Chapter Forty-Six Larissa
Chapter Forty-Six
LARISSA
HOOKING ANOTHER ORNAMENT onto the tree, I marvel at how it’s all coming together. Deciding the addition of tinsel enhances the classic look I opted for as I step back to admire it. Turning, I catch Alonzo’s attentive gaze before he cuts it to my glittering handiwork. “So?”
“It’s nice.”
“Nice,” I mock. “What does impress you, Zo?” I ask as Macey blows drool bubbles into her fist.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you liked Christmas when we were kids.”
“Because you did.”
My heart thuds at his admission. “But your smile looked a lot less painful.”
When he bares his teeth in a mock grin, I hold up my palm. “Stop, that’s terrifying.”
His true smile breaks through just after, lighting his gorgeous eyes up, and I grin back at him. “Much better.” Opening another box of ornaments, I glance at the clock in the villa’s kitchenette. “It’s almost Christmas. Don’t you want to go home and spend it with your parents?”
When he shrugs, I bite my lip. “Alonzo, we’ve talked about this. Don’t wait for me.”
“To do what?” he diverts, as he does whenever I broach the subject of us. Instead of pushing him on it, I pivot with him.
“We’re okay. You know half the family is here tonight.”
Alonzo has been working endlessly to tighten security, convinced that Antony is somehow coming for me.
I’m not as concerned, knowing Antony’s feelings for me were possessive at most, and surface deep—and that he’s not suicidal enough to try with as many as we have on vigilant watch.
Especially with the added protection of the US government, courtesy of the man who was foolish enough to try to get to me—and succeeded.
His pleas from that day forever breaking through my anger, as they have since he spoke them.
Our last interaction having branded itself firmly into my psyche in the weeks since.
Knowing his plane is set to land any minute, I shake off the threatening nerves, resolved not to engage.
Last time he left, I was in a different place mentally—mostly defiant, and ready to jumpstart a life that had already begun.
Now in a less hostile place, I find I’m enjoying the life I’m already living.
Taking this precious time while my children are young.
Getting to know Alonzo again, who’s turned into a bit of a fucking grump.
Made life considered, like me, even after months, he’s still navigating what the new normal is without our mutual lingering threat.
One that I no longer need to task my mind and body with every day to survive, rather than simply live.
“Are you ever going to tell me about your wife?” I ask.
“Sure,” he states, scrolling on his phone.
“Okay …” I say. “What was she like?”
“Boring,” he clips.
“That’s all?”
“That’s what boring is.” His brows draw. “And she sweat a lot.”
Throwing my head back, I laugh hysterically as his lips simper with a smile.
“You’re serious?”
“Do I have children?” He spreads his hands as Alexander practically shouts his existence, and I glance over to see that his latest demand of acknowledgment is for me.
“Yes, baby boy. I see you.”
As I walk over to where he and his sister are perched side by side in their car seats—which have turned out to be a godsend—I’m stunned by just how much of his father I recognize.
Both babies are happily idling in their makeshift chairs on the new table in my recently remodeled villa.
Their positioning giving an ample view of all the action surrounding them—including the grounds adjacent to the large window, currently reflecting the endlessly strung lights of the courtyard.
Hundreds of strands hovering over Tula’s life-sized nativity scene.
A tribute currently being circled by younger generations of DiGiovannis.
Some drinking vats of wine while cooking as others fight over the remote.
A few of the guards are kicking around a ball as mixed squeaks and Italian chatter spill from each door of my villa.
Some of the brisk air filtering in through the ancient window as a fire crackles nearby.
The smell of burning wood, mixed with the crisp air, summoning me to a happier place as a sense of peace washes over me.
Settling me more firmly in the only place I’ve ever considered home.
A real home. With real family. Real living.
The true start of the flesh-on-flesh life I vowed to claim.
The reason for my vision of this future still looming, his words haunting.
“If I regret all of it, then I regret how good it felt to be with someone so intimately again … I’d trade any good memory of my life to get that feeling back.”
A shiver threatens, but I shake it off before catching Alonzo’s eyes dimming as if he saw my thoughts. Refusing to allow it, I stalk over to where he stands and put my arms around him. He briefly stiffens at the contact before allowing the intimate embrace.
