Chapter Twenty-two
Ciro
T he room is dim, the air heavy with the smell of cigar smoke and aged leather. Around me sits men my father’s age, who have seen decades of bloodshed, deals, and betrayal. Their faces are worn, but their eyes still look sharp, despite their age, yet, none of them command the kind of respect I do. The meeting has dragged on, covering the final touches for the casino launch, a front for something far more lucrative. Weapons.
The coded language we use is a safeguard, one that has been in place for years. No one outside this circle would know what we are really discussing. “Guests” meant buyers. “Supplies” meant shipments. Everything had to be precise, down to the very last detail. A single misstep could cause an inconvenience and I hated inconveniences.
Inconveniences like the issue of the mole. Someone, somewhere, has been whispering things they shouldn’t. Also, inconveniences like her; the very worst kind.
“There’s been chatter,” Vito says, his voice sounding rough, like gravel grinding against each other.
“Go on,” I urge as he waits for my permission to continue.
“Could be someone close to the operation, someone with access. We need to handle this quietly.”
I lean back in my chair, running my thumb along the rim of my glass. The anger that has been simmering since that stormy night surges again, but I tamp it down. I have to stay in control. I can’t let her absence ruin my mood.
“I’ll take care of it,” I reply. “If there’s a leak, I’ll find it.”
They nod and look at each other in assurance. Even now, they look to me for answers, for direction. These men have lived through the worst of times, survived wars and yet they defer to me. I like that. It feeds the part of me that craves control, that demands respect. But it also means I can’t afford to show weakness. Grandfather would be proud, but I don’t care, he is six feet under; the home he deserves.
And yet, just when the meeting is wrapping up, just when I think I can finally slip away and forget about the weight pressing on me, Nicolo drops the question.
“How’s your wife, Ciro?” he asks, a deep chuckle in his voice, turning to the other men who nod in response, waiting for my reply.
The words hit me harder than they should. My pulse spikes and my hand tightens around my glass. I didn’t want to think about Vida. I didn’t want to talk about her, especially not with these men. But as much as I want to brush it off, to keep her out of my mind, there is a twisted part of me that likes hearing them acknowledge her as my wife.
My wife. Not just any woman. Mine. She is bound to me, tied to my life, whether she likes it or not. And these men knew it and fuck! I like that. I like that she’s mine, that she carries my name, my blood, my soul, my vows. Even if every time I think of her, anger brews hot in my chest.
“She’s fine,” I reply, the words sounding clipped. A lie. The last thing Vida and I are is “fine.” But they don’t need to know that.
Nicolo smiles, a knowing glint in his eye, but I can tell he won’t push it. “Good. It’s important to keep things balanced at home, eh? A man’s wife can be his greatest ally or his greatest distraction.”
He sounds like grandfather, but why wouldn’t he, he basically grew up learning from him.
I swallow the frustration that threatens to choke me. I don’t need their advice. They have no idea what goes on between Vida and I, what she does to me every time she looks at me with those goddamn questioning eyes. Eyes that have seen more than they should have. Eyes that were supposed to judge me, yet glittered with something even I didn’t understand.
The stormy night plays in my head like a broken record, each second burned into my mind. I hate how vividly I remember it, from the rain pouring down, Vida standing there, watching me beat that man, watching me unleash my very addiction; causing pain.
She should’ve been terrified. She should’ve run away, but she didn’t. And I hadn’t stopped her. A part of me had wanted her to see. I wanted her to understand exactly who I am, exactly what kind of man she is married to.
But that same part of me hates it. Hates the fact that I can’t stop thinking about her standing there, her eyes wide and . . . almost curious? Like she couldn’t tear herself away from the monster I was in that shed. The memory has tormented me for weeks, twisting my insides until I didn’t know if I wanted to forget it, or relive it just to see how far she’d go before she finally broke and hell rained loose. I want to see her break.
“You’re quiet today, Ciro. Something on your mind?” Andrea asks, his voice dragging me back to the present. I force a smile, though I can feel the tension crackling just beneath the surface.
“Just focused on the job, Andrea. The casino launch is two weeks away. That’s what matters,” I reply, wondering if I said that to assure him or myself.
