Chapter 42 A Sunday Dinner to Remember #2
He pushed into me harder, and my hair caught the threads of the bedding, pulling as we tangled ourselves in the bed we’d made together.
My fingers curled around his, and we moved in tandem, him giving, me taking, me giving, him taking.
Our breaths intertwined, as did every fiber of our beings.
My legs wrapped around his waist as he went even deeper inside of me, deeper but never deep enough to hurt—he knew what was at stake.
He was still reaching me, though, reaching me so far inside, I felt him in a place only he knew how to find.
“I feel you there,” I barely got out. “I feel you there.”
Our tongues reached out, touching, then tangling, and then going as deep as he was inside of me.
Lost.
I was so lost.
At the same time…
Found.
I was where I always needed to be.
In my own world, with my husband, his breath tangling with mine, feeding my lungs all they needed to survive.
He pulled out, came back, and as he did, his mouth covered mine, so we could both release a breath at the same time, breathing each other in. Doing as I knew we both needed.
“I do not understand how this is possible.” He stilled again, closed his eyes, and when he moved, his eyes were somehow even more intense on mine.
The green almost drowned out by the black.
“Tell me how this is possible, my wife, my Amora. How is it that when I leave you, I am not myself. I am not whole any longer. I never was without you. When I return to you, I am complete—I am the man I always longed to be.”
“Ahh,” I breathed out, but then the sound came harder, faster, when my orgasm had taken over and felt like it was about to make my lungs burst from the constant burn.
“Come to me, Amora,” he ordered. “Come to me now.”
I did, and he came to me, and together…
All night.
All day.
Until one evening, we dressed and headed out for a family dinner. We were going to eat food, but I was full, all I ever needed…my husband beside me to keep me breathing.
The weather was so beautiful, even if we were in limbo. It was the time right before spring gives over to summer, and even if the days are warm, the nights still too chilly, evening was the perfect spot—a little leftover warmth from the day, but not too chilled by the night.
I closed my eyes to a sweet-smelling breeze— feeling it in the air. The lightness of the women having their men home, and the contentment of the men having their women safe and close.
I could tell that was the biggest struggle. These men having to leave us to keep us safe.
The Russians were after them, but most of us knew…the Fausti family all knew what it meant to love, and if any of the women were taken from any of these men…they wouldn’t have to touch their chests to carve their hearts out. If felt so underhanded and low.
Rocco turned my face toward his, situating me on his lap, and kissed my lips. “No worrying this evening, ah?”
“When are you leaving again?” The fresh air was waking me up from the magical time we always had in the bedroom, where it felt like time stopped altogether, and it was only us, forever.
My mind was turning, and it was flinging out questions I hadn’t thought to ask when we were wrapped in each other’s arms.
His eyes searched mine. “When it is time.”
I shook my head. “That’s not good enough for me. I want specifics.”
“When it is time,” he repeated, and he never repeated himself for anyone.
By magic, it seemed another glass of whiskey was set before him, and he downed it.
“We acknowledge time, it comes as it wishes, but if we do not give it a specific time and date, perhaps it does not come as fast, as we pray it does not.” He looked away from me then, and I knew he wasn’t going to give me more than that.
He knew I’d obsess over the next goodbye, and he didn’t want me to. He wanted me rooted in the moment with him. I wasn’t sure if obsessing over time was a woman trait or not, but…I noticed the look on the other wives’ faces. They were wondering too about the next goodbye.
Brando and Rocco were staring at each other. Scarlett and I found each other’s eyes. Brando had looked away from her, same as Rocco had done to me, and our eyes found each other.
Luca got to his feet, holding a glass filled with red wine in one hand, and Maggie Beautiful in the other, as if she was attached to his hip. He didn’t need to tap his glass or clear his throat. Everyone automatically looked to him.
Rocco set me next to him, in my own seat, and I noticed a few of the men did the same if their women were sitting in their laps.
Maybe because the men were caught up in war, they seemed more sensitive to Luca—the tone of his voice, the simplest of gestures.
He was their king—in family and in battle.
They listened to him without question, even if the family was divided when it came to Maggie Beautiful’s wish and what it would mean, not only for our faction, but for the entire Fausti famiglia.
It would change the core of who they were fundamentally.
It would take a part of their history that they valued and set it in a museum for people to gaze at and make conversation about.
Maggie Beautiful stared at her husband in awe, and he tightened his hold on her, setting her out an inch, and then pulling her back hard enough that she audibly gasped.
Rocco’s hand covered mine, and I intertwined our fingers, even though my hand was against the table.
I reached for my glass of ice water and took a sip, feeling a bead of sweat drip down my breast. A breeze blew, cooling it on my skin, and my husband’s nostrils flared.
He leaned in and nuzzled against my neck, his nose gliding along my skin, to the underside of my ear, until his mouth breathed a warm breath against me. I shivered.
