Chapter Twenty-Five
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
VIVIANA
It feels good. Waking up Luc’s arms—my head on his chest, leg draped over his hips, soothed by the sound of his steady heartbeat—feels good.
I keep my eyes closed and pretend to still be sleeping, just to commit the sensation of his body surrounding mine to memory. I don’t know how long I lie there. It’s only when the rays of a mid-morning sun stream onto my eyelids that I give up my ruse.
“Good morning, sleepy,” Luc’s deep voice greets me. Even without looking at him, I know he’s smiling. I can hear it in his voice. “Did you sleep well?”
“Too well,” I moan, craning my neck to peek up at my husband.
Luc looks like he’s been awake for hours, so it warms my heart knowing that he stayed in bed for me. He continues to surprise me. From the moment he found me on the staircase last night, he’s been heartbreakingly, painstakingly attentive. Like I’m some precious treasure he never plans to let out of his sight.
During our shower last night, he washed my body, then proceeded to hoist my legs around his waist, bury himself inside of me, and make a mess again. To be fair, I instigated the shower sex. I wasn’t that sore.
“How do you feel?” He brushes a knotty wave away from my brow.
I make a show of rolling my shoulders back and wiggling my legs beneath the covers, testing for any soreness. Unsurprisingly, what feels like one hundred pins and needles shoots through my thighs and back, and I wrinkle my nose. “Like I really need to start working out. Who knew sex used so many muscles?”
He laughs, tilting his head back on the pillow. “Sex is the best form of cardio.”
“Easy for you to say.” I poke at his chest. “You did all the work.”
One of his big hands palms my ass, squeezing the fleshy muscle twice. “If you want more of a workout, I’ll have you ride my cock, cattivella. ” Without warning, he flips us around so that I’m on my back and he’s hovering over me. His lips brush against my ear as he whispers, “I’m dying to see your tits bounce while you fuck me from on top.”
My cheeks flush crimson, and I don’t imagine the feeling of his eagerness pressing against my lower belly. I widen my hips to accommodate him, ready to delve deeper into the intoxicating practice of acquainting myself with every inch of Luc’s body.
To my surprise, he kisses me once, twice, then pulls back, rolling away with a grunt. “We should talk.”
“Talk?” I echo, brows furrowed, clutching the sheets to my chest as I sit up. “Is everything okay?
“Everything’s perfect,” he chuckles, propping up two pillows against the headboard. He leans back against them and extends an arm to pull me into his side. Only when I snuggle against his chest once more does he continue. “But you’re not on the birth control shot anymore.”
Oh.
I stiffen, managing an uneasy laugh. “Technically, I never was. Sorry about that, by the way.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t blame you for lying to me, Viviana. I only brought it up to ask if you’d like to start. There are options. You can go to a doctor today, if you’d like, or I’ll use condoms.”
My stomach twists. He wants me to take birth control? From the beginning, he was adamant that we have an heir as quickly as possible, and now he’s changed his mind? For the life of me, I can’t understand why, unless he wants to avoid binding our lives together with a child…
“I didn’t think...” Clearing away the thickness in my throat, I focus on a tiny freckle on the back of my hand and whisper, “You don’t want an heir anymore?”
“That’s not it. Viviana, look at me.” He captures my chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting my face to meet his once more. When his eyes soften, I know he sees the hurt I failed to mask in time. “I do. Of course, I do. But things have changed between us, haven’t they?”
I nod, barely a dip of my chin.
“We don’t need to rush.” His thumb traces the corner of my mouth. “When you’re ready, I’ll be ready.”
“But you’re ready now?” I prompt, brows raised.
“It’s not my choice.”
There’s a pregnant pause. Only the sound of our breaths mingles with the birdsong beyond the bedroom window. A month ago, I would’ve rejoiced upon hearing these words from Luc’s tongue. I am happy to be given the power over my own body, an opportunity so seldom offered to women in the Cosa Nostra, but the thought of a child doesn’t terrify me the way it once did.
I curl my lips over my teeth. “What about last night? We didn’t use protection last night.”
He nods slowly. “Right. I should’ve asked before we had sex, and I’m sorry about that. I texted Mrs. Ajello last night and asked her to purchase a morning after pill. She responded half an hour ago to let me know she left the box on the bathroom counter. Take it if you want to. Or not.”
