6. Athena
SIX
ATHENA
I couldn’t breathe.
The world was dark, suffocating me with each passing second. I thrashed my arms and legs, desperate to escape. Fire was getting closer, licking at my skin.
I woke up with a gasp, a muscular leg hooked over me and a pair of strong, corded forearms folded around my waist. I looked around wildly, certain I was back in that box. The scar on my shoulder burned, but I resisted the urge to reach behind me. My chest tightened painfully before my eyes found the window and I breathed a sigh of relief. The moon was glimmering over the city. There was a way out of here, a way to escape, even if I had to jump.
All was well with the world.
My attention returned to the man sound asleep next to me. The same man who’d thoroughly fucked me, leaving every inch of me blissed out and boneless.
But reality called, and I had to pee.
Careful not to wake up Manuel, I slid out of bed and padded toward the bathroom. Once I took care of my business, I washed off and pulled on a robe that was about five sizes too big but smelled like him. I brushed my teeth with a new toothbrush I’d found in a cabinet and combed my fingers through my hair.
I caught my reflection in the mirror and paused at the woman staring back at me. My lips were swollen and pinkish burns from his rough stubble marred my skin. I was sure the look on my face was a testament to the fact that I had been to sex-heaven and back.
Padding into the bedroom, I reached for Manuel’s discarded clothes, and as I did, a wallet tumbled out, its contents scattering over the floor. Shit. Kneeling down, I reached for the first item—a license—and glanced at the photo. A name caught my eye.
Manuel Marchetti.
Marchetti …
“What the fuck?” I murmured under my breath, certain my eyes were deceiving me.
I focused my gaze and read the name again.
My heart stopped. A memory flickered in the back of my mind, and recognition slammed into me in full force.
“Manuel Marchetti,” I whispered the name I’d nearly forgotten.
My breathing turned shallow as my heart thumped so hard, I feared it’d burst out of my chest. It couldn’t be… Yet, in my heart, I knew he was. Yes, he was older, his features sharper, and Jesus, he was a lot more handsome, but he was the very same Manuel Marchetti who dated my mother all those years ago—however briefly. The one who’d caught us red-handed in our little deceit.
And the one I’d…
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
Walk of shame.
It was bound to happen at some point in every girl’s life, and today was my turn. I just wished it didn’t have to come after such an incredible night. And I certainly didn’t expect to lose my panties and bra in the process. After learning the identity of my one-night stand and being unable to find my undergarments, I put my dress on and hauled ass out of there.
I strolled through the streets of Paris as the city awakened, the cool breeze cooling my still heated skin as images of my night flashed through my mind like a B-grade Hollywood montage. Why did I have to have that last shot at the club? Unfortunately, the memories from all those years ago came ripping in, no matter how hard I tried to shut them down.
“What if we get caught, Mama?” I whispered, staring at the heavy concealer hiding the bruises on her neck and face. After last night’s events, neither one of us slept a wink. We huddled in our apartment, waiting for dawn. Mom didn’t want to run. She wanted to finish her last performance and get paid for it. Part of me understood, but that didn’t mean I had to be happy about it.
“Baby, I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t absolutely necessary,” she claimed. “You love me, right?” I nodded. “Do this for me, then. Don’t be like your father.”
I never wanted to be like him. All Mama did was love him and he hurt her, leaving her full of pain and suffering.
“I’m scared,” I whispered.
“You know the words, Athena,” she answered in a rough, broken voice. Mother’s vocal cords were damaged and they’d need time to heal. Right now, she sounded like a smoker. “Your voice is even better than mine.”
I shook my head. “But you have a date afterward. How will you explain?”
My mother was a beautiful woman even when she wasn’t wearing a shimmering gold Oscar de la Renta gown. Her vibrant green eyes, olive skin, and dark hair had men falling at her feet. She had no issues using it to her advantage by pulling the wool over their eyes. Everything she did was for us.
