Chapter Thirty-seven
Ciro
“F uck,” I whisper for the 20th time since this night started. Yes, I’m keeping count.
I’d made perfect plans for how this night would go, and all those plans included my hand being around my wife’s waist. But here I am, alone with these people I could care less for, with my hands in my pockets and occasionally in other people’s hands, shaking them.
The casino is alive with energy, the kind of energy that oozes power and money. A mix of businessmen, moguls, and the elite all gather in one place, all here for a reason more than just gambling. This is a meeting of minds, but not all are interested in the blackjack tables. No, some have come for deals far more dangerous than cards. And though that is my favorite part of tonight, I can’t even enjoy it with a certain lady with full curly-length hair and perfect freckles not here for me to sniff her fucking scent.
I’ve spent the last two hours pretending to be interested in the small talk I was forced to endure, trying to juggle business deals and a thousand other things that needed my attention. My mind keeps drifting, and no matter how hard I try to stop it, I keep losing. I can’t stop thinking about Vida. She’s the woman I can’t seem to escape, no matter how hard I try. She haunts me, even when I’m mad, angry, happy, sad, or irritated. Vida Ballera will always find a way to slip into my thoughts, owning me so completely I don’t know how to exist without her anymore.
Two hours pass, and she still isn’t here.
“Fuck!” Make that 21 times.
I can’t focus. Every conversation is a blur. My eyes scan the entrance more often than not, waiting for the woman who has wrecked me in ways I can’t even begin to explain. Part of me wants to hold her, touch her skin, dig my fingers into her soft flesh. Fuck! I want to kiss her and do more than I should be thinking of. But another part reminds me how much I shouldn’t want these things, the part that’s too ashamed to face her. That part knows damn well what I’d done. How I’d hurt her.
Carmela’s words keep ringing in my head. Her scolding. She’d told me everything Vida had done and why she had done it. For me! She’d gone above and beyond in the most reckless way just to protect me.
“Fuck.” What number am I at again?
In the moment, I hadn’t understood that. I didn’t even give her a chance to explain! What the fuck is wrong with me? Of course she wouldn’t have betrayed me! She’s better than that, way better than me, and I know that. So why did I say those fucked up things to her and watch her cry? I was never supposed to hurt her, I made vows to keep her safe, even if that meant from me. Yet, I hurt her in the worst way possible.
Shame and guilt have never been my strong suit, but with Vida, I want to fall to my knees and beg her to forgive me.
A voice pulls me back to reality. My father’s thick Italian accent reaches my ears as he calls out to me from across the room, my heart stopping immediately, knowing he’s with Vida.
I turn like a robot under command, my eyes landing on her perfect self.
Vida.
My wife.
I thought I knew what pride was, but the feeling of having this woman as mine is a new type of pride entirely.
She stands next to my father, like a vision in black. Her long gown hugs her body like a second skin, and the slit that runs up the side of her dress exposes both her hip and thighs, adorned with a butterfly layered thigh chain that catches the light just right.
She’ll be proud once she sees what I did with her butterfly.
I can’t breathe for what feels like minutes. She’s utterly breathtaking. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
I can feel myself getting hard just from the way she moves, the confidence in her step, and the way the fabric of her dress clings to her body is everything. I can’t take my eyes off of her. She is perfection. The way her hair falls against her skin wakes up something primal inside me, something that wants to hold that thick hair of hers in a ponytail as I ram my cock inside her, showing her just how much of a perfect creation she truly is.
I open my mouth to speak, to call her name, or just say something that will make me look like I’m not just standing here drooling over her. Which, in all truth, I don’t mind, but before I can say anything, a voice cuts through the air.
“Vida.” The fucking Russian accent that I hate fills my ears.
My stomach drops.
I watch as she turns, a spark lighting in her eyes. It’s a spark I’ve only seen three times: when she’s reading, when she laughs genuinely, and when she spoke to me about the things she loves. But here she is, with her eyes glittering with excitement as she turns to him.
“Vladimir,” she calls, his name sounding like it belongs on her tongue.
“Fuck!” It doesn’t! No name should come out that smoothly from her mouth if it isn’t mine!
Before I can process what in the world is happening, Vida has her hands wrapped around Vladimir in a tight, enthusiastic hug.
WHAT. THE. FUCK!
The room begins to spin around me as I stand here frozen, watching the woman I crave more than life itself holding onto another man. My heart slams in my chest, and I swear I can feel the blood rushing to my head. I’ve never been so angry, so confused, so . . . jealous in my fucking life.
Death seems like an option for me at this point.
After some unwanted pleasantries, Valdimir sits us down, saying he has a business offer that I would like to hear. He knows how to get me to listen and I don’t like it, especially when Vida wants to stay by his side instead of mine.