They all nod, satisfied, and the conversation shifts back to logistics, dates, numbers and names. But I’m not really listening anymore. My mind is still on Vida. The way her name felt in my mouth, the way my pulse quickens just thinking about her. I hate that she has this effect on me, hate that even now, when I should be focusing on the meeting, she is there, in the back of my mind, pulling at my thoughts, and being a fucking inconvenience.
I finish my drink and stand up, signaling the end of the meeting. As I gather my things, the men rise too, giving me their usual respectful nods.
“Ciro,” Vito calls, his voice softer now. “Take care of your business. Both at home and with the casino.”
I know what he means. He is talking about the leak, about the threats that hover over our operation. But my thoughts are on Vida. How the hell am I supposed to take care of anything when she is always there, under my skin? Fucking pricking on my every nerve?
I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and leave the room. The second I am out of their sight, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
I need to take my mind off of her. But how can I when every thought of her feels like fire in my veins? I send a quick test to Lucia, the only person who has the perfect remedy for forgetting stuff, especially one’s wife.
Loud music pierces through every corner of the club, vibrating right through my skin. I sit back, letting my head rest against the soft red booth as I hold my drink. The lights are dim and inviting, casting the crowd in moving shades of red and gold, but even in the chaos of all the noise and alcohol, my mind keeps drifting back to Vida.
I hate it.
This was supposed to be a distraction, a night to forget about the annoyance that haunts me every time I’m around her. I had come out with Franchesco and Lucia, the very two people I can always count on for a good time. Yet, here I am, half-heartedly listening to their banter and forcing myself to laugh at jokes I’m not paying attention to, all while my thoughts are a million miles away. Miles that lead straight back to the house I didn’t want to be in.
Lucia sits next to me, and after laughing at whatever Franchesco has said, she turns to me and leans in a little closer, her arm grazing against mine.
“You’re too quiet tonight, Ciro. Are we boring you?” she teases, her lips stretching into a playful smile.
I glance at her, her laughter barely registering. Normally, I might entertain her flirting, might even encourage it, but tonight, it feels different. The way she touches me annoys me. Her body feels too close to mine, and the way she speaks only gets on my nerves. I can’t pinpoint why, but the thought of playing along and smiling back at her only makes me angrier.
“Just a long day,” I reply, gulping down my drink in an attempt to avoid saying more. The alcohol burns as it goes down, but it isn’t enough to numb the frustration boiling inside me. At least my anger has switched to Lucia and not my wife.
Lucia smiles at me, not taking the hint as she leans in further, her hand now resting on my lap.
“Maybe I could help you relax?” she offers, her voice low and seductive.
My jaw clenches, my eyes hardening as I force myself to not react. The way she looks at me, smiles at me, and touches me are all things that used to work on me. That light, easy flirting she’s always thrown my way used to be a welcome distraction, a game I could play without consequences. But now it feels wrong. Cheap. Every word out of her mouth just makes my chest tighten with irritation, and my temper battles to break free from within.
I’m not sure what’s changed, is it because I got married? Because I can’t break my vows? No, it is more than that. But what?
Damn it.
The thought of my wife is like a curse, rattling through my brain, doing everything it can to stop all of my attempts to enjoy the night. No matter how hard I try to block her out, she is always there. A part of me longs to be back at home, arguing with her, pushing her buttons the way only I can. At least that little chaos makes me feel alive. I make her break in ways I like, and in ways she needs to. But here, everything is muted, the noise of the club has slowly begun to dull.
I lean further back in my seat, letting out a long sigh. My eyes drift over to Lucia, who is still watching me with those sparkly eyes and pink, plump lips.
“You’re too close,” I finally say, my voice colder than I’d intended. I can’t keep it in anymore, and it’s better than physically pushing her away, right?
Lucia stares at me for a few seconds before blinking in surprise. Rejection seems to be new to her, especially coming from me. “I was only . . .”
“I know and I appreciate that,” I cut her off, my gaze shifting away from her, focusing on the crowd, the music, anything but the annoyance that comes with her being close or the human that I hope isn’t having her nightmares.
Another deep pull of my drink.
I need to push Vida out of my head. This was supposed to be a night away from her, yet even here, surrounded by people, I can’t escape her. It infuriates me.
