Chapter 27 Allegra
ALLEGRA
I feel the rain in my bones, even though the umbrella does a good job of shielding my body.
On the sidelines, I can only watch the ceremony before they put Romina in the ground.
The immediate family is sitting by the coffin, all of them wearing black with desolate expressions on their faces.
All but Enzo, that is. His face is somber, his features not giving away anything.
Compared to the wailing Lucia or even the bereft Rocco, you'd think him the most heartless man present, the brother who sheds no tears for his sister.
But I can see it's just a mask for the world. Inside, his grief is threatening to spill out, and his might be the most genuine pain of the bunch.
It's been three days since the pronouncement, and I've barely seen my husband. Everyone else has been at the house, gathering for the funeral and wake and turning a tragic event into a merry one.
I'd witnessed Rocco getting drunk with his friends, their voices booming in the house, the memory of Romina nothing more than a passing thought. He'd been angry, not because his precious daughter had died, but because the family's interests had perished with her.
Valentino Lastra, Romina's husband, had been taken in for questioning, and word spread around the Agosti house that they were officially at war with the Lastras.
From what I'd gathered, Rocco had been loath to do this because Lastra was one of his main distributors, but appearances dictated he respect the honor of the deceased and avenge her memory. And so reluctantly, Rocco, too, had followed his peers in denouncing Lastra.
Only Enzo had been quiet. Watching, but not really interacting. He'd been the first at the morgue and the last to leave after Romina's body had been sent to the funeral home.
And until now, he hadn't said a word.
Yet, I can see a deep disappointment welling inside of him, and I feel powerless to do anything but stand by and watch.
I'd seen his attitude toward Catalina and the affection he bears her, so I can only assume he has the same feelings for his other sisters, even the older ones.
The guests pay their last respects, and finally, Romina's coffin is lowered into the ground. Lucia hurries to the pit, bawling her eyes out and yelling at the unfairness of it all.
Enzo is still rooted to the spot, staring at the fresh earth covering the grave. Even when everyone leaves, he's still there, the rain slowly falling on him.
"Enzo?" I walk to his side, worry eating at me. I've never seen him like this, and I don't know what to do to help him.
He doesn't answer; he doesn't even acknowledge my presence.
I sit by him, the dreariness of the weather only emphasizing the emptiness inside.
"I failed her too," his words are barely audible. "I saw her, you know…" he starts talking, the pain in his voice unmistakable, "her body battered and full of bruises. I kept thinking…what madman would do that to someone as sweet as Romina?" He shakes his head, swallowing hard.
"It's not your fault." How could he even think to blame himself?
"Isn't it? I vowed to protect them, and yet I couldn't. First Lina, and now…" He trails off, and as I lift my gaze to look at him, he's thrown his umbrella to the ground. Head raised, eyes closed, rain is slowly dripping all over his face. But is it just rain, or is it also…?
There's so much anger radiating off him that I'm scared to approach, worried I might do something to set him off. But I can't not go. I need to show him he's not alone.
He still has me.
Abandoning my umbrella to the ground, I brace myself as the cold drops of rain hit my skin, fitting themselves into my hair. I move closer and just slide my hand in his.
It takes a second, but he gives my hand a quick squeeze, lifting it and bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss.
We stay like this for the longest time, wrapped in each other and the rain, neither speaking. I'd look back later and recognize this as the moment Enzo fundamentally changed.
I thought we'd established a connection, but as the days pass, Enzo becomes even more closed off. The few times I see him in passing, he's always drinking.
I want to reach out to him and take his mind off the pain, but I don't know how.
Sighing, I close the book I was reading, standing up to pace in front of my window. He's probably holed up in his study, drinking even more. I hadn't had the courage to go in there yet, but seeing that he has no intention of giving me an opening, I'll have to make one for myself.
I'd already devoured most of the books we'd bought from the Strand, including the romance novels. Now, thinking back to what I'd read in those, my cheeks redden, but my resolve strengthens.
Maybe I can't do anything to take away his suffering, but I can help him forget it for a short period of time—like he's done for me.
Pulling a robe over my nightgown, I head downstairs. The house is eerily quiet, as both Lucia and Rocco had left on a trip, so I have no worries that I'll run into any of them.
Hoping he's left the door unlocked, I turn the knob and push the door open.
With only a couple of lights turned on, the room is almost shrouded in darkness. As I step inside, I can make out the outline of Enzo's body, leaning back in his chair, a bottle of alcohol and an empty glass next to him.
I'm hesitant as I walk toward him. He's staring into space, and he barely acknowledges my presence.
Stopping by his side, I put my hand on his shoulder.
"What do you want, Allegra?" His voice is rough, his eyes looking anywhere but at me. Taking out a pack of cigarettes, he slips one in his mouth, lighting it and inhaling deeply.
"I was worried."
"Worried…" He smiles cruelly, taking three consecutive drags of his cigarette and blowing out a huge cloud of smoke.
"Go to sleep, Allegra. This doesn't concern you."
"Enzo…" I take his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. "It's okay to grieve, but please don't shut me out," my voice trembling with uncertainty, especially as I see the bleakness in his eyes.
I stroke his cheek tenderly, wanting to show him just how much he means to me.
"You can lean on me," I add, almost unnerved when he doesn't reply.
I take the cigarette from his hand, putting it out in the ashtray on the table.
Enzo is still watching me intently, waiting to see what I do next.
Before I lose my confidence, I lean down and press my lips to his.
He's motionless under me, so I try to coax a response out of him.