I watch her as we discuss business, which ends up being something that really peaks my interest. Vladimir lays out his plan with that annoying smirk of his. The talk is technical, a lot of cybersecurity, cryptocurrency, and a mix of things that, on the surface, seem legitimate. But the unspoken fact is that it is more, though we both knew it’s not something we can talk about out here in the open. What he’s talking about is a front to launder money, moving it under the radar, hidden in plain sight. The profit he talks about through Bitcoin is way beyond profit, it’s our fuel source. It is a dangerous game, and Vladimir is good at it, which is the only thing that makes me not hate the guy entirely.
Speaking in code is like a game for us, one we both seem to enjoy. I can tell by the way he speaks, each word calculated to sound more like an offer than a demand, that he is enjoying this. The way he looks at Vida throughout our conversation has frustration burning inside of me though. His gaze isn’t flirty, but welcoming. It’s a look that is meant to make her feel welcome and safe, and it’s a look I doubt I’ve ever given her myself.
Fuck me.
Vida sits beside Vladimir, with Carmela by Cito’s side next to me. The two of them are more focused on whatever they are whispering to each other about. Vida, on the other hand, sinks into our conversation more than I expect her to. She doesn’t get all of it, I can tell, but she tries to keep up with us. There is no way she can understand everything, especially the parts we don’t say out loud. Still, she listens silently, with an attentiveness that shows she fits into this world, and is taking in every word. I can’t stop watching her, how her eyes flick between Vlamidir and me, as though trying to piece together things she doesn’t quite grasp.
She’s learning, without even knowing it, and all of that only makes the guilt gnaw at me.
As the conversation wraps up, Vladimir turns to Vida, giving her that self-satisfied smile of his.
“She’s the reason I’m here,” he says before turning back to me. “She made a hell of a bargain.”
“You have yourself one trusted ally, and a damn good wife.”
Fuck him for saying this, for being right, and for making me feel even more worse than I’m already feeling!
Vladimir, Carmela, Father, and even the damn casino knows how perfect she is. But me? I’d been too busy sulking in my own pride to let myself see how others saw her. I can’t even bring myself to tell her I’m sorry.
Her smile falters just slightly, the pain in her eyes barely visible. She’s hurt, I can tell, and she has every right to be. Everyone but me sees her. Everyone but me trusts her. I want to tell her I see her too, that I’m proud of her, and that I am grateful for what she’d done for me. But the words don’t come. Why won’t the words fucking come out?
Without warning, she stands up.
“I’ll be back soon,” she tells Vladimir, purposely avoiding my gaze.
“Take your time, I’ll be here,” he replies, smiling at her as I watch her walk away. The tension in the air shifts, her absence pulling at me like a magnet. I can’t let her go, not again, and definitely not like this.
So, I excuse myself and follow her. I have to say something, anything, before she slips away completely. I’m done hurting her, and even if I have to get down on my knees to show her I’ll never doubt her, I’ll be damned if I don’t fucking do it.
“Vida,” I call softly as I follow her through the crowd and into the VIP room. Gesturing for the guards to leave, I pull over the curtains and close the door. The room is dimly lit, with a large poker table set in the middle of the room and a shelf of exotic wines on the wall. This is my favorite part of the casino, where the right amount of money is made.
“Vida,” I call again, taking in a deep breath as she walks over and stops at the table. My voice feels foreign, even to my ears. Still, she doesn’t turn around.
I take a step closer, my feet almost unwilling to move. She can’t hide from me forever and neither can I avoid the inevitable.
“Vida, please . . .” I try again, my heart hammering in my chest as the weight of everything I’ve failed to say crashes down on me. I’ve never been nervous in my life, except twice. The two times I remember way too vividly.
When Grandfather made me kill my dog, and the day I married her.
“Why?” I hear her ask, her voice barely a whisper, shaking as it comes out her mouth.
“Vida,” I call again, her name the only thing that seems to not go back down my throat.
“Why?!” she yells, turning to face me, her eyes turning red as they fill with tears. Tears that have formed because of me.
Fuck me!
I want to explain, want to tell her I’m sorry and that I wasn’t thinking right when I yelled at her. But I keep quiet, unable to even form another word.
“Why didn’t you just listen to me? I could’ve told you everything! I wanted to tell you everything, Ciro. Do you hate me so much that you couldn’t even listen?” she cries.
Oh God! I just want to hold her and clean those damn tears that make her brown eyes glitter. How can I, though, when I can barely move? The feelings her teary eyes cause make me feel like I’m having a heart attack.
“I did it for you! I knew you’d hate dealing with the trouble Raymond caused. I knew finding Vladimir would be an advantage. I knew I could be useful and be more than some collateral damage. I just wanted to show you I could be more than a liability,” she yells, her voice breaking with every increase and decrease in tone.
She was never a liability! And collateral damage? Fuck! Is this how I make her feel? Fuck me!
“Vida please,” I cut in, trying to stop her. I walk towards her, needing to do something to make her calm down.
She stops me, taking two steps away from me. The fact that she’s putting more distance between us makes me feel like death is calling me.