“You really mean that?” I whisper, shocked that he’d even give me the option.
“Of course.” He cradles the back of my head and kisses my brow. “I think you have some time, so think about it.”
Closing my eyes, I inhale his comforting, fresh scent as the weight of the situation falls on my shoulders. I don’t think I’m ready to be a mother, but I also believe in fate.
“I don’t want to take the pill,” I announce, surprising us both. “If I get pregnant from last night,” I huff and shake my head. “Then I guess it was meant to be. But I’d like to use a condom until we know, then I’ll get the birth control shot.” I wait a beat before adding, “For real this time.”
Luc sweeps my hair over my shoulder, and, although he left the choice to me, pleasure dances in his dark gaze. He wants a child, and he wants one with me. The knowledge settles the relentless twisting in my gut, and I allow myself to sink deeper into his side.
“I spoke to your great uncle last week.”
I push upright again so I can properly look Luc in the eye. “You mean…?”
“Aldo Fiorentino,” he finishes for me. “Boss of the Chicago Outfit, yes.”
My family visited Chicago several times throughout my childhood, though it’s been years since I’ve seen my uncle. Even when we did visit, I rarely crossed paths with the infamous mobster. Hell, they barely let me sit in the same room as him.
It’s no secret that the Cosa Nostra and Chicago Outfit have a tenuously civil relationship, though one wrong move by either party could send the entire thing to shambles. That’s why Luc wanted to marry Elenora. It’s why he chose to marry me in her stead.
“And how is my dear uncle?” I coo, though it would be hard for me to care less about the old man’s health.
“He claims to be in good health, but he sounded tired and weak.” A little line forms between his brow, and I see the gears turning in his head. “He congratulated us on our marriage and invited me to visit Chicago. I get the sense that he wants to construct a more formal alliance between our families.”
“And you’re going to go?”
Luc nods. “If Aldo is sick, it’s important to forge the relationship now. His heir, Massimo, is notoriously less willing to maintain friendships.”
Massimo. My mother’s cousin, though he’s closer in age to Luc than either of our parents. Aldo had three daughters and a handful of illegitimate children before his wife finally bore him a son, Massimo. I’ve only met the man once, at his wedding seven years ago, but fear still skitters down my spine at the memory of his cold, apathetic eyes. His wife died giving birth to their son, and I’ve heard rumors that the tragedy hardened my second cousin’s heart beyond saving.
Whereas Luc is suave and calculating, Massimo is brutal and violent. Both rule their respective underworlds with an iron-fist. An alliance between them would be deadly. A war would be catastrophic.
I swallow. “Will you meet with both of them?”
“Most likely. I’d wager that Massimo has been covertly running the Outfit for a decade while his father’s health has been failing. But Aldo is still the boss. He will have the final say.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek before nodding. “Okay. Then I’m coming, too.”
Luc sighs. “Viviana—”
“What? I’m the one that shares blood with these people. It only makes sense that I join you.” I shrug and begin shuffling toward the edge of the bed to start the day. “Besides, you said yourself that I have an uncanny ability to put others at ease. Maybe I can work some of my magic on Massimo--”
Before I realize what’s happening, Luc wraps a hand around the back of my neck, and I’m pulled to the center of the mattress. He hauls me onto his lap, fingers tugging on the hair at my nape, and I have no choice but to straddle his naked hips.
“If you come to Chicago, you will not engage that man. Not without me by your side. Do you understand me?” His words are low—a tenacious warning. “Family or not, Massimo is ruthless.”
I savor the slight bite of pain at my nape as he tightens his hold on my hair, stressing his words. Tension lines his features and tightens his muscles, so I lean closer until our lips are inches apart.
“So are you ,” I whisper before closing the distance between our mouths.
He kisses me back, but, when I try to deepen it by sliding my tongue into his mouth, he withdraws. “I mean it, Viviana. He’s proven time and time again that he’s not above killing innocents if it serves him.”
With a sigh, I rest my hands on Luc’s chest. “Fine. I promise not to seek out Massimo. Happy?”
“No,” he answers, mouth pulled into a thin line. “I won’t be happy unless you stay home.”
I frown. “Are you going to force me not to go?”
“I should.”
“But you won’t?”
