Chapter Thirty
Ciro
S hit. Shit. Shit!
Something has fucking shifted and I’m sitting here trying to figure out what. The boardroom is filled with the kind of tension that clings to the air like smoke. Rich, polished wood surrounds us, the kind of decor that speaks of wealth and power, the very same room I’ve attended meetings all my life. I sit at the head of the table, trying to focus on the faces of the men around me, but my mind is elsewhere. They’re talking about the final plans for the casino opening, discussing security measures and guest lists, but all I can think about is her. My fucking wife!
The image of her glistening in the shower is burned into my mind, an image that will cling to my soul for eternity. Her skin shimmered like it was dusted with diamonds, and I could practically feel the warmth of her body next to mine. I keep thinking about the way her full, curly hair cascaded over her shoulders, wet and dripping, sticking its strands to her body and forming a masterpiece of artwork without any effort whatsoever. Her stretch marks told a story of beauty and strength, like a perfect dark sky with lightning dancing around it. It frustrates me to no end that I can’t shake her from my thoughts, especially here, in this room filled with old men who think of nothing but power and money.
“Ciro?” one of the older men calls, pulling me back to reality. His voice is gruff and stern, but I can barely register what he is saying.
I give him a slight nod, attempting to show some interest in what he’s saying, but my focus is divided in a thousand different directions, most of them owned by Vida.
Her laughter echoes in my ears, like a song used for therapy, like the ones war hero’s listen to in order to find their humanity again.
“Ciro!” Cito calls, leaning in towards me, his expression serious. The way his voice sounds sends a jolt through me.
“I need to talk to you. It’s important,” he whispers.
“Can it wait? We’re in the middle of something,” I snap, feeling my stomach drop. Whenever he sounds like this, something annoying is coming and I hate dealing with annoying shit.
“I’ll be out in five,” I tell him, the irritation creeping into my tone. But Cito doesn’t back down, he has that look in his eyes, the one that he gets whenever the news he carries is one we can’t ignore.
“It’s Donato,” he whispers, the name hitting me like a punch to the gut and making my pulse race with anger. I had forgotten the bastard was hovering in the shadows. I’ve been so busy figuring out how to live with this woman and run this freaking empire, that I had let myself forget the reason I was stuck with her in the first place!
It annoyed me more as I thought of how much she’s been through the past few weeks and now, just as she is finally healing and getting back on her feet, this motherfucker decides to show up? The fucking bastard and his freaking nerve!
“What did he do?” I ask, my eyes still fixed on the men in front of me and the conversation they are having.
“Sent a package. It’s in front of the house,” he replies, his voice low and tense. A surge of rage courses through me as I tighten my fists. I need to keep whatever it is away from Vida.
“Damn it,” I mutter, my mind racing. I can feel my blood boiling at the thought of her having to deal with this again, having to look over her shoulder when she should be able to relax and enjoy life, with . . . What the fuck am I thinking?
“What should we do?” Cito continues to ask, waiting for my instructions.
“Keep it quiet for now,” I say, trying to maintain my composure. I need to protect her, even if that means keeping this news from her for a little while longer. I hate how I feel, knowing I’ll be lying to her, but I push those feelings aside. Her safety comes first.
“We can’t let this affect the opening. It’s too important,” I add, knowing that isn’t the primary reason for the lie. I want what we had in my room to last longer, her laughing and talking to me like she didn’t hate me as much. I . . . I might be a fucking fool, but God, I want her to laugh at my bad taste in food again.
Cito nods but looks unconvinced. The man knows me better than my own father does, so of course he knows there’s more that I’m not saying.
“Ciro, this isn’t just business. If Donato’s back, it could put her in danger. She should know. If not her, then Carmela at least,” he says, trying to reason with me.
His words hit hard. A pit forms in my stomach at the thought of Vida in danger again. I clench my jaw, torn between wanting to shield her from the truth and knowing she deserves to know what is happening. But I’m a selfish man, one that might be making a call based on filthy sentiments, and I know better, but the smell of her skin as I dried her up doesn’t let me make the right call. The most pathetic part of it all is I don’t even fight it.
“Gimme a sec,” I say in an attempt to get Cito out of my space, while pretending to actually think. But in reality, I watch the men finalize things, while I try to figure out her shoe size. I know the best place to get her a heel with straps, one that’ll go with my outfit for the casino opening.
“Ciro!” Cito’s voice breaks through the fog again, this damn man can’t just let me think! The meeting has ended and I didn’t even realize.
After saying a few things and giving some instructions, the men shake hands and get up, ready to leave. I watch them slowly, knowing that I need to act, so I take a deep breath, hoping it will somehow take my mind off of her.
“What’s the plan, boss?” Cito asks again.
“Let’s step outside,” I reply as I push away from the table. The room feels suffocating. I need space, and I need to think, but most importantly, I need to see her.
We move to the corridor, away from prying eyes, but close enough to see the back of the house where Carmela has taken her to. Cito’s concern is palpable.
“We can’t keep pretending Donato is out of the picture. It’s only a matter of time, and considering how long he’s been away from our reach, we can only imagine what games he’ll be playing,” Cito explains, every word sounding right. Yet, as I steal a glance at the woman sitting by the pool, laughing at something I can’t quite make out, I can’t stand the thought of taking her joy away.
“Boss?” he calls, drawing me out of my thoughts.
“I know,” I snap, my frustration boiling over. “I’ll handle it. Only we should know about this. Not Carmela and definitely not my wife.”
“Then she needs extra protection,” he says, his tone serious.
“Wouldn’t that defeat the plan to be discreet?” I ask in a sarcastic tone, almost rolling my eyes at his suggestion.
“It will. So what’s the plan?” he asks.
