Chapter 35
Freshly showered, wearing black sweatpants and a navy-blue t-shirt, I sip my bourbon on the couch as Darcy puts Delilah to bed and showers.
From where I sit, I can hear the pipes moan in the walls as they carry hot water to her.
The sound makes me think of Darcy’s moans and the way she looked pressed against my shower wall.
Visions of earlier tease me so much my leg bounces.
The way the water soaked her, the feel of her soft body in my hands, her nipples between my fingers, my teeth so fucking close to that sweet pussy I’ve been craving for months now.
My grip on my glass tightens, prompting me to take another sip before discarding it. We were so close. She was so close.
It’s a miracle we made it through the rest of the day without tearing each other’s clothes off.
With Delilah having already taken her nap and Darcy preparing dinner, I thought it best to confine myself to my office until it was time to eat.
And even though our meal was delicious, as is all of Darcy’s cooking, it wasn’t what I wanted.
I want her. Though, as I sit, I consider the possibility that maybe she wants me to.
Maybe she’s finally ready, not just for sex, but for everything.
Hope swells inside me as Darcy’s footsteps draw my attention to the staircase.
She arrives moments later wearing a large white robe.
I wonder what’s underneath it. I give her a warm smile and remind myself not to push her.
Just because things escalated earlier today doesn’t mean she’s ready to go all in.
It could’ve just been a moment of passion, an unexpected encounter considering she never intended to walk in on me showering.
Those thoughts leave a bitter taste in my mouth but are just what I need to muster up some self-control as Darcy sits down beside me, looking and smelling as delectable as ever.
Leaning forward, I grab the cup of tea I brewed for her.
I’ve now memorized her favorite flavors and invested in a thermal mug to keep it warm for her.
“Here you are, angel.” I hand the tea to her, followed by a gray box adorned with a white chiffon bow.
Wrinkles of confusion form on her forehead as she takes them with a grateful smile.
“What’s this?” she asks, resting the box on her lap.
“Pictures from Damon and Ana’s wedding and a few extras.” Darcy seems excited as she sips her tea and looks through the pictures. The photographer got several good ones of her, her and Delilah, and even some of the three of us. Darcy looks at my favorite one. I can’t help but match her smile.
The picture is from our last dance of the night, the one where Delilah joined us.
That was a perfect moment and one that will live inside me forever.
Having it captured by the photographer only makes it sweeter.
Now, every time I look at the photo, I can remember just how happy I was, how happy we all were.
It also isn’t lost on me that was the night Darcy and I shared our first kiss.
Though, as I feel a tug toward the bookcase in the corner, my smile falters.
My past has proven pictures can be just as haunting of a reminder as they are beautiful. I pray the memory of us remains sweet, unlike others that are permanently etched into my being.
“Gio, this…this is special,” Darcy says then.
“We look so happy. This might be the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on you.
I think I could say the same thing about myself.
” She keeps the photo separate from the others as she continues looking through the box.
“But…but what are these?” Darcy’s lips part as she looks through the candids of her and Delilah I stealthily had taken here on the estate.
“After seeing the photographer at Damon and Ana’s wedding, it occurred to me you might not have any photos of the two of you.
I know you left Montana with just a few things and even those were lost. You didn’t even have a phone for a digital backup.
So, I hired a photographer to snap a few candids of the two of you.
I hope you don’t mind. I just thought you might like them. ”
Darcy’s face strains as she fights back emotion.
Her lip quivers and tears well in her eyes.
“Gio.” She shakes her head, pressing the photograph to her chest. “Gio, I love them. This is the sweetest thing you ever could’ve given me.
Thank you. Thank you so much.” Darcy puts the box with the pictures back on the coffee table and climbs onto my lap.
Wrapping her arms around my neck, she hugs me.
“You’re welcome, my love.” I return her embrace. We sit in silence for a moment, holding one another. When Darcy pulls back, she kisses my cheek softly.
“You are such a special man, Gio Moretti.” Only for you.
I scan Darcy’s eyes, questioning if I should go in for a kiss of my own.
When her gaze dips to my lips, I take that as my cue.
Moving my hand to the back of her neck, I guide her lips to mine and kiss her gently, sweetly.
There is nothing but love in our kiss. No lust, no hunger, no desperation, just pure gratitude and love.
“You know, if I had an address, I could send someone to collect the ones you left behind. Baby pictures are irreplaceable. I would go myself, but…well, that wouldn’t be such a good idea given your conscious.”
The things I would do to that animal would exceed my greatest crimes.
Perhaps I’m being mischievous. Deep down, I know I wouldn’t be able to resist handling him if I had the slightest idea of who he is.
Though, my lack of intel isn’t what’s stopping me.
Even without Darcy’s cooperation, I’m sure I could find him.
But she and I are still building trust, and I won’t risk damaging it over the same person who has already taken so much from her.
Darcy bites her lip and lowers her gaze. Oh no. Did I fuck up? “There are no pictures,” she says then. “Of all the things my ex-husband was, he was smart. We never had a camera in the house. If we would’ve, I may have had a chance at escaping him sooner.”
I nod. That sick motherfucker. Darcy told me the story of how they met, how he practically made her his child-bride and prisoner.
And the abuse—locking her in a closet, beating her, forcing himself on her, patrolling the house like an overseer, not to mention the verbal degradation and emotional torture.
No wonder she struggles with insecurities, struggles with not feeling good enough, struggles to trust and accept kindness—at least, she used to.
She’s been deprived of not only love but basic human decency for years.
This extra detail only makes me realize there’s much more to discover. And that breaks my heart.
It’s then that Darcy stands. Grabbing the picture of the three of us, she walks toward the bookcase in the corner.
She holds it up and tests out different placements.