Luc sighs and places me to the side. He stands from the bed and walks to the closet, and his glute muscles shift and ripple with every step. When he reaches the door and turns around, I avert my gaze so I’m not caught staring at his glorious backside.
“We’re leaving tonight,” he grumbles, clearly not happy with the situation. “Make sure you’re ready to head to the airport at four.”
I spend the rest of the day packing and preparing, and Luc spends it avoiding me.
It’s nearly four o’clock, and I’ve been seated on our living room sofa for the better part of thirty minutes, ankles crossed and hands clasped neatly on my lap. I refused to be late and give my husband an excuse to leave me behind.
I shift on the couch, fidgeting with the bottom-most button on my jacket and worrying that the plane ride will be unfathomably uncomfortable in the getup I selected for this occasion. I wanted to impress our hosts and represent the Cosa Nostra well.
It took some time and plenty of Mrs. Allejo’s advice, but I eventually settled on a rose-pink pantsuit with flared silk pants and a matching blazer. To avoid looking too much like a politician, I forewent an undershirt altogether, opting for a lacy white balcony bra that peeks beyond the blazer’s low-cut neckline instead.
Sexy yet professional, Mrs. Ajello touted, and I agreed.
I never liked dressing up—and I’d still choose my beloved artist t-shirts over a dress any day of the week—but I can’t deny the rush of adrenaline that courses through my veins when I think about Luc seeing me in these lavish getups. Despite my initial aversion to the boxes of clothing my mother sent weeks ago, they’re not a complete dumpster fire. Of course, I’d never tell my mother that I actually like some of the lacy, frilly things she sent.
Like clockwork, Luc arrives with thirty seconds to spare.
Biggie bounds through the entryway first, his big paws slipping and sliding across the hardwoods as he races to greet me. He puts both paws on either side of me, claws digging into the expensive fabric. “Hello handsome!”
Luc enters just a few beats later, eyes glued to his cellphone. He doesn’t look up or greet me. “We’ll ride with Freddy and Lex, and the rest of our security will meet us there.”
“Hello to you too.” I roll my eyes. “Are you still pouting?”
His gaze snaps up, brows contorting in a deep frown. “I’m not pouting, Viviana.”
“You so are,” I tease, rising from the couch and crossing my arms against my chest. Though it’s not the most mature thing to do, goading my husband is familiar territory. “You’re angry that I insisted on coming with you.”
“I’m not angry.” A muscle in his jaw twitches, and, when I lift a brow, he shoves his cellphone in his pocket. “Jesus, I’m worried. Am I not allowed to worry about my wife?”
“Oh.” My challenging smirk fades away, and shame squeezes my bowels. In the same breath, warmth spreads to my chest. “Yes, you are allowed to worry for me. I- Thank you for caring.”
He sighs, wiping a hand over his face in a rare display of exhaustion.
This man holds the weight of the Cosa Nostra on his shoulders. Our livelihood, our history, our future. Yet, he worries about me.
I walk forward to meet him and wrap my arms around his torso. It takes a moment for him to return the hug, so I squeeze tighter and bury my head in the little dip between his pectorals. “I’m going to be fine. There’s no safer place for me than by your side.”
The tension lining his muscles relaxes, and he bends to press his lips to my hair, inhaling long and deep. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?” His button-down muffles my question.
“Care about someone more than anything else,” he answers, and the words are a somber admission. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
I understand. We weren’t supposed to like one another. It would be easier if we didn’t. And yet, here we are, teetering on the brink of something that feels an awful lot like love, and I can’t decide if we’re weaker or stronger for it.
Forcing a strained chuckle, I tilt my chin up to look at him. “Wish we could go back to when I hated you and Mrs. Ajello guilt-tripped you into sending me flowers every day?”
Luc laughs, and the deep rumble calms my too-loud thoughts. “Never in a million years. Do you know how hard it was to find a florist willing to do a bouquet of sunflowers and peonies?”
“My bedroom still smells like flowers, but I’m not complaining,” I tease, squeezing his waist one more time.
“Come on.” Luc cups my face, his thumbs sweeping across my cheeks. “We have a plane to catch, sunflower girl.”
He kisses me, and it’s unlike any other we’ve shared. Tender and devoted, it gives a voice to every word I’m too frightened to say out loud. It’s slow, thorough, and healing. It fills the cracks and imperfections marring our pasts and gives hope for our shared future.
It’s love.