Chapter 8
8
D ante
I cut into the wood-grilled, aged beef fillet that Zenovia proudly prepared. I eat at the formal dining table tonight, along with Nico, Rocco, Massimo, his wife Amara, and Lucia. My father is out of town, probably with a hot young woman. The less I know about his romantic affairs, the better.
I meant to catch up with my brothers, and eating at my place sounded easier since Amara wanted to see the baby. They insisted that Lucia join us.
Now, I wish they hadn’t.
Nico knows what ticks me off—being the youngest, he’s annoying as fuck most of the time, even though he’s in his mid-thirties. He loves to tease and be inconvenient, and he’s been using every chance he has to chat more with Lucia.
“So, how has my bro been treating you?” Nico asks, his inquisitive brown eyes on her.
Lucia lifts a piece of her fillet to her mouth. She looks around and realizes they’re waiting for her response. “Well, I still have my hip in place, unlike the last nanny, so I’m pulling through.”
Nico lets out a hearty chuckle. Rocco and Massimo exchange an amused glance, and an easy energy flows in the air.
“You watch out for that hip,” Amara says, smiling. “I’m so glad that we’re back from our trip. I’ve missed little AJ. In a few weeks, she’s already grown so much.”
“Don’t forget about her baptism next month,” I remind her. I’ve chosen her and Massimo as AJ’s grandparents. After Andie passed, I was in their home for six months, and they helped me a lot to figure out parenthood, even if they weren’t parents themselves. They offered the support I badly needed and would never have asked for.
“Never,” Amara says.
I don’t care much for religious rituals, but my father has always insisted that all children in the family get baptized. He doesn’t see the hypocrisy of what we do and how any superior force will rightfully judge it. The man likes his customs, and sometimes, acquiescing is easier than putting up a fight.
“Are you sure it’s safe… to have a baptism?” Rocco asks, a concerned expression crossing over his face. “With Santini still at large and all.”
“I talked to Father Ambrosio. It’ll be a small affair, and security will be tight.”
Amara nods, but a trace of doubt hits her eyes.
I glance over at Lucia, and she’s focused on her food. Her body language, though, is more tense than seconds ago. She holds her fork stiffly, and even though she looks at her plate, she seems worried. Is she afraid of going to an event with AJ and something possibly happening to her? Or does the fact someone is after us make her uneasy?
“No one from that family will touch us again,” I say. “I felt bad when I killed Santini’s son, but now I won’t hesitate to obliterate anyone from their circle.”
I look at her, hoping she hears the reassurance in my voice, but her eyes widen with fear.
I sigh. Poor thing. She isn’t used to the harshness of the mafia world.
After everyone leaves, I find Lucia putting the baby down on the crib in my room.
The domesticity of it all is like a healing ointment to a painful wound.
Since my mother died, I haven’t felt this type of connection to another adult. I’ve bonded with AJ, but that’s different. I hope I’ll be different from my dad, too. My father tries his best in his way. He wasn’t the best husband, and after Mom died, he remarried someone half his age, got divorced, and went on to dating.
Dad thought he was providing all we needed by working hard and affording a nice lifestyle and nannies.
Am I doing the same?
“Are you okay?” Lucia asks me, squaring her shoulders. She has a baby blanket on her shoulder that she removes and folds neatly into a small square. “You seem worried.”
I could ask her the same thing. Is she worried after what she heard at dinner? “Just thinking about what kind of life AJ will have.” I didn’t commit to her mother when I had the chance. How can I ever commit to anyone? I can’t. I don’t want it, anyway—marriage brings more liability. I’m focused on protecting AJ and ensuring her safety in our uncommon world. I have no time or energy to do the same for anyone else.
She flashes me an easy smile. “She’s very loved. She’ll be just fine.”
“Were you very loved? Is that how you can tell?”
She opens a drawer and slides the blanket inside. “My mom loved me. She was great. I never met my dad, and sadly, my mom’s man-picker never worked well.”
“That’s my dad. But in his case, he chooses the bad ones because he knows he can’t handle the right person. He’s not interested or invested,” I confess.
Dad married his second wife, hoping to have a home and bring that mother figure into our lives. But, of course, he cheated on her. After that, he was at least honest with himself and whored his way around Chicago—and stopped meeting women who would make good partners in anything other than the bedroom.
At first, I felt cheated because he didn’t want to reinvest in making a family. But as maturity came, I understood he made the right decision. It wasn’t in him to be in a committed relationship, so he didn’t fake it because that was what was expected of him. He’s a dick, but an honest dick, much like me.
She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “That’s his deal, I guess. My mom just believed men too much.”
“Is that what happened to you? You told me once you moved to Chicago after a bad breakup.” The idea of a man out there breaking her heart makes me want to strangle him. What sane man would hurt a caring person like Lucia? She’s funny and smart, and I’ve seen glimpses of her heart. The way she talks to AJ, how she lulls her to sleep with sweet songs.
“Yes. I did.”
I feel like cutting off her ex’s limbs one by one. Slowly, until all blood drains from him. “He’s a bastard.”
“I agree.” She smiles.
“Is that why you hate men?” I ask, referring to what she told me in her work interview.
She nods. “I’m a bad picker too. Sometimes, it’s not worth the trouble.”
Relationships aren’t worth it. Besides Massimo’s, I’ve never seen one positive example. My mom acted happy in her marriage, but that didn’t mean she was. She was content because back then, that’s what she believed marriage was supposed to be, especially if your husband was a mafia boss.
I can’t try to convince Lucia that there are good men out there—I’m certainly not one of them. “You don’t need men, anyway. With your toys.”
“I guess I don’t.” She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. Then, she catches my stare, and we share a moment that lingers. The energy shifts in the room, and it’s like we’re both having dirty thoughts.
Since I came on her tits, it’s become harder and harder to pretend it didn’t happen. To pretend I don’t want to fuck her. My common sense makes a last-minute plea to me, but I ignore it and move closer to her. Each step fills me with more sexual purpose, my heart pumping in my chest.
It’s not about what’s right and wrong anymore. It’s about what needs to happen so we can move on—simple as that.
“Men can be handy, if you know what I mean… and do things that sex toys can’t,” I say, focusing on her lips.
“The right sex toy can do a lot,” she says, then playfully licks her lips. A silent but obvious invitation for more. My cock twitches in my pants.
“The right man can do a lot,” I whisper, dipping my head. This is her last chance if she wants to stop it. She can move away, but she doesn’t. She gets on her tiptoes, so now her lips are even closer to mine, and we can feel each other’s breaths when we speak.
She touches my chest, her fingers carefully splayed over my shirt, and a wild heat sifts through the fabric. “What if the right man turns out to be the wrong one again?”
“Then you use them… for whatever you may need.”
“That’s good advice. I may take it.”
I fuse my lips to hers, ready to show her exactly what I mean.