Vida
I lay curled up in my room, my attention bur ied deep in the pages of a novel, my whole focus fixed on the hot biker who has fallen in love with his best friend’s sister. I’ve gotten back to reading more. My supposed honeymoon helped me find myself, giving me lots of time to sit and get lost in my books again. Finding comfort in the stories and fictional worlds has helped me escape from all of the chaos in my own life.
Since getting back I haven’t hated being here as much. In my quiet room I can forget Ciro, and forget about the inner emotional turmoil that seems to swarm through me every time I see him. I’m not angry or upset anymore either, and I like how we’ve both found our lanes, far away from each other. I’m grateful for the silence and solitude.
My peace tonight doesn’t last long. The door to my room flies open and Carmela barges in with a dress in one hand and a mischievous smile on her pretty face.
“We’re crashing a party tonight!” she announces, the grin on her face growing wider.
I blink as I look up from my book, my mind still in the story and fighting to understand what Carmela is talking about.
“What party? What are you talking about?” I ask, frowning as Carmela throws a short, black dress on the bed in front of me.
“There’s a party and we weren’t invited, so . . .” she pauses and walks towards me before falling onto the bed next to me. “We’re crashing it!”
“What? Why” I ask confused, just now noticing Carmela has dressed up already. She’s wearing a red leather dress that looks barely long enough to be called a dress. She has her makeup smokey and done neatly with her jet-black hair left down in loose curls. She looks amazing and her ocean blue eyes sparkle.
“You’re asking questions when you should be getting dressed! Come on, put this on and I’ll explain everything on the way,” Carmela says, getting up and going through my things, pulling out shoes, accessories, and anything else she can find to complete the outfit.
I glance at the dress with my eyebrows raised. The sleek, tight fabric is nothing like what I usually wear, and while my first instinct is to protest, it’s late and I don’t have the energy to fight her on this.
Ugh, I just want to finish reading my book!
“I’m not really in the mood for a party, Carmela,” I start, but Carmela waves me off.
“You’ll thank me later,” Carmela says with a wink, walking towards me and dragging me out of bed. “I need this, we both do.”
“Fine, just tell me why and who’ll be there.” I stare at her, narrowing my eyes as I wait for her response.
“Cito will be there, and no one else you know,” she replies, her eyes still sparkling with something I can’t quite name.
“And why are we crashing it?”
“‘Cause I wasn’t invited, I told you! Now, let’s make you look drop dead sexy so every specimen with a dick will beg to be close to you,” Carmela says, pushing me towards my vanity.
I sigh, knowing there is no winning with her. The truth is, a part of me doesn’t mind leaving the house. I hate to admit it, but I’m grateful for any excuse to get out these days, especially since I know that Ciro won’t be back before I leave. I really don’t want to be here when he returns.
The night of the storm feels like a lifetime ago, though memories of it still linger in my mind. Even though we haven’t spoken of it in the past few weeks, I still can’t help but relive it every time I see him. The images of him, brutal and unflinching, replay in my mind like an Instagram reel I can’t scroll past. I haven’t stopped thinking about it or why I’d almost liked watching it.
After a few minutes of us working our magic on my makeup and fixing my hair, I slip into the black dress. I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror, and I can’t help but think of Izzy, which makes me chuckle. Izzy’s spent years trying to convince me to wear a dress like this. The more I take myself in, the more I like it. I like how it hugs my body and makes me look powerful. Hell, it almost turns me on . . . I’ve never turned myself on like this before, but damn, do I look hot.
I don’t know where Carmela is taking me, but it doesn’t matter. At least I won’t have to be here, trapped in the same house as Ciro. I’m going to party, drink, laugh, and who knows, I might get wasted for the first time in my life! So, I take a deep breath and a small smile tugs at my lips. Tonight, I will escape, even if it is for a few hours.
“Damn girl! I would let you do wicked things to me right now,” Carmela teases, fanning herself as she looks at me.
“Just maybe I will,” I laugh, grabbing my phone and purse.
“Fuck, you look hot! Oh, I can’t wait to crash a party with you by my side,” she adds, before linking arms with me and leading us out to the car.