“I am dying,” he whispered. “I am dying if I am not buried inside of you.”
I closed my eyes, took a few steadying breaths, hoping whatever Luca had to share would be the shortened version. I needed my husband, too, needed him in the worst way.
Luca began his speech by saying that the war was ours, and soon enough, all would be set right in world. He looked at Maggie Beautiful. “Even a new right,” he whispered to her.
She beamed at him and seemed to rest her body against his. His knuckles were buried in her dress, and I knew she wasn’t going anywhere—even if the ground beneath our feet would rock, he would not let her go.
My father-in-law then went on to say that the war within the family was being handled.
A meeting was scheduled to discuss specifics.
A beatific look came into his eyes when he said this.
I glanced at Rocco, but he was staring ahead, not giving me anything.
Something had happened, though; I could feel it.
Maybe later Rocco would tell me, but…when he wanted to make up for lost time, he refused to share about what had gone on when he was away.
Luca didn’t mention the Russians, which I knew was a bad sign. If our side would’ve been victorious on that front, he would’ve announced it.
He went on to say that the men appreciated how their women were holding down the family while they were out honoring us. How romantic it was to have us on their minds while they were battling foes who craved blood.
He asked us to stand, and once we did, our men began clapping for us, cheering, and after we all took bows, our husbands pulled us close.
It was a moving moment, and no one seemed as moved as Maggie Beautiful. She was fanning herself, shaking her head. Luca kissed her on the temple, and after he finished his gallant and romantic speech, he said that we should all go in peace now, and live inside our love.
We were all about to stand when heads turned in the direction of newcomers.
Our Russian allies. Evelina was with them, since her man was one of the assassins who fought for our side.
Maestro, too, was marrying one of their women.
Scarlett had told me that not much was known about the woman, but Maestro had agreed to marry her in return for information they needed at a time when the stakes were high for Mia.
Apparently, over the years, as they were wont to do, the Fausti family had collected enemies who sometimes came back to haunt.
Case in point: Ita and her family.
Even though the Russians made a stir with their arrival, everyone had mellowed down and was about to head back to their quarters for the night.
A gasp sounded and echoed from the table.
I’d been watching the way Lev, who was the leader of the Russian assassins, watched Scarlett.
It wasn’t outright disrespectful, but I could tell Lev craved what Brando held in his arms. Brando had noticed, but he was keeping his eyes straight, like Lev didn’t even exist, especially because Scarlett’s eyes were only on and for Brando.
The gasp startled me into attention, though, and that was when I noticed Maggie Beautiful’s body was being held up by Luca, but her head was down. Everyone seemed to move to action at once, but it was Luca who was heard over the entire frantic crowd.
“Tito!” he roared.
Alessandra Ponte reached them first, then Uncle Tito.
Ermanno was running over people’s feet to get Uncle Tito to where he needed to be.
Together, Dr. Ponte and Uncle Tito were able to wake her up.
She must’ve passed out. She was waving a hand in front of her face, giggling as she usually did, but something was off—maybe it had been all along, but she had hid it well.
The day in the church, when she innocently tripped over the kneeler…
or maybe her thyroid medicine levels were just off?
We’d been put under a lot of stress ever since the day our home in Piemonte was attacked.
I wasn’t sure.
What I was sure of, though, was the way Luca Fausti was staring at me. It sent a cold chill through my blood, though my skin felt overheated from his stare. It was like he was looking straight through me, trying to find answers he couldn’t find through Scarlett or Eva.
He knew.
Somehow, he knew.
A story was brewing inside of me.
A story scary enough that I tried to block it out.
Had been blocking it out.
Been fighting to keep the words at bay.
Words that were pushing against my walls and attempting to jump over them. They were coming with soft padding and sharp spikes.
A poetic story that would be both ruthless and romantic—the line between them so thin, only a Fausti man could walk it.
A story that only I could do justice to, because it had chosen me to tell it, if I could survive it.
I placed a hand over my womb. I didn’t want the clashing temperatures to affect my baby. I wanted the little papaya to grow strong in the sunshine, basking in it, instead of being helpless to the elements of extreme cold and heat—both burning, but in different ways.
I’d protect our little papaya at all costs. Even from people who were supposed to protect and love her. I didn’t think my father-in-law would put our baby in harm’s way on purpose, but me…I was collateral damage when it came to his wildflower.
My husband stepped in front of me, blocking Luca from staring at me the way he was.
Luca wanted answers.
Demanded them.
My husband wouldn’t allow it.
He wouldn’t allow anyone to use me that way, even his own father.
He wouldn’t allow his father to hurt one hair on my head.
He wasn’t even allowing him to stare at me with intent moving behind his stone-cold eyes. Intent that I could feel down to my bones—he was rattling them with the look.
I knew then.
The war between the entire family might’ve been settling down, but the one within our family was only just beginning.