Chapter 8
____________________
ENZO
“I mean seriously, what the fuck did you think was going to happen?” Ignoring him, I reach into the freezer and yank out a bag of frozen peas.
A groan of relief slips from my lips as I plant them on my balls. “Fuck that feels good.”
Dom snorts, sweeping back his light brown hair. “I hope you kept the receipt for that ring idiota.”
I close my eyes, icing sore balls as I debate the worth of my friendship with this fucker. “If anyone else spoke to me like that they’d have a bullet between their eyes.”
He just grins, shoving more of the pizza I paid for in his mouth. “Well then, it’s a good thing that I’m your best friend and besides, you almost did have a bullet in your head. I’m surprised she didn’t pull the trigger.”
Yeah, me too. Anastasia Romano has been the ghost haunting me for nine years.
A ghost that’s been the image I conjure every time I stroke my cock to climax. Just sitting that close to her today…her fingers brushing against mine, her thigh knocking against mine and those damn stockings.
The only thing that killed my erection was the barrel of her gun jamming into it.
It’s my fault really. I should have let her slip from my mind a long time ago, but even when I didn’t know the truth about her identity, I couldn’t.
Then fate intervened.
Three months ago, I finally found out the identity of the new Capo of La Cosa Nostra. The information had taken a few years to dig up. The only thing clear was that it was a woman.
Then my Ma finally found footage of the raven-haired goddess ending the life of a corrupt New York senator. I still remember the vivid pain that grabbed ahold of my chest as I saw her face .
It was unmistakable. Anastasia Romano — the very same girl that had haunted my dreams whenever I allowed myself sleep, deep enough that I could succumb to the memories I kept buried in the crevices of my mind.
If I close my eyes, I can still remember the softness of her hair, slipping through my fingers whilst she slept soundly in my arms.
I doubt they’ll be any of that again.
She’s not the same girl and I’m not the boy she took pity on in the library. It was a lie on both parts and yet I’m the bad guy?
My Ma said it was just a bubble. Neither of us had ever connected to another soul as dark as each other’s so we latched onto one another and called it love. We constructed fake realities, ignoring our own duties until they came back to haunt us.
People like us don’t have the privilege of experiencing real love. My Ma knows better than anyone what loving someone in this world will do to you.
Hearing Anastasia’s voice on the phone was like a wakeup call. Despite the same enthralling lull in her voice, she’s not the same girl I used to know.
Get that in your fucking head .
Anastasia is a weapon, designed to protect and fight for what she belongs to — La Cosa Nostra. It’s funny how similar our lives are and yet she doesn’t see it. She’s blinded by anger and hatred, unable to see my offer for what it truly is.
Her only chance of salvation.
“Take this, it’s starting to bruise.” Dominic hands me another cold pack from the freezer and I hold it against my face.
She has a strong punch — that much I already knew about her. I accepted the first few as shock and confusion…but when I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me, it wasn’t anger I saw in her eyes as she slammed her fist into my face one last time, but fear.
It almost knocked me out for good and by the time I came too, her car was long gone.
“I need to see her again and explain everything properly this time.”
“And you think that’ll do it? That she’ll just forgive you like that? Enzo this is why you’ve never had a girlfriend, well apart from…you know.” I shoot him a scathing look, tempted to kick him out. “You need to woo her. Get her presents, though the girl’s a millionaire so I don’t know exactly what you can buy her…”
“Dom focus. ”
He snaps back to reality, scowling. “I don’t know why you wanna marry this girl anyways. I mean I’ve never even seen you be intimate with a woman in public and now you’re going to marry some stranger you barely know?”
“It’s business. Anastasia could have been anyone. I don’t want to marry her, I want to marry the head of the Cosa Nostra.”
“Look I’m your second in command and I’m telling you that this is a bad idea. She’s fucking dangerous and you’re definitively number one on her hit list.” The thought of that makes me smile.
