8. Nico #2
“All good things, I hope.”
She levels a flat stare at me. “Giorgia seemed to think so. She thought you were very handsome and charming, but thank you for disabusing her of that notion.”
“And what do you think of me?”
“That you’re cruel and narcissistic.”
I laugh, and a few people around us glance over.
I lean in toward Valeria, inhaling her sweet, delicious scent.
She tries to jerk away, but I wrap my arm around her waist and pin her against my body.
She goes still as my mouth brushes the shell of her ear.
“You didn’t seem to think I was so self-centered as I fucked you into a second orgasm.
” I kiss her neck, and she rewards me with a gasp.
“Say the word, and I’ll prove to you again how generous I can be. ”
She turns so that our lips are almost touching and digs her nails into my wrist. Her breath tastes like champagne and oranges. “People are staring.”
“Let them. That’s the point, isn’t it? We’re supposed to be the happy couple first, then I leave you for Jeanie.”
Valeria scowls. “Her name is Giorgia. Now let me go.”
I glance down at her mouth. “Kiss me, and I will.”
I barely get the words out before she crushes her mouth to mine. I tilt my head and force my tongue between her lips—I don’t care who’s watching, I want to taste her. She gives the softest moan and then pulls away, her eyes wild, pupils blown.
I can barely think—all the blood’s pumping to my dick. My hands are full with her.
“Nico,” she whispers. It’s a plea.
I let her go, and she walks away.
All eyes in the room are on us until my brother and his wife enter the house, and then everyone looks to their don.
Salvatore’s gaze flicks from Valeria’s receding form to me. He frowns lightly.
I need a fucking cigarette.
Three cigarettes later, my fingers and nose are nearly frozen solid, but I’ve managed to divert the blood flow back from my dick to my head.
I’ve never met a woman so guarded and frustrating as Valeria.
She wants to fucking escape me so badly, and for what? To be a fucking forensic scientist?
I take a deep drag and imagine Valeria in a lab coat.
Does she wear glasses? I imagine her wearing something fucking nerdy, like protective goggles and her short hair pinned up as she mixes chemicals in test tubes.
My frowning, little raven-haired scientist, just trying to put a few bad guys in jail.
I meant what I told her. It’s cute. She gets to rest easy at night knowing she’s done her part to clean the streets of Chicago and believing she isn’t a cog in a long-running scam to fill the pockets of private corporations.
Did some goodie-two-shoes scientist have sweet dreams the night they processed the fake evidence that got me sent to jail for a year?
I flick my cigarette into the smooth ashtray provided to me by a stone cupid.
They should. I fucking deserved it for all the other shit I did in the name of the Family.
The same Family Valeria rightfully wants no part of. If I was a good man, I’d leave her the fuck alone.
I rub my hands together for warmth and step back into the house.
The party is in full swing now. A few of the fun aunts and uncles laugh too loudly as they wave cups of mimosas around. People I’ve never spoken to before clap my back or shake my hand to congratulate me on my engagement to the beautiful and lovely Valeria.
Never mind the fact that they probably have been ignoring her for weeks before today and still avoid her dad in the kitchen now.
Another mimosa finds itself into my hand as I thread the crowd, looking for her again. I don’t know what I’ll say to her. I just want to be near her. I want to see what she’ll do.
I find her at the foot of the stairs, kneeling before a child.
It’s a little girl, judging by the fluffy pink dress, and she squeals with delight as Valeria covers her own face and reveals it with a wide, expressive smile I’ve never seen on her before.
The girl’s mom stands nearby, talking to Valeria, but Valeria’s attention is fully on the little creature before her.
Valeria sticks out her tongue and crosses her eyes, and the girl shrieks with laughter before tumbling forward. A dreamy smile crosses Valeria’s face as she wraps her arms around the little girl and hugs her tightly.
Eventually, the kid gets squirmy, and Valeria releases her, popping up to standing.
A drunk uncle steps back at the same time and stumbles into Valeria. His mimosa flies toward her and soaks her entire front with liquid.
The uncle doesn’t notice, but the little girl’s mom does. Through the crowd, I hear her fussing over Valeria, passing her a handful of napkins.
Valeria’s black sweater is suctioned to her chest. She waves off the mom with a gracious smile and turns up the stairs.
The mom scoops up her daughter and carries her away.
I don’t think anyone else sees the look of longing—clear and exposed on Valeria’s face—as she looks back to watch the mom and daughter walk off.
When she ascends the steps, I follow.
Giorgia steps in my way. “Nico, I’ve been looking for you.” She extends me a flute of mimosa. “These really are so delicious. Fresh-squeezed, I heard.”
I take the flute and swallow the contents in one long drink before handing it back to her. “That’s nice. Get me another one, would you?”
I walk past her up the stairs.
The house is massive, but once I’m on the second floor and the party’s in the distance, I can follow the soft swish of running water behind a nearby closed door. I stand next to it and wait, rocking back and forth on my heels. Alcohol buzzes through me.
Valeria should be with me—that was supposed to be our arrangement—but instead she’s running off at every opportunity. She’s not holding up her end of the deal.
The water turns off.
I just want to see her. I want to see what she’s doing.
She opens the door. Her sweater is folded in her hands, and she’s wearing a faded black tank top.
She startles when she spots me, but covers it smoothly with a blank expression. “Nico.”
“Val.” I waver on my feet. The party is far, far away. “It’s just us.”
She frowns. “You’re drunk.”
“Do you want me to be?”
She blinks. “What? No. You need to be downstairs.”
“I need to be where you are.”
Her eyelashes flicker at that.
I can’t help but scan her for bruises—her skin is unblemished. Perfect. I lean close. She smells like peppermint soap. “That was the deal, wasn’t it? I get a year.”
How does she keep her red lipstick so crisp?
“What are you looking at?”
“You have a pretty mouth.”
Her lips part. She exhales faintly. “Nico, we can’t.”
I meet her eyes. My grip on the doorframe is the only thing stopping me from pouncing. The wood croaks under my fingers. “I can’t let you go—at the end—if you won’t let me get you out of my system now.”
She bites into her red, red lip. I suppress a groan.
My voice is a low murmur. “Please, Val.”
She grabs me by my suit lapel and pulls me into the bathroom. I kick the door shut, and then we’re on each other.