“I’m sorry she was boring,” I whisper.
“She wasn’t so bad … No.” He jerks his chin. “I have no highlights. It was hell.”
“You mean for all of the three whole weeks before you sent her to live with her parents?”
“Yes, and I’m still trying to summon the guilt I should feel.
” He shrugs, palms landing on my hips as I clasp my hands around his neck, admiring him.
The man standing before me is pure temptation.
From his thick onyx hair to his polished shoes, everything about him appeals to me.
Even his grumpy demeanor, because just beneath it resides both the boy and the man I loved—including the scars we share.
With Alonzo, there’s familiarity, intimacy, and still so much curiosity.
It’s taken every single one of the months we’ve been back in each other’s lives to get him to start speaking this freely.
His fear being that he’ll give too much and won’t be redeemable.
My fear? That he won’t give enough, which will keep us from closing what space remains.
“Have you seen her since?”
He shakes his head.
“Will you ever divorce her?”
“You know I can’t,” he states of his devout wife. “But I hear she found a boy at church who likes her boring.”
“Maybe she’ll bend and divorce you for him.”
“Think he’ll take a check for her?”
We both laugh before I whisper, “Devil.”
“The devil you know, ángel,” he utters softly as the two of us linger in our shared space, as we have for the last few weeks.
Neither inching forward nor pulling back, but resting in what intimacy we’ve managed.
Wanting it to feel right but not quite getting there because, in addition to his secrets, Tyler’s words continually haunt me.
Alonzo is fully attuned to my struggle in fully diving into him, yet never once pushes me to do so.
But tonight, what if I lean an inch more? Will he take an inch? When he kisses me, will the same love I once felt for him erase and rewind?
It was Tula who alerted me to Alonzo’s true predicament after I got to Barga.
Her education in intimidation tactics reminding me of the mafia’s reach.
I’d been so blinded by my heartbreak that I hadn’t allowed myself to think of the consequences for Alonzo of freeing us from Ciro—that his family would pay the price.
It was only after confirming Ciro’s leverage on him that freeing him and his family became a large part of my mission.
By then, I’d been in Barga for two years, and Alonzo was married and considered lost to me.
The two of us were splintered by my father and circumstance, but not anymore.
Staring up at the man who sacrificed his life for mine, my feelings of gratitude only deepen.
Praying that’s not what he sees, when the sparkle in his eyes dims, I’m thankful when he doesn’t release me.
Instead gripping my hips tighter as he speaks.
“I have to go pick something up for Secret Santa.”
“Oh, tough guy, you,” I snark.
“Tell that to the donna charging me with the stupid fucking errand,” he grumbles.
“It would do you some good, Grinch. But after, please go home. It’s your first Christmas with your family, and you deserve to spend it with them.”
He nods, and I tilt my head.
“What?”
His smile reappears, knocking the breath from me. His icy eyes capture me in the memory before he speaks it. “Remember our first Christmas?”
“Of course. Not that you would let me forget. The fucking gingerbread house. Yes, yes. You won, architect.”
He leans in as a wicked grin spreads over his lips. “I was talking about my reward.”
“Zo,” I playfully scold, widening my eyes. “The children!”
Undeterred, he leans in, pressing a slow kiss to my temple just as I lock eyes with the man standing at the open door to my villa.
Eyes that threaten to go full metal as he scours every inch of the two of us before dropping his gaze to his boots.
Already stiffening in awareness under my palms, Alonzo turns and glares in the direction of the interruption before releasing me and making a beeline for the courtyard door.
“Zo,” I call, grabbing his forgotten trench coat from the couch and walking it over to him.
After hesitantly spreading his wrists, I slide the coat up his arms and muscular back before splaying my palms over it—inwardly flinching at the ingrained sight of what lies beneath.
The day I gained the true knowledge of what he endured being one of the hardest of our reunion.
After knocking lightly on his bathroom door, I walked in to find him securing a towel around his waist. His dripping back was marred with years of scars he’d suffered at my father’s hands.
At my invasion, he’d been furious, ordering me out until I crumbled to my knees, sobbing.
In seconds, he joined me on the floor, keeping his back against the wall before whisking me into his lap.
“I h-hate myself for what I said to you that day,” I whisper.
“That you only come when you’re on top?”