I’ve always been a man with a plan, but how the fuck am I supposed to have one now when she is sitting there, laughing, and fucking glowing like some kind of goddess, bruises and all?
Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m fucking fucked.
“What was his message?” I ask, diverting from his question.
“A dead rat, with her picture clipped to it,” he replies.
The dead rat isn’t my problem, neither is her picture being on it. But the thought of his eyes being on her boils my blood so much I almost feel like I’m heating from the inside out.
“Get rid of it and keep this on the down low. Find Donato or anything that can lead us to him. My wife is recovering and I need to check on her. If anything important comes up, you tell me,” I instruct, eager to go outside and be in her presence.
“Alright,” he replies before taking his leave, leaving me to take a deep breath and finally walk towards the door that leads to her.
Vida
I sit under the umbrella, enjoying the fee l of the sun on my skin and the sound of laughter from Franchesco, Carmela, and the two other people Carmela brought with her, Prisca and her boyfriend, Pietro. Their joy is infectious and it has taken my mind off so many things. All except one thing. My eyes keep drifting elsewhere, to the man who stands inside with his chief of security and friend.
Ciro is inside the house, his tall figure silhouetted in the doorway as he speaks to Cito. I can’t help but stare at him, remembering the way he’d bathed me earlier, the warmth of the water, and the gentle touch of his hands as he washed my skin. His fingers had grazed over me, leaving a trail of unfamiliar emotions and new thoughts I didn’t even understand.
I didn’t want to feel these things, but how couldn’t I? He’s shifted something inside of me, and has broken through my walls. The way we’d talked after my shower, our words flowing so easily, like melting butter on a pan. The more I think about it, the more I realize it was our first conversation where we didn’t want to rip each other’s throats out. It was nice and comforting, and I wanted it to happen again.
“Hey, Vida!” Franchesco calls, pulling me out of my thoughts, a smirk on his face. “Did you have a first love?”
I’d zoned out from the conversation and I can only wonder what they were talking about that led to this question.
His question floats in the air, making my heart skip a beat. I turn to him, a smile immediately forming on my lips. The laughter around me fades as my mind races with memories, then I hear Carmela giggle, making me turn to smile at her. Of course she knows the answer to that.
“That’s a silly question, of course she did! And from what I’ve heard, he was the perfect man!” she teases, and I can feel my cheeks heat up at her words. She’s right, he really was perfect, in more ways than one.
“His name’s Adam. First and only love, and yes, he’s the perfect man,” I reply, nodding, unable to help the blush that creeps across my face.
They tease me even more, swooning and cooing, making me laugh and shy away at the same time.
“Okay, okay, stop it!” I protest, half-embarrassed and half-amused, eager to bring my attention back to the person I’d been staring at.
In the back of my mind I can still feel Ciro’s presence nearby. The image of him shirtless has burned itself into my mind. I want to know what he’s thinking, and to feel the connection we had shared just hours ago.
After deciding to get a drink of water, even though I’m not thirsty, I rise to my feet, my heart already beating so fast in anticipation of just being close to him again. My lips even turn up in a smile at the thought! I blame my menstrual cycle for deciding to show up the moment he decided to be nice to me.
Just as I turn toward the house, my breath catches in my throat. There he is, framed in the doorway, looking like a force of nature. His gaze locks on me, his eyes staring at me fiercely, but there is something in his expression that sends a shiver down my spine. His eyes seem to burn with a mix of emotions, and all I can do is wonder why I feel an unexpected rush of guilt wash over me. Had he heard what I said? Why did it matter so much to me anyway? It was true! It was.
“Franchesco, we need to talk,” Ciro’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and commanding.
My heart sinks as he speaks to his friend, not even acknowledging my presence. I want to reach out, to say his name or ask how his meeting went, but I can’t find the words.
“Is everything okay?” Carmela asks, beating me to it.
My eyes stay glued on Ciro as he snaps, his voice cold with an edge to it that feels like ice slicing through the warmth of our earlier conversation, making my heart sink as it hits me that he might be back to his usual self. “I was talking to Franchesco.”
I try to speak, to say anything that’ll make him look at me with those kind and gentle eyes he did earlier. “Ciro, how . . .”
“Franchesco, now!” he orders, cutting me off, his words harsh and unexpected, before he turns away from me.
Shock hits me like a wave. I stand frozen, staring at him as he walks away, leaving me feeling small and hurt. This is not the Ciro who’d held me in the shower and made me feel safe.
As he disappears into the house, frustration bubbles up inside of me. I want to yell after him, to ask what’s changed so quickly, and why he’s gone from being so caring to so distant? To ask him why he became so soft if his plan was to go back to being his usual asshole self. Anger mixes with confusion, and tears prick at the corners of my eyes. Gah, I hate how this man makes me feel!
Heck, why do I care? Why do I feel so connected to someone who can turn away from me in an instant? I blame myself even, knowing how much of a fool he is, yet trusting him enough to be nice to me! When will my stupidity end?
I turn back to Carmela and the rest of our group, forcing a smile that feels strained. They are still buzzing with excitement and Carmela gives me a nod and a smile, but all I can think about is the distance Ciro created in that single moment. I’m mad at myself for almost thinking he’d changed. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!
As the laughter continues, a part of me sinks back into the place I was before Ciro came to my room and offered to bathe me. My mind stays haunted by the memory of what I’d gone through and how his touch made me forget, the way his eyes had seared into mine, brown eyes on brown eyes, and then my thoughts freeze.
“Carmela?” I call, her blue eyes meeting mine instantly.
“Does your psycho brother wear contacts?” I ask, watching her brows arch.
“That’s an unusual question,” she laughs, “but yes, he does.”
I knew it! There was something weird about his eyes, and even after he barely acknowledged me, I still want to know what eye problem he has.