” Does he mean for me? Oh Lord, please let him mean for me. I guess I’ll never know, for sure, because Crue doesn’t elaborate.
“Did you say goodbye?” I’m not sure what to say. Neither is he, it seems, but he answers with a nod.
“How did it make you feel?” I’m talking to him as if dealing in death isn’t his business. But my questions aren’t really for him. They’re for me. To get a read on my man, the brute who has claimed me and won’t let me go. We are in a situation that is new to both of us here.
“A little confused,” he says, and, somehow, that makes me laugh. Not loud, and not for long, but he’s the first person here who’s brought a smile to my face today. “I thought these things took weeks to arrange.”
“They do, but not in the Mafia. Everything happens quickly. Out with the old, in with the new.” Tears lump in my throat at both parts of that sentence. The old is saying goodbye to my father. The new is living with a tyrant.
“I saw you talking to Matteo.” I change the subject, afraid I’ll start wailing again, if I don’t. Sure, it’s going to happen a lot over the next few days. Maybe even weeks. But if I can stop it from happening in front of Crue, I will.
“I was.”
“Anything interesting come out of it?” Based on how bad the negotiations went when he and Father met, a couple months ago, I wouldn’t be surprised if Matteo was jumping for joy after hearing of Father’s passing.
“Nothing good. Not yet at least.” He remains standing rigidly in front of me.
To put him at ease a little, I say. “You can put your arms around me, if you’d like.” Phrasing it as if it’s an option to feel less uncomfortable, but really, it’s for me. I’m the one who needs his arms wrapped around my shoulders. I want him to hold me with the promise that everything’s going to be okay.
I need to feel safe, and he’s the one who can do that for me.
He does. His stiff arms drop onto my shoulders, and awkwardly wrap around my neck. He pulls me into him, latching on as if he was falling down, rather than offering me support.
I’ll take anything I can get right now, and I nestle my head against his chest, listening intently for his heartbeat. When I find it, the slow, rhythmic thumping sound stills me. It soothes my racing mind and makes me draw in my first proper breath in days.
“I know about the engagement.”
“You do?” I ask, not moving from my position. I’m not surprised. Crue has a way of finding secrets, no matter how well they’re hidden.
“Matteo told me.”
“Did he send you an invite?” Making fun of a bad situation is the best cure for heartbreak and suffering. Next to a tall glass of something bitter, unpleasant and high in alcohol content.
“Just shy of that. He asked me to be Tomas’s man of honor.” His voice is neutral. Soft. As if he’s inching closer to remorse, but can’t quite grasp it, the same way he can’t grasp the timing for terrible jokes. At least I think it’s a joke.
I chuckle anyway, because if it is or isn’t, he’s trying. In the unique way only Crue can muster. He wants things to be right.
“It’s best man for the groom.” I rub my cheek against his suit’s soft lapel. It’s cool and soothing against my cheeks, which have been cried raw.
“Did I say man of honor? I meant maid of honor, and I meant for you. You’ll have to let Simone down gently.”
I laugh for real this time. An actual joke! He’s really pulling out all of the stops to turn my frown upside down.
“I bet you’d look hot in a dress,” I say, deciding not to correct him on it being bridesmaid.
“I bet you’ll look stunning in a wedding dress.” Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I’m glad my face is buried against his chest.
“You wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off me in a wedding dress.” I decide to shift the conversation to a topic we’re both better versed in. Marriage, in any form, is a scary thought. Maybe that’s because the only men who have presented me with that opportunity, are scary men.
“I wouldn’t. But is that really saying much when I can’t keep my hands off of you anyway?” I steal a glance at him and our eyes meet. Has he been staring at the crown of my head this whole time?
“You’ve got me there.” I tuck my face back into position against his chest.
“How are you holding up?” Concern sounds alien coming from his mouth, almost forced, especially after the fun we’ve had.
“I’m scared.” I see no point in lying to him. Out of everyone who attended Father’s funeral, Crue’s the only one who can truly protect me. The rest are distant relatives, who travelled all the way from Italy to attend, or the scumbags who helped to overthrow my father in the first place.
“I know.” He loosens his grip on me, letting his hand gently caress my back.
I look up at him. Just his presence is enough to stop the swirl of fear and doubt that threaten to engulf me.
“Then why’d you ask?” I return to my place against his chest, digging myself deeper into his presence.
“It’s what I’m supposed to ask, isn’t it?” He shrugs.
“And what would you do, if you forgot what the world expected of you?”
“I would...” In spite of starting the sentence, Crue takes a very long time to speak again. His eyes tell that his mind is racing. He is thinking about what to say, and stares off into the distance. Maybe he is looking into the future, somewhere far away, yet right in front of him.
“Fuck “ would” .” His eyes return to my face. They are no longer distant, not searching mine, or my soul to see what I want from him. He has his answer, and he’s letting me know.
“I’m going to kill them, Fiametta.”
Another troop of cousins, aunts and uncles approach, but pull away when they notice Crue isn’t letting go of me.
“All of them. I will not stop until I know that you and our child are safe and far away from this life, this place. Until I know you are living a new life in a beautiful home, in a beautiful neighborhood, with some beautiful neighbors to call friends and your surrogate family.”
“What about you?” I sniffle as a few stray tears manage to get past my internal struggle to bury them deep inside.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does, to me.” I can’t keep eye contact with him. Not when he’s saying, what I think he’s saying.
“This is my doing, Little Flame. If I hadn’t happened, you’d have lived a comfortable life, sold clothes and helped the homeless. I’ll get you back there.” He squeezes me tighter against his body.
I believe you, but at what cost?
“Crue, I need to tell you something,” my breathing returns to the unsteady mess it’s been since that ghastly morning. Tears flood to my eyes making my vision blurry and the frog in my throat mutilates my words.
I have to tell him. We had our good moment, but it’s time to get back to the hard kick in the nuts that is reality.
“Yes?” He inches back far enough to get a clear view of my face.
“Tomas pulled the trigger.” A muscle in my neck starts twitching as I make one last effort to hold the floodgates shut. My lips curl down, my brows raise, and my chin sinks. I must look a mess. But Crue doesn’t care. His steely eyed intensity sharpens as I say the words. He doesn’t care how bad I look, rather he is focused on the state Tomas has left me in.
“He killed my father. He did it in front of me. I think something’s going on between him and Matteo Baronne, and I don’t want you getting involved and getting killed.”
There is no more holding back, my tears won’t allow it. They pour down my face freely, spilling and splashing all over the place. Crue slides a hand behind my neck and buries my face into his chest again. He holds me there, stroking my skin with his thumb, trying so damned hard to make things better. To make them right.
“Then he will have the pleasure of dying first.” As much as I love his comforting touch, it’s those words that bring me the greatest satisfaction. I’ve never wished death on anyone. Instead, I’ve always tried to see the bright side to the worst of the worst. Hell, Crue’s the perfect example. But this time I can’t. Not where it concerns Tomas. He went out of his way to make me suffer, time and time again. Occasions that I could never directly speak about it. Not with words, not with body language, not with anything.
Now, he must pay.
“Nothing and no one will ever harm you again, Fiametta. Not under my watch. I will make you whole again.”