Chapter 14 Fon
Fon
Fon sat on the back of his bike, his arms looped around Rafaella’s shoulders, convinced this was the best day of his life.
She was a little bit drunk, he could tell, because every so often her head would fall back against his chest for a moment before she corrected herself with a mumbled apology, as if she was doing something wrong.
She didn’t know she made him feel like a king.
He could feel the stares of the other guys lingering on him enviously, wondering what he had that they hadn’t, to get a girl like her.
Sex, and the promise of it, pulsed everywhere here in the midnight heat.
From the moment they’d arrived in the piazza he could taste the pheromones in the air, just as he had the blood in the water this afternoon.
It tinged everything, an invisible stain, infecting them all with lust and heady delight at being young and alive.
Every person here was beautiful, handsome, sexy …
but there was a hierarchy nonetheless. He had watched heads turn as Dante and Gina walked hand in hand ahead of them to get their gelato, Gina wasp-waisted and full-bosomed in tight white capris and a knotted black blouse.
Dante sauntered beside her, enjoying the other men’s envious looks and not in the least bit threatened by them, his cut lip and facial bruises only adding to his legend.
Fon could see that he and Rafaella, as a couple behind them, made a very different proposition to Dante and Gina’s swarthy, pulsing, visceral energy.
Rafaella looked virginal in her white shorts and yellow cotton lace blouse, her lissom figure like the stem to Gina’s blowsy bloom; and he – fair-haired, tall but wiry – was no match for his brooding matinee-idol brother.
But they complemented one another in their own way, a clean-cut style that came from good bones, not swagger.
As the looks landed, he’d been emboldened to reach for her hand and clasp it in his own, a public proclamation that she was his.
The Fon of last week wouldn’t have presumed to be so bold, scared that one wrong move would send her running, laughing, from him.
But the adrenaline from the day, as well as the fight on the beach (he knew perfectly well he was the one Cosimo really wanted to punch), was still pumping through his veins, and he felt fearless.
He was learning fast now, the rules of the game revealing themselves to him at last. He had done the very worst thing he could do to Rafaella but she had forgiven him simply because he had told her he wouldn’t accept not being forgiven.
Just as Dante had told Gina he would bring her here tonight; a statement, not a request. For all these years Fon had deferred to those he admired, but he saw now that being a real man meant being assertive.
Respect wasn’t simply given; it had to be commanded.
Women wanted men with resolve and purpose.
They wanted to be able to submit – and Rafaella was no different.
He had to be the man she wanted, even if it meant forcing himself to fit into that new mould.
It didn’t matter if he didn’t believe it of himself; it only mattered that everyone else did.
Her hand had felt small in his as he led her towards the counter, eyes landing on them like mosquitoes, each one with a little bite.
He had glanced over at her, seeing the apprehension on her face at the overt attention they were attracting, and realized she really didn’t know she was beautiful.
She was completely unaware of the effect she had not just on men, but women too, who looked at her whether they wanted to or not, trying to break down her beauty into elemental components they could mimic and recreate.
Even Dante kept staring, and Fon knew she wasn’t his type – she was too strait-laced, too elegant; he liked a coquette – but beautiful women of all types reflected well on him. On them.
Fon swept Rafaella’s hair to one side and dropped his head down to kiss the curve between her shoulder and her neck. She fell still but didn’t pull away and as he came back up, he locked eyes with his brother. He was growing in his estimation, he could feel it.
Dante winked lazily back at him, his own arm draped over Gina’s shoulder, his hand within grasping distance of her breast but not making contact. He was a gentleman, here.
Following his lead, Fon looped his arms round Rafaella’s shoulders again, pulling her in to him.
She reached up and clasped his wrists as if holding him there, and he felt giddy with happiness and beer even though he knew he had to play it cool.
For the first time ever, her body language chimed with his: anyone who wanted her would need to get past him.
Cosimo Franchetti included.