Chapter 36 Contessa #3
“Yes.”
“That was true. But the bit about me not having parents… I did, once upon a time.”
It feels as though my heart is crawling up my chest and into my throat, trying to get a better view of this man bearing his truth.
“My mom died when I was four. I might have had a relatively normal childhood up to that point but I don’t remember any of it. I don’t remember her. My father was a hateful man. He was aggressive and abusive—to me and my brother—”
“You have a brother?”
He closes his eyes for a moment, then looks distantly across the room. “I had a brother. God knows if he’s still alive. Ran away when he was thirteen.”
My fingers close tighter around my purse.
“After Leo Jr. left, I survived by being at my father’s disposal.
He was a petty criminal doing small time jobs for a local gang.
” He shrugs like it was mere child’s play.
“I hid stolen goods, lied to the police, provided alibis, that sort of thing. Then one time, he let me in on a big job. I was excited about it—my father letting me work with him and his gangster buddies. He didn’t tell me much about it, just told me to follow and do as I was told, so I did.
We broke into a warehouse in the Bronx. The plan was to steal a whole bunch of firearms being stored there. ”
He takes a deep breath and scrubs a hand down his face like he’s trying to wipe away the memories.
“When we got inside, while some of the guys loaded up the boxes, my father handed me a gun. I’d never held one before and I just remember thinking it was so much heavier than I’d imagined.
He took off the safety clip, then told me to point it at a door which led out the back, and said if anyone was to walk through that door, I was to shoot them. ”
He chokes out a laugh filled with bitterness. “I wasn’t even sure where the trigger was.”
My heart thumps and I realize I’m holding my breath.
“It wasn’t long before somebody did walk through the door.
A security guard who likely had no idea what was in those boxes.
But I did what my father had instructed.
I aimed the gun at him and pulled back what I assumed was the trigger.
The force of it knocked me flat on my back but my aim was perfect. Killed the guy, clean and quick.”
The breath leaks from my lungs and I swallow. “How old were you?” I whisper.
He lifts his gaze and I can’t see any emotion behind it. “Nine.”
My saliva goes down the wrong way and I choke on it. Benito’s frown dips in concern but he doesn’t move to help me. When the choking subsides I look up. He hasn’t moved. He’s still completely unaffected.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask in a scratchy voice.
He hesitates. “I want you to understand me. I want you to know why I am the way I am.”
I watch him for some sign of softness but he holds his ground.
“We got busted on the way out anyway,” he sighs, his shoulders rounding out. “I was so stunned at what I’d done I couldn’t move, so my father left me there and drove off with the goods and the rest of the men.”
What?
He slides his hands into his pockets and narrows his eyes at me. “That was my first lesson in trust—even blood betrays.”
“Oh Benito…”
“Don’t feel sorry for me.” There’s a bite in his tone.
“That moment changed everything. The people we stole from descended pretty quickly and took me off to some location on the river. I was beaten, drugged and tortured and I still didn’t give up any information about my father and his acquaintances.
When I didn’t break, they tried blackmailing him for the stolen goods, using me as leverage, but he told them to keep me. ”
Nausea crawls up my throat and I clasp a hand over my mouth.
“That was my second lesson in trust—the only person you’re worth anything to is yourself.”
I start to shake my head but his dark stare freezes me in place.
“The people who tortured me were so impressed with my ability to keep a secret, they handed me over to Gianni. By the time I was twelve years old I had the most lethal aim in the organization and was on track to be sworn in by my sixteenth birthday. That was my third and final lesson in trust—survival is about transaction. Turn yourself into a valuable weapon and you’ll never need to trust anyone again. ”
I slump back against the wall.
“This is why you didn’t trust me?”
“Yes.”
“And now?”
He walks toward me in a slow, firm gait, and stops a couple of feet in front. “I really want to trust you, more than anything.”
My chest rises and falls with a quickened tempo and even though his words have scratched against my softness like a sharp blade, I can’t help but fall into his tragic, haunting gaze.
“But?”
“It isn’t going to happen overnight. You’ll need to be patient with me. That is, if you’ll have me back.”
My heart wants to cry. All I can see standing in front of me is that lonely, helpless little boy forced to fend for himself, trained to not trust a soul.
“Is that what you want?” I whisper.
He reaches up both hands and takes my face in his warm palms. His eyes roam me ravenously. “It’s all I want.”
When he presses his lips to mine, there’s no darkness—only daylight.
No wrist ties—only a soft caress. And it’s now that I realize none of us perfectly fit into a box.
We’re all complex. Me? I’m dark, I’m wild, but I’m soft and grounded.
Benito? He’s dark, he’s rough, but his palm is light and his heart is swollen.
And that’s what makes people so hard to trust—they’re fluid and ever-changing.
And being vulnerable to that takes a kind of strength that can elude even the most powerful among us.