“Let me worry about that,” she rasped. “You sing like our lives depend on it.” Ironically, they did. We needed the money from this performance to escape back to the States. “Can you do that for me, yavrum?” My baby. Mama never reverted to Greek unless she was stressed or scared.
Or needed something from me.
With a heavy heart, I nodded and she pressed a kiss on my forehead. “Thank you.”
With a quick mic test and a terse nod, she left me in the corner of the stage, right behind the curtain, and rushed out.
I held my breath, waiting for the welcoming applause to die down. She loved the opera, but she loved the attention even more. She lived for it. I loved to sing, that feeling of being carried away and the world ceasing to exist, but I hated the spotlight. It’s why I knew I’d never follow in my mother’s footsteps, no matter how much she insisted.
The first notes traveled through the air and that same floating feeling took hold of me.
I sang for Mom, who was always here. For Father, who never was.
I closed my eyes, my lungs full as I sang a high C, drawing notes and emotions from somewhere deep, somewhere I rarely went. I gave it my all, pulling from my diaphragm. The words squeezed my lungs.
As the last note vibrated through the space, a silence followed.
Soft. Nostalgic. Dark.
I stood frozen as the last note left my lips and the sad, Italian words rattled my bones. My eyes burned behind my closed lids, so many emotions bouncing around my chest.
It was wrong that Mom and I were cheating. It was wrong that I was singing, but I wanted to go back to America. We’d been on the road far too long, and I missed the smell of burgers, steamed crabs, and the bay.
I missed it all.
Silence descended over the grand opera house, and I was reminded—not for the first time—of how the stage beneath my feet had stood for centuries. I felt privileged to be here but wished it were under less deceitful circumstances. Almost as if the universe had been listening, my eyes fluttered open and I found a shape towering over me, the stage lights too dim to make it out. I squinted, letting my eyes adjust, and was met with a furious gaze.
I gasped audibly. We were caught.
I tried to bolt, but I stumbled and collided with a hard body.
My head shot up, my cheeks flaming.
It hit me then who I had collided with… My mother’s date. The only reason I recognized him was because I spied on him through the curtains of our temporary apartment as my mom would go out to meet him. I thought he was the most handsome man I’d ever seen.
Manuel Marchetti.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I blurted, looking frantically for my mom—anyone—to save me.
Then, resigned to being caught, I swallowed a lump in my throat and met those eyes, only to do something stupid.
Curling my hands into fists, I pounded on his stomach, hoping he’d fall over and give Mom and me a window to escape. It didn’t. Instead, he froze, grabbed my shoulders, and pulled me away. His dark eyes met mine, my heart thundering partly in disbelief of what I’d done and partly in fear, but before he could take us to the opera manager and end Mom’s career, I kicked his shin and bolted.
That wasn’t my first encounter with violence, and unfortunately not the last either.
For many years after, I’d wondered about this man, but over the years, I remembered less and less of his features. And the horrible event that had followed a few days later made that whole incident fade into the corners of my memory.
Although, now that I thought back, I remembered fantasizing for several days about wedding bells and the white dress I’d wear when I married him. Because much to my delight, he broke up with Mama that same day. He was the first man to do so, and much to my relief, she never learned that he’d found out about our little scheme.
Never in a million years did I imagine I’d end up having a one-night stand with him.
“Small world,” I muttered softly to myself. Too small.
The City of Light’s paved sidewalks welcomed the clacking of my Louboutins. I cursed the Athena of yesterday who’d insisted on wearing sky-high heels that made me look just a bit like a hooker—a tired, famished hooker.
The streets were lined with cafés preparing to open, but none of it would help my hunger now. I sighed exhaustedly just as a set of hands wrapped around me.
“Fuck,” I hissed, whirling around and bringing a hand to my racing heart. “You scared me, Raven.”
She looked at me with a playful expression. “Maybe you should be scared. I’ve been stalking you for the past five minutes and you didn’t notice me.”
“Maybe you should stop stalking me,” I said, narrowing my eyes as they raked over her. She was in the same clothes as last night too. “Where are you coming from?”