Dom narrows his eyes at me like I’m crazy. “Fratello ( brother ), wake the fuck up. You’re in charge okay, not your Ma — even though I love her very much — but you can’t just marry this chick without at least knowing her favorite color first.”
“I need this Dom. There’s no way of getting close without Anastasia by my side and aligning ourselves with the Cosa Nostra would give us the power to secure everything in Italy and grow in America. Losing this deal isn’t an option for us.”
I throw the peas and the cold pack on the kitchen counter, snatching the bottle of whiskey he opened from the bottom cabinet before heading towards my room .
Yet something stops me, some twisted need to prove that she isn’t a stranger. That once upon a time, she knew me better than I knew myself.
“It’s red.” I call out over my shoulder.
“What?”
The memory brings a smile to my face. “Her favorite color is red.”
***
I finally manage to tear myself out of the shower. My breaths come out harsh and I grab onto the wall to stop myself from collapsing.
Fuck . Twice now I’ve stroked my cock to climax and it still wants more.
The tip is red and angry, tempting me to go back into the shower again and finish the job. I’ve spent far too long in there though and my water bill will probably be through the roof by now.
Just another way the onyx-haired minx has managed to piss me off today.
It all started with a single delicious thought about how sweet her lips looked today, glossed into the perfect pout. Then my brain sidetracked into how good they would feel wrapped around my cock, torturing me the way I know she wants to…barely ten minutes in her presence and I'm a horny schoolboy again.
My phone begins to buzz somewhere, hidden beneath the mass of pillows on my bed. Sighing I chuck my towel into the hamper, knowing exactly who that will be. The call ends just before I find my phone and I quickly swipe up to call her back again.
She picks up on the first ring. “Hey, Ma.”
“Hey? Signore aiutami.” Lord help me. I roll my eyes, quickly pulling on some pants. “Barely three months since you’ve moved and already you sound like an American.”
“You did send me here for school and besides, I thought the whole point was to blend in.”
“Si, but don’t forget where your home is.” It’s already nearing ten o’clock and the crescent moon hangs low in the night sky, accompanied by dozens of stars scattered around it.
I wonder if Anastasia is staring up at the same stars as me.
“Enzo? Enzo?” My Ma shrills, almost popping an eardrum.
I sigh. “Yes Ma?” Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother but she hasn’t exactly mastered the art of using a phone yet.
“I said, have you asked her yet? ”
My eyes flit to the velvet box still sitting on my nightstand. “It didn’t exactly go as planned.”
“She said no?”
“Well of course Ma! I mean, what did you expect? We haven’t seen each other in nine years and suddenly I’m back in an expensive suit, with a new name and an offer beyond anything she could have expected.”
“It was a fair proposal.” She counters. “Americans are too fixated on love marriages yet almost half of them end up in divorce. This is the right way to do things, Enzo. A business proposal that gives you both what you want and me some grandchildren.”
I snort, thinking back to how hard Anastasia jammed that damn gun into my cock. We’re a long way from a handshake, never mind producing children.
“Just wait a few days. Show her how committed you are, perform a gesture of some sorts.” She rattles off some suggestions, similar to Dom’s ways of thinking but none of which would work on Anastasia.
Even though our past may have been a lie, there were times when she showed me her true self, buried beneath layers of a mask she’s spent years curating.
My Ma ends the call, making me promise that I’ll try to butter Anastasia up. Not likely .
I grab one of my Cuban cigars given to me as a gift by an Armenian arms dealer and lean back against my headboard. Lighting it, I close my eyes, relishing in the feeling of thick rich smoke filling my lungs.
She would hate this — me, smoking.
She always made that clear from the moment she caught me smoking one in my dorm room back at Ravenswood. Not that it matters now anyways.
She already hates me and no number of diamonds could ever cure that. She would never say yes to a marriage, even if she does need my offer to save herself and her legacy.
Her pride wouldn’t let her, so playing the nice guy won’t do me any good.
The only way Anastasia Romano would ever submit to me is if I gave her no other choice.