Chapter 21 #2
He looked me over, lazy and deliberate, touching me with those eyes that I wanted on my own.
Yet I liked the rush of feeling between my thighs when they lagged on my midsection and the slow-rising mounds of my breasts shoved into ridiculously tiny cups.
A low, frustrated sound rumbled in his chest, and he wiped a word out of his mouth with a hand wrapped in bloody gauze.
“You’re hurt,” I breathed, stepping forward.
His gaze dropped as he flexed his knuckles, creating a fist. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s something.”
A slash of hair had fallen on his forehead.
The first four buttons of his black dress shirt were undone, and the sleeves were rolled to his elbows.
His jaw was sharp, and so were his eyes when they finally met mine.
Dark, lonely nights. Aching agony. The same feeling settled in my stomach.
We stared at each other during the seconds it took for him to walk to me, thick tension ballooning between us.
Five years of distance and two weeks of constant contact made every atom in my body scream for this man. But he was with her.
That bitterness soured my heart and my tone. “Did you have a nice night?”
He reached for a piece of the pink wig I’d put on with the silly dress, twirling a shiny lock around his finger. A corner of his mouth curled, but one simple word sent a shiver down my spine. “No.”
“Why?”
He didn’t respond. He didn’t move. He just watched his finger twist the pink hair while I studied a rough scrape on his jaw, hidden by the dark shadows of his incoming beard.
He was so close. I inched closer, closer still, until his warm breath and the scent of butterscotch brushed my skin.
Just the idea of his hands soothing my temper and easing the ache erupting between my thighs lit every nerve ending beneath my skin with anticipation.
Touch me.
As if I said the command out loud, his gaze snapped to mine. Heat flared in the blue, and I knew he’d retreat. I caught his hand the second it dropped, holding his palm to my cheek and pressing my nose into his wrist where I inhaled fresh air, the sun, and Dante’s club.
Relief clawed its way out of my chest and burst from my mouth with my next breath. “Luca.”
He swallowed a lump and pulled away, turning and walking to the entrance of his room where he stopped. “Good night, Vivienne.”
“You didn’t go,” I said more to myself than to him as my mind reeled through the facts.
Split knuckles. A bruised chin. Butterscotch—the underlying flavor of Dante’s preferred Bourbon.
Luca wasn’t at Piascere. He wasn’t. He didn’t go.
Oh, my God. He was in a fight at the club. “You weren’t with Maria.”
A minute passed. He didn’t move and neither did I, my future suspended midbreath and teetering on his answer. Finally a sigh. “I wasn’t.”
“Why?”
I stared at his back, waiting and waiting while my heart thump, thump, thumped.
“Because she isn’t you,” he replied softly, then walked inside and closed the door.
?
DAMIAN WAS WRONG. I meant something to someone, and that someone slept across the hall. Hope blossomed in my chest, a field of roses growing from a sliver of light. Luca cared.
God please, I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed as I had a million times—let him be mine.
The resounding answer ricocheted between my ears.
Fight for him. I would. I would do anything for Luca—even stay in this house—though my gut told me we wouldn’t have to.
Somehow, I knew that this place wasn’t my future. He was.
I gripped the sheet in my fists and smiled, snuggling into my pillow for one more dreamy moment. Then I threw the covers away and executed a plan I’d mapped out during a sleepless night.
First things first, I shaved, then scrubbed every inch of my skin in the shower.
I washed my hair twice with my mother’s expensive shampoo and conditioner, leaving the strands glowing.
So were my cheeks, which were flushed from blush and expectation.
Using Mama’s clothes as literal inspiration, I dressed so out of character I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror.
I looked so much like her tears stung my eyes.
The giddiness flowing through my veins turned bitter cold.
A sharp reminder that her death couldn’t be for nothing, and the plan had as much to do with her secret business as it did with scoring Luca.
“I’ll finish what you began, Mama. Te lo prometto,” I whispered, touching my reflection.
Then I blinked away her face and grabbed the Chanel clutch purse—a perfect match to her lilac dress.
A breeze blew through the open window and into my empty apartment. Birds chirped in the garden. It was all an illusion of peace in a house where violence and secrets bled from the walls. The calm before the storm. My heart thumped hard at the silent warning, as if this were one of Mama’s signs.
I shook the silliness from my thoughts and checked the clock. The morning had disappeared, leaving just enough time to race to my meeting with Rafi. I left quickly, ignoring Eddie, who stood outside my door and followed me down the hall.
Francesca greeted me in the kitchen with a kiss on each cheek. “You’re stunning, mio caro. What’s the occasion?”
“A new perspective on life.” I snatched a bombolone from a plate stacked high and took a bite, covering my mouth while I asked, “Have you seen Luca?”
“Gesù Cristo.”
Speak of the devil. The deep silkiness of his voice drew me to him. Like a marionette dancing for her master, I turned and sucked in a breath.
Dante and Damian stood on either side of his shoulders, but they were nothing compared to mio salvatore.
He was always handsome, especially in his mafia uniform, jacket and all.
His white shirt and black slacks were crisp and clung to him as if he were born for the attire.
Something dark flashed in his eyes as they stroked over me from my head and the hair I’d pulled over my shoulder, to the open toes of Mama’s Louboutin heels.
“Why are you wearing that?” His tone was soft, yet the sneer curling his lips gave away the well-masked bitterness.
“What?” My chin dropped to find a nonexistent stain, though my lacy bra provided little coverage. Under the dark appreciation of his stare, my nipples had pebbled into an indecent display, poking through the fabric. I shrugged. “I’m going out today, remember?”
“Not a chance in hell,” he said through his teeth.
My spine snapped straight, irritation sharpening my eyes and my tongue. “I wasn’t asking for permission.”
He approached me slowly. Goose bumps flared on my skin.
My heart played in tune with his steps, yet I held my ground.
A breath caught in my throat when only twelve inches and agonizing tension separated us.
The pressure in my lungs grew, swelling and consuming until I thought I’d explode from the weight of his stare.
Instead, I lifted my finger to his chin and ran it along the bruise still hidden in the scruff. “You didn’t shave today.”
His nostrils flared. “I didn’t think I had to.”
“You don’t. I prefer it on you, actually. The whiskers and the attitude.”
“What are you doing, Vivi?”
I inched closer, my fingers slipping down and hooking under the knot in his tie. Then lower, where his heart thrummed beneath my palm, and I looked up and into his simmering gaze. “Meeting with Rafi at the church. Then lunch with Sam. With or without you,” I added for clarification.
His eyes twitched. “This isn’t a game.”
“You’re right. It’s my life, and I won’t spend it cooped up in this prison.
I listened, Luca. ‘Grow up, Vivi.’” I mimicked the vibrato of his voice and smiled.
His heartbeat exploded beneath my palm. “I am. I have by gaining a new perspective. For years, I’ve wanted to leave.
I’ve been consumed by the idea of escaping this house and this family.
But I wasn’t truly living. I can see that now that I’ve got the one thing I want more than freedom. ”
“What’s that?”
“You,” I admitted, then pushed away from him and ran for the door.