She shrugged. “I ran into… someone, and decided to scratch the itch.”
I raised my brow, waiting for her to elaborate, but the look in her eyes was my answer.
“Not Aiden Callahan,” I breathed. “Jesus, it must have been a full moon last night.”
Raven slipped her hand into mine and we resumed walking. “Why? Did you hook up with a mafioso too?” I shot her a wry look and she gasped. “Oh my gosh, you did!”
I sighed. “Why do you sound so proud?”
Raven’s full lips curved into a smile. “I don’t know. Maybe it makes me feel better about myself.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“So how was it? Who was it?” she asked curiously. I blanched for a second, wondering how I was going to explain the mess, when she pivoted topics and blurted, “Fuck, my feet hurt and my pussy’s wrecked.”
We shared a glance, then burst into a fit of giggles. “I guess I know how your night was. And before you want too many details, mine was about the same and I’d prefer not to talk about it.”
She bumped her shoulder against mine. “Well, maybe it’ll be the inspiration you’ve been searching for.”
A wistful exhale passed my lungs. “You have no idea.”
She giggled. “I can’t wait to read it.”
I waved my hand, tabling that discussion for now. “By the way, did you get a message from Reina?”
A guilty expression flashed across her face. “Yeah, but then Aiden kissed me and I forgot all about her. Damn, that man has got moves .”
This time I smiled. “He’s that good, huh?”
“So good that I could orgasm just by his tongue, and fuck, he also uses that in all kinds of ways.”
Images of Manuel’s tongue buried in my pussy taunted me, my core pulsing with need. It was alarming, feeling such intense attraction toward anyone. Yes, I wrote about love and lust and chemistry, but it was entirely different experiencing it firsthand. Not that I was a virgin—God no. But most of my encounters lacked that deeper connection.
I gave my head a subtle shake, forcing the memories from my mind.
“Well, you wouldn’t believe how I embarrassed myself,” I started. “I got really enthusiastic and blurted out that I’d ride him like a rodeo.” A beat of silence passed before she burst into a full-blown laugh, tears lining her eyes. “Don’t worry, I’d laugh too,” I muttered. “You should have seen the way he stared at me.”
She wiped tears from her eyes.
“I’m sorry, I’m picturing it and…” She collapsed into another fit of hysterical giggles. I couldn’t help smiling at her enthusiasm. “I’m assuming he wasn’t an American.”
I rolled my eyes. “No, Italian. I realize now that rodeos are probably not a thing over there.”
“Apparently not.”
Eager to shift the attention away from me, I focused on her.
“Do you think it’s smart to get involved with the head of the Callahan mafia?” I asked her, reaching over and squeezing her arm gently. “Trouble follows the mafiosos wherever they go. And we all know how things ended last time.”
She poked me in the stomach, looking at me skeptically. “You’re supposed to be the romantic one.”
“I am, but you need to ask yourself whether Aiden Callahan is a man you can have no-strings sex with.”
“I won’t fall for him again,” she said, although deep down, I didn’t think she even believed herself. “I can’t help that he’s obsessed with my golden pussy.” She waggled her brows, and I grinned despite myself.
“Yeah, what is it with these mafiosos being obsessed with us?” I said, a hint of sarcasm in my tone.
Raven bit her lip, her eyes shining with mischief. “It’s probably all your talk about riding a donkey.”
I snorted. “I didn’t say donkey.”
She waved her hand in the air. “Minor detail.”
I snort-laughed. “Last time I checked, there were no donkeys at the rodeo.”
“There are plenty of asses frequenting it though.”
I grinned. “Don’t tell me you have something against cowboys.” She shook her head, and I gave her a look like, Ah, I see . “You prefer mobsters.”
“Apparently so do you,” she remarked pointedly. “From the way you look properly sexed up, I bet you’d go another round with your Italian mobster.”
She laughed, and so did I.
But nothing was funny about the butterflies whirling around my stomach at the thought of being with Manuel again.