38. Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Alessandrio
" A ny bites on the line?” I question my uncle and brother.
“No, but I dare say now that she has made her move, it won’t take long for that spider to come out of his hole,” Lorenzo replies. “I’ve had your guys trailing some of the less thrilled associates, monitoring their movements in case we get lucky and they lead us right to Riccardo.”
“We would only be so lucky,” Emilio says with a growl. “How is she adjusting?”
“She won’t be stepping into business, pushing girls and drugs soon, if that’s what you mean?” My brother gives me a pointed look at my response—it is not what he meant. “I told her everything,” My uncle raises his eyebrows at that. “She handled it as best she could.” Emilio only nods as if that is all he could ask of her.
“Huh,” Lorenzo says thoughtfully, eyes boring into me.
I point a claw tipped finger at him. “Not a word.”
He raises his hands. “I wasn’t going to say a thing.”
“Unusual for you,” I reply at his attempt at innocence.
It’s not long before I am waving them off, eager to get back to Olivia. This cannot end well. My logical brain reminds me, but when have I ever listened to that side of my brain? I have put to bed my suspicions and pledged myself to her. Tomorrow is never a guarantee in the Mafia and I could get shot tomorrow— so could she. I feel a twist in my gut at that, something dark shifts in the shadows of my mind, threatening to cross the threshold of a door I long since closed. I protect what is mine, and for now, she is exactly that, and I will keep her safe. Walking down the hall, I pause outside my room. With a quick decision, I pass it and without knocking, enter Olivia’s.
“More Twilight ?” I ask, not trying to hide my disgust.
“It’s New Moon ,” she replies, looking up as I cross to the bed.
Without pausing, I scoop her off the bed. She makes an adorable sound of surprise and clutches my shoulders.
“What are you doing?” she gasps wide eyed.
“We are changing rooms.”
Those grey eyes narrow in question, no doubt wondering if I mean the play room our journey began in. As I carry her across the hall to my bedroom, that narrowness melts away into sweet surprise as I drop her onto the black silk sheets of my California King.
“Why?” she whispers, not taking her eyes off me.
“Beds bigger, views better.” I wave a hand to my floor to ceiling view. “And it’s a Twilight free zone.” And I just want to know what you look like in my space.
She looks pretty fucking good, actually. Her golden waves piled on top of her head in a messy bun, strands curling around her face and neck in a way that I would call artfully placed if I didn’t watch her carelessly pull it up this morning. She’s so fucking beautiful it’s a gut punch seeing her like this, in a matching dark blue pyjama set and her face free of makeup. I would have run at this level of comfort from past women, but Olivia is something else. Her comfort brings me comfort. I grimace at my wretched thoughts.
“That bad, huh?” she asks.
“Disturbing.”
She reaches across to my nightstand and plucks a white pharmaceutical bottle off the surface. I watch as she reads the label, her brows pinching as I wait for the judgements.
“Your middle name is Bob?” she asks with a bemused smile.
I shrug. “My old man’s favourite accountant.”
“He must have been superb at numbers.” She tries to smother her amusement and fails miserably.
It’s not till hours later, when the sun has faded and I have made her apologize and beg forgiveness, that she asks the questions. Her head resting on a delicate hand propped on my chest, her golden hair now curling around her shoulders, tussled from me tugging on it.
“You struggle to sleep?” she whispers as if even the walls have ears.
“I used to. It seems we have the same medical practitioners,” I reply, recalling her own plethora of drugs listed in her medical files.
“I haven’t taken that stuff for a long time. I didn’t like how it made me feel.”
“Lucky you found running as your antidote from your demons,” I reply, wrapping a golden strand around a long finger. For a moment we are both silent, watching the spun gold of her hair contrasting against the black claw tip of my finger. “I’ve only recently found mine.”
“And what’s yours?” she inquires, gaze still on that golden strand.
“My enemy’s sister, apparently.”
Wide eyes meet mine, her high cheekbones flushing deeper pink as she watches me for a long moment.
“And what were your demons?” she asks, biting her lip.
That is the million dollar question, isn’t it? The question with so many answers—too many answers. I wouldn’t even know where to begin if I listed them off, but I know where it got terrible, know what moment the child Alessandrio ceased to exist and the monster in the depths awoke. Do I give her that? That small piece of myself that only very few know. I watch her for a moment, quiet in my contemplation of how much to tell her, how much of myself to give to her.
“My mother killed herself.” She recoils from the words.
“I am—”
“I don’t want your apology, princess,” I say a bit too roughly and see hurt flash across her face. But I have set this path and now I need to see it through. “They too were an arranged marriage, her and our father. It worked for a time—apparently. But as we got older, the cracks became harder to hide. He was abusive. She would drink to cope with her depression. Emilio and I were left with no choice but to pick sides. He was the heir, my father’s first-born son and the apple of his eye. He had no use for a second son, and as her baby, I was the apple of hers.” I watch her eyes glaze with wetness and have to look away, not wanting to see her pity. “She just kind of ceased to be. The night she did it, they had been at a party and it was always worse after parties. She would come home after being around his mistresses in a rage. This time was different, though. I listened from my doorway as he blamed her for his infidelity. She had stopped trying, had forced him to find affection elsewhere, and he was a man. What did she expect him to do? She taunted him and suddenly there were slamming doors and she was screaming. Terrified and weak, I ran back to my bed and pulled a pillow over my eyes and ears. I fell asleep like that but woke up to her coming into my room. Relieved, I went with her back to her room, where I would spend the night sometimes and endure my father’s displeasure in the morning.”