I open my mouth and try to deepen the kiss.
The taste of whiskey and cigarettes coats my tongue as I probe deeper, trying to put into this kiss everything I'm feeling, trying to take away his pain with my love.
He's still not responding, and his half-hooded eyes peer at me disinterestedly.
"Tell me how I can make it better," I whisper between kisses, "how I can soothe the pain."
Tilting his head to the side, he says the two words I don't want to hear.
"You can't."
Fitting my body closer to his, I don't give up.
I wind my arms around his neck and straddle him, one leg on each side of him.
My center is right above his bulge, and I can tell he's not entirely unaffected.
Still, he does nothing but watch me, waiting to see what my next move will be.
I almost whimper at the contact, feeling him hard under me, but I try to ignore my own growing arousal.
This is all about him.
His white shirt is half unbuttoned at the collar, and I get a glimpse of his chest. Sliding my hands down, I fumble with the other buttons, spreading my palms over his skin.
"You should go, Allegra," his voice is quiet, his eyes unflinching.
I continue to kiss him, my mouth following a trail down his neck, imitating what he'd done to me in the past.
"Let me in," I whisper, nibbling at his ear. "I'm here, Enzo. Let me in."
He still doesn't respond. Like a statue, unmoving, he just watches me with disinterest.
Becoming bolder, I shed my robe, remaining only in my see-through nightgown. For the first time, I detect a trace of interest as his eyes zero in on my nipples. I lean forward, brushing my chest against his, barely able to contain a moan as I feel the slight friction.
"Go," he says through gritted teeth, his body stiff against mine.
"Enzo, amore," I whisper, hurting for him, hurting with him.
My hands move lower, my only goal to give him the same pleasure he's given me countless times. I may not know what to do, but I'm sure I can manage something. My fingers graze over the zipper of his pants, his hardness unmistakable. I undo the fastening and close my hand around him.
A gasp escapes me as I try to wrap my fingers around him, surprised at the size and texture—hot velvet pulsing against my palm. I stroke him lightly, watching his face for any cues.
"Let me make you feel good, Enzo," I whisper, our faces close together, our breath mingling. But as the words flow out of my mouth, his eyes widen—the first visible reaction. His entire body tenses under me, freezing for a second.
I frown, afraid I've done something wrong.
Out of nowhere, his hand shoots out, his fingers wrapping around my throat and stopping my airflow. One moment I was in his lap, the next I'm against the wall, my feet slightly above the ground. Tears gather at the corners of my eyes as I fling my hands around, trying to get him off me.
His mouth curls at the corners in a sadistic way.
This isn't Enzo… This can't be the same Enzo!
"Allegra, Allegra," he tsks, but his hold on me loosens enough that I can breathe properly. "I really thought you'd be different."
"What do you mean?" I rasp, and a cruel smile stretches across his face.
"You're really pathetic, aren't you?" he muses, studying me with disgust. "I wondered how long you'd last. How long until you'd open your sanctimonious little legs for me. But I didn't realize that all it took was a tiny bit of attention."
"Enzo, this isn't funny," I say, my lips trembling. But even as I hope it's all just a bad joke, his face tells me it's not.
And it's killing me inside.
"You're so eager to jump on my cock that it's not even fun anymore," he continues to mock me, bringing one finger to caress my cheek.
"I hadn't realized you'd be this easy. Did you really think I'd be interested in you?
" He raises an eyebrow at me, but I don't reply.
The more he talks, the more I struggle to keep my composure, to not burst into tears and give him the satisfaction of seeing me hurt.
Because that's exactly what he's trying to do.
"Did you really think I'd be interested in a poor village girl who's been nothing but a source of embarrassment?" I shake my head at him, my fingers wrapping around his hand and trying to disentangle it from my neck.
I can't listen to this…
"Tell me, wife, have you looked in a mirror? You know, that reflective glass that shows you what you look like," his smile widens, knowing he's hit the mark with one of my insecurities.
"Yes, and I happen to like what I see," I reply, attempting to hold in all the hurt I'm feeling. I won't let him win.
He laughs, his whole body shaking with nonexistent hilarity.
"You must be the only one," he continues, twisting the knife in my heart. I blink twice, the tears almost forcing their way out.
"I have to say, it was fun while it lasted, but I can't muster the interest anymore. Maybe if you had kept your legs closed a little longer…" he trails off, his hand skimming the inside of my thigh.
I shove at him, kicking and punching, until his hand disappears from my throat.
I collapse to the floor, my breath ragged, my heart in pieces.
Looking up at him through misted lashes, I see only a smug man gloating at making a fool of the peasant girl.
"I'll even let you in on something," he kneels in front of me, his finger pushing my jaw up so I'm looking at him. "I won myself a brand-new yacht with your easy surrender. Why do you think I was so nice to you?" he chuckles softly. "You thought a woman like you would be able to hold my interest?"
Amused, he shakes his head, getting up and heading for the door.
"On the bright side, I can stop pretending now and go back to my regular fucks, since," he looks down at me in distaste, "you're not even worth a pity fuck."
He leaves the room at some point. I remain in the same position, staring at the now-closed door.
What happened?
Even as I try to rationalize everything, there is only one answer.
He played me.
Just like I suspected he would. And yet, even with that small voice telling me that, indeed, a man like Enzo would never look at someone like me, I'd chosen to ignore it.
For once in my life, someone had been kind to me, and like a stray dog, I'd become enamored of the hand that fed me.
I really am pathetic, aren't I?