Clearly, she wants to drop the subject, and I’ll respect her wish.
“Here. This is the perfect spot for the three of us. Now, all we need is a frame,” she says, propping the photo up against a book on the shelf.
“As you wish, angel.”
Her eyes drift to the picture I’ve been avoiding all night.
Hell, I avoid it every day and yet I can’t bear to remove it.
“I’ve always loved this picture of you. Who is she?
One of your siblings?” Darcy asks as she examines the picture of me and Cara.
Little does she know, it’s the last one we ever took together.
Like I said, pictures and the memories they capture can be just as haunting as they are beautiful.
I avert my eyes and reach for my bourbon.
I have no plans to ignore her. She’s confided in me about the worst moments in her life.
And while I’ve shared the story of my mother’s murder, the moment that ended my childhood and changed my life forever, I also told her it wasn’t my greatest trauma.
This…this is. And I owe her the same vulnerability she’s given me.
As I regain focus with Darcy now sitting beside me, massaging the tension from my neck, I realize I zoned out and never answered her question. “Sorry,” I say, leaning forward to set my bourbon back on the coffee table. “How long was I gone?”
“Maybe five minutes,” she says. Her brows crinkle with concern. As I relax into the couch, I sigh heavily. Darcy snuggles in closer to me and takes one of my hands in hers while continuing to caress my neck with the other. “Gio, what’s wrong? I’ve never seen you like this.”
My lips lift into a half smile as I stare out the window across from us.
I squeeze her hand gently. “That’s because when I’m with you, I’m happy.
But…before I met you, this was my default energy.
Quiet. Dim. Depressed, even. I buried myself in work to distract myself from the things that haunt me when I’m alone.
But no one can work every second of every day.
Whether it be five minutes or five hours, there’s always a window for the memories, the pain to creep in. ”
Darcy leans forward and kisses the back of my hand.
Though, as I’ve done for her, she remains quiet, allowing me time to collect my thoughts before sharing with her.
I turn to her. “I’ve said from the beginning that there are things I can’t tell you.
Most things aren’t worth telling. But this, this matters. This I can tell you.” Darcy nods.
Against my better judgment, I give the photo of Cara and me another glance.
That was the day we moved her into her college dorm room.
I remember she was happy because Alister allowed her to live on campus rather than commuting.
It was a compromise, given she’d wanted to go to school outside of New Orleans altogether.
Either New York City or abroad, she’d said.
Much like Alister when he was her age, she wanted out from under the thumb of her family.
Though, given the recent loss of her father, maybe it was just too painful to think of staying that close to home.
Alister forbid her to leave New Orleans.
He felt she was safer where we could easily get to her if something went wrong.
And, after losing both his parents, he was under immense pressure to keep both his sisters safe.
As fate would have it, if Cara would have left New Orleans, she may have survived Christio Vitale’s vendetta against the Amatos.
Pulling my eyes away from the photograph, I tell Darcy the story of my greatest failure, leaving out the specifics of the Mafia.
“Her name was Cara Amato, and she was my sister.” The acknowledgment forms a lump in my throat.
“Not blood, but family all the same.” Darcy’s grip on my hand tightens as if she can sense the emotion rising inside me.
“I’ve told you a bit about how I met Alister and came to work for the Amatos.
And I know you spoke with Sophia briefly at the wedding and she shared certain details with you about my work.
” Darcy nods. “To echo what she said, my job was and, to an extent, still is to protect her family and their businesses. It’s why I have so many weapons, why the security system here is so advanced.
Sometimes protecting those I love requires me to do dangerous, wicked things, Darcy.
It requires me to be strategic, proactive, and, when necessary, heartless.
I have hunted. I have killed. And, when necessary, I have tortured.
And I do it all not because I want to, but because, if I don’t, others will hunt, torture, and kill my charges—my family. ”
Finding myself revealing more than I’d planned to, I’m tempted to look at Darcy to see how she’s handling my truth, but I don’t.
I’m afraid of what I may see. No matter how far she and I have come, no matter what almost happened earlier today in my shower, what I’m telling her must sound insane.
It stands to ruin everything. So, instead, I keep my eyes on the window before me and the dark night behind it.
“Cara wasn’t under my protection directly.
I worked more so with Alister. But, as head of security, I…
I failed her. I failed them all.” I pull my hand from Darcy’s grasp then and bury my face in my palms. My cheeks strain with the tears I refuse to cry.
Not because I feel I have to remain strong in front of Darcy, but because I’ve already cried so much.
Perhaps that’s part of the reason I avoid eye contact with that photograph.
There were nights after Cara’s abduction that all I could do was stare at it and pray that we would find her.
And, again, after we confirmed her death, I stared and cried.
That image is so burned into my brain I can see it clearly with my eyes closed.
And it never mattered how many tears I shed.
It was never enough. It never took away my pain.
Even as I sit here now with the woman who breathes life into my very soul, I still feel it. No number of tears will cure this ache.
“She was taken, sold, and forced to endure unspeakable torment until she was finally killed. I searched for her for months before finding her remains. Her brother and I gathered enough intel to know that she was alive all that time, being tortured and raped day in and day out. And I have never forgiven myself.” I sit up straight then and with willful tears in my eyes, turn to Darcy, whose expression mirrors mine.
“How do you forgive a mistake like that?” I shake my head as my jaw tightens.
“She was my sister. But, at the same time, she wasn’t mine to lose.
She wasn’t mine to grieve. She’s mine to regret.
And so, I have spent every day since her death doing my absolute best to protect what’s left of the Amato dynasty.
I think so that they don’t have to. I act so that they don’t have to.
I facilitate privacy and security so that they can grieve and, by some miracle, move forward.
All the while, I carry not only my pain but my shame in silence and solitude. And I will until the day I die.”