There is a lump in my throat now. A horrible tightness as I stare at the blank wall beside my bed. I don’t know for how long I am quiet like that, but when I start again, I hear the soft sniffling from the woman still perched on my chest.
“I woke in the middle of the night. Her ensuite door was closed, and I knew—I just fucking knew. When I tried to get inside, the water was spilling over my toes and I just pounded on the doors, too fucking piss weak to do a thing. And then he arrived. He was so angry at the disruption of his sleep that he pounded on the door and I knew if she wasn’t dead inside, she might wish she was when he got in. But she was, I don’t know the logistics, never wanted to ask and I never will.”
There was just so much water and so much rage. Fingers slide through fur, cupping my jaw, small but firm as they turn my face to look up at her. Her face is wet, eyes seeming to glow like liquid silver beneath the running current of her tears.
“Thank you,” she says, voice tight. “For sharing that with me.”
I nod, her hand still curled around my chin as I stare up at her. “I think I needed to share that with you, not just for myself.” She nods in understanding.
We are the same, her and I. I might have dragged her into the Mafia, but it would have found its way to her eventually. Both of us had mothers who didn’t survive the Mafia, and fathers who became consumed by it. We are Mafia orphans who fate brought together, for better or worse.
I reach over to my nightstand and pull out a remote. A flat screen television slides from the roof and I find my streaming services and resume on the last watched movie.
“I thought you said this was a Twilight free zone,” Olivia prods, adjusting to see the screen.
“Apparently, I am a gentleman these days,” I huff and continue curling locks of her hair around my finger as she watches the rest of her movie.
“A family day?” Wide grey eyes stare unabashedly.
“I know,” I agree. “Terrible idea.” Almost as terrible as the neckline of her dress. The urge to tell her to change is on the tip of my tongue, but as she draws closer, I find them clogged up in my throat. Perfect, annoyingly so.
The plunging neckline is at odds with the rest of the dresses’ modest features. Long sleeves, a flowing skirt that cuts just short of her ankles, and yet that fucking neckline. Her entire chest is on display, the cut just short of her pink nipples.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, and I realize I’m glaring at her.
“Just wondering if I demand you change or risk an all out war at this party with anyone who looks too long.”
Her teeth find her full bottom lip as if turning the idea over in her head. Whoever bought this dress had in mind the fact that she is now mistress of her family. She looks like a movie star from an old Italian movie, classy and ladylike. Its burgundy color compliments her skin tone and seems to bring out the gold in her hair, which has been tamed into delicate waves down her back and tucked behind her ears. Olivia drops a pair of cream heels on my couch.
“No wars,” she says finally.
“Is that an order?” I ask, moving closer.
“Can I do that?” she asks innocently as I loom over her.
“Try it and see,” I challenge.
For a moment she seems uncertain, and I step even closer, brushing myself against her and making the skirts of her dress whisper around her legs.
“Put my shoes on,” she finally says. “Please.”
I lean in even closer, forcing her to look up at me. I snatch the heels from the couch and drop to my haunches before her. There is a soft gasp, a whisper of a breath against the top of my head as I reach down and pluck up one of her small feet. My other hand trails the curved length of her calf and Olivia’s sweet gasp turns to a smothered moan as I reach the back of her knee. Slipping the shoe onto her foot, I take my time with the buckles, making sure all of my fingers brush against her ankle, deliberate caresses that make my body flare. This feels surprisingly intimate. Something that I started as a taunt has my dick hardening with want as I scrape my claws back up her calf before planting shoe and foot back on the tiles.
This time my hand glides even higher, fingers dangerously close to her centre and the moan that escapes her is both of pleasure and disappointment as I divert my fingers at the last second. I caress her skin to the back of her knee and bend so her foot plants on my thigh. The effect was meant to torture her, a defiance at her attempt at dominion over me, but it’s had an equally devastating effect on my body’s response. There is the sweet scent of her arousal demanding I coat myself in it—in her. I slide her next heel on and again give my fingers full rein as they glide over her silken skin. It’s right there! My body seems to scream, that delicious part of her that has me feeling like I will lose myself. With one final deep inhale, I let her heel find the tile; her dress falling back around her legs as I fight every part of my desire and stand.
I meet her narrowed eyes with a triumphant smile. “Time to go,” I say callously and turn on my heels.
She exhales a string of obscenities, new curses that might have turned my insides to stone if she hadn’t already heated all of my blood. When I reach the hall, I finally hear the clack of her heels as I press the elevator button.