“I trust you, Ciro, I trust you with my life. I hate that I do, but I do. I would stand in front of a moving train and trust you to save me,” she cries, hitting her chest, almost like she’s asking for more strength to continue pouring her heart out.
“But you!” she scoffs, mocking me. “It was so easy to believe what you heard. You didn’t for a second want to listen to me. To give me the benefit of the doubt. Why?”
With her red face, smudged mascara, and nose dripping with ragged breath, she still looks effortlessly beautiful.
“Say something!” she yells, stamping her feet and drawing me back to her pain.
How can I? What do I even have to say? She didn’t let me talk, though I have no idea where to start. Fuck! It’s a bitter taste when you’re served your own medicine.
Yet I say nothing, unsure of what the right words are.
She scoffs. “Just what I thought. You don’t give two fucks about anyone’s emotions besides your own. I’m so stupid for thinking that maybe, just maybe, I would do something right for the almighty Ciro Ballera. So stupid.”
God! The pain. It’s not just there in her eyes and in her voice, I can feel it as I watch her sobbing harder. Knowing I caused this, that I am responsible for the pain I vowed to take away, kills me.
“I’ll leave you,” I say, my eyes on anything but hers. “Until you’re ready to talk.”
I turn and head towards the door. She doesn’t need me right now, and my presence is only making her hurt more. I don’t want her hurting more than she already is. I can barely survive this. I can’t add more to it.
“Of course,” I hear her mutter as my hand touches the door knob.
I freeze.
What the fuck am I doing? Walking away? Again? Am I really that dense? For someone people think of as smart, I’ve been making stupid decisions recently and the worst of them all is daring to leave this room, to leave her like this . . . to not claim those nude glossy lips.
“Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!” I mutter, knowing now that I must’ve cursed more than 50 times in the space of four hours.
I turn and face her, accepting all my faults and letting the primal urge take over. I am sorry and my words have failed me. So, I will show her exactly how sorry I truly am.
“What are you . . .?” she starts to ask, her pain turning to shock as I walk towards her.
I stretch my hands out and grab her before she can move away from me, dragging her towards me in a single pull, causing her chest to press against mine.
“Ciro, stop,” she says, yet her body stays glued to mine. Fuck her for smelling this fucking good! What is that scent for fucks sake? Something has taken over me and fuck me if I don’t let her see how much power she has over me.
I cup her face with my hands, keeping her gaze on me as I stare down into her perfect brown eyes, still filled with tears and decorated with mascara.
“Let me,” I say, gazing into her eyes. “Let me make the pain go away.”
When she doesn’t protest, I lean in and take her lips with mine, owning every inch of flesh that forms her perfect mouth.
I’m dying in ecstasy, this woman, my woman , is perfect. She’s so soft, sweet, and fucking addictive. I thought killing was a drug, but Vida’s lips say something else entirely.
I can’t think straight, heck, I fucking can’t breathe. The moment I taste her tongue, it’s like my entire world zeroes in on her and all my restraint shatters. She tastes like every damn thing I’ve been craving but never knew I needed to taste. My hands grip her waist tightly, pulling her until there’s nothing separating us, afraid that she might slip away if I don’t hold her tight enough.
Her mouth is soft and warm, and when she gasps for some air, I take full advantage, diving deeper, desperate to consume her. Her fingers slowly begin to claw at my clothes, tugging me closer, and it only fuels the fire burning through me more.
She wants this! Fuck! She wants me!
I kiss her harder, bruisingly, my breath ragged against her lips as I adjust her head for more. I need more, more of her taste, more of her heat, more of her fucking existence. Now that I know what our lips feel like together, I know I’ll never be able to live a second without them.
“Vida,” I groan against her mouth, my voice thick and hoarse.
I’m a madman, a deranged man in desperate need of having more of her.
Then she fucking moans, and fuck, am I done for!
Whoever dared say classical music is the best type of music has never heard Vida fucking moan.
Her moan is the sweetest damn sound I’ve ever heard, and it makes me reckless. My lips tear away from hers, trailing down her jaw to her neck, where her pulse threatens to beat out of her veins. I can smell her scent thicker here, and can taste her wildly against my tongue. I want to mark her, to leave proof of how much I need her, and the thought alone makes me dizzy.
I let my hands roam over her body, savoring the feel of her curves under the silk of her dress. I tug at the straps, slipping them from her shoulders with a clumsy desperation I’ve never felt before. I’m not thinking, only feeling, and the soft gasp she gives me as my fingers meet her hard nipple only makes me want to shove my cock down her beautiful, long throat. Her body arches into me, like she is offering herself to be taken, and fuck, do I take more of her, nipping and tasting her skin, kneading on her nipples, and grabbing every pound of flesh that makes her perfect round ass.
“Fuck!” I rasp against her skin, pressing kisses from her throat as I slowly move towards her exposed cleavage. She can hear the desperation in my voice. She can hear and see just how much I need her.
“Please,” she begs. If only she knew what her pleas meant to me, she would take it back!