18. Lucy
Lucy
I have trouble sleeping that night.
I’ve always had my own room. Even when I was a little girl. Space wasn’t an issue at the Willing-Morris house. But now I’m sharing a bed with a massive beast of a man, and I can feel him beside me. His warmth and his breathing. It’s disturbing and arousing.
Also, my ass hurts from the beating it took.
A nice beating, but still.
That man spanked the hell out of me.
I shift slightly, turning to face him. He’s breathing slowly and steadily. I study the line of his jaw, the turn of his nose. He’s absurdly beautiful and masculine. I bite my lip and feel a little sore spot there from where he made me bleed.
The fucking psycho.
“Go to sleep,” he whispers. I nearly yelp in surprise.
“Jesus, you scared me.”
His eyes open and he glances at me. “You’re staring at me.”
“I am not. I’m just trying to get comfortable. I just happen to sleep better on this side.”
“For some strange reason, I don’t believe you at all.”
God, what a frustrating asshole. We fall into silence again. He closes his eyes, but now I know he’s not actually asleep.
My annoyance subsides, and curiosity takes over. I think about what Kennedy said earlier at the bar, and I can’t help myself. It’s a dangerous subject, but I cross the line anyway.
“Adriano? Can I ask you something?”
He lets out a breath. “Go ahead.”
“It’s about your dad.”
I feel him tense. He always reacts like this when the subject of his father gets mentioned. “What do you want to know?”
“Well, I haven’t really met him yet. Do you think we could do that? Since we live in the same house?”
“He has his own wing. And he’s sick most of the time.”
“Sick with what?” I probably shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help it.
Adriano stares at the ceiling. I’m tempted to reach out to him, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of man who responds well to physical comfort. I’m afraid he’ll just pull away if I do.
“My father was the strongest man I’ve ever known,” he says, not looking at me.
“He was smart too. Smartest bastard in the city. It’s how the Marino Famiglia has gotten so big and powerful over the years.
Dad was relentless and ruthless. That’s why it’s so hard, seeing him the way he is now.
” He glances at me. This must be hard to talk about, but his face shows none of that.
“My father’s got dementia. It’s in the late stages now.
He hasn’t been doing well for a long time, and the doctors say they don’t know how much time he has left.
More often than not, he thinks I’m his brother.
At this point, we’re just making his final hours as comfortable as we can. ”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say, letting that sink in.
I remember what it felt like to lose my parents.
The deep, horrible hole I sank into afterward.
How the world seemed dim and strange, like I was floating over a black canyon with nothing underneath me but faith and terror.
That was the beginning of the end of my life.
I know what Adriano’s feeling, at least a little bit. And it’s terrible.
Except back then, I hated them, and I loved them just as much.
My parents ruined my family. They were also loving, kind, and gentle.
I watched them spiral into addiction, and it took them both away from me.
They also ripped what was left of our name into shreds on their way out.
I hate them, and I love them just as much.
That’s a contradiction I haven’t been able to square.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Adriano says. “We don’t need pity. He’d hate that, you know.”
“Was he a proud man?”
“Yes, and he still is, on days when he’s lucid. Those are fewer now than they used to be. I worry we don’t have any left.”
“Does the rest of your family know?”
“Most suspect he’s in bad shape. I’ve been running the organization for a while now. He’s still technically our Don, but he hasn’t made a decision for over a year. It’s all been on me.”
“That’s got to be hard.”
“It’s what he raised me to do.” He looks at me. The coldness there scares me. How can this man talk about the decline of his father like this and still look like nothing penetrates him?
“I’d really like to meet him. I mean, if that’s okay with you.”
He stares at me, eyebrows slightly furrowed, like he’s not sure if I’m kidding.
He licks his lips, and I think about his mouth on mine.
I think about his kiss, his possessive grip on my throat, his bruising fingers spanking my soft skin.
There’s power and there’s pain in this man, but there’s also a strange tenderness.
Like when he wrapped his arms around me when we were done.
“Come to his room tomorrow morning,” he says at last. “Papa’s the best in the morning. Donatella will show you where.”
I nod a little. “Okay, I’d like that.”
“Good.” He turns his head and closes his eyes. “Now go to sleep and quit staring at me.”
I shift onto my other side. But I’m listening to him breathe as my mind goes soft and begins to unfurl toward sleep.
“He said this was okay?” Donatella seems genuinely surprised. It’s a little past eight in the morning, and I found her in the kitchen cooking breakfast.
“We talked about it last night.”
“Well, alright, if he says so.” She hesitates, considering her next words. “What do you know about dementia patients, dear?”
“Not much,” I admit. “Just the sort of stuff you see on TV.”
“Well, he’s in the late stages. Salvatore isn’t himself anymore.
He’s not good around strangers, so don’t be surprised if he gets agitated.
You won’t be able to understand most of what he says, and that’s okay.
Treat him like you do anyway. Don’t be surprised if he does things over and over, like put on and take off his shoes.
If he gets agitated, just leave, and don’t take it personally. ”
I start to wonder if this is a good idea, but it’s too late. Donatella leads me across the mansion and into a wing I’ve never visited before. A guard’s waiting at the end of the hall in front of a large ornate door, and he glances at me warily before letting us through.
Inside is a comfortable suite. It looks like it’s well cared for.
Books line the shelves and framed photos cover the end tables.
They show all sorts of men, mostly Italian-looking, probably members of the Marino Famiglia.
I recognize Adriano’s father immediately.
They have the same jaw, the same body size, the same eyes.
“There you two are,” Donatella says, heading into another room.
I follow her and linger in the doorway.
There’s a bed against one wall and a big easy chair beside that.
An old man’s sitting in the chair, leaning forward, frowning at the TV.
He’s watching a black-and-white Western show, one I don’t recognize.
Adriano’s on a folding chair beside him, gently helping him eat from a bowl of yogurt.
Donatella fusses around the room, straightening up as she goes.
I stare in astonishment. Big, powerful, terrifying Adriano is so soft and patient with his father.
I observe for a few minutes as Adriano coaxes more spoonfuls into his father’s mouth, feeding the old man like a child.
Though at one point, his father shakily takes the spoon and tries to feed himself.
When he makes a mess, Adriano cleans it up gently and takes over before gesturing me over.
“Papa, I want you to meet someone. This is my wife, Lucille.”
Salvatore Marino, Don of the Marino Famiglia, looks at me with soft, unfocused eyes. He frowns slightly, his eyebrows pinching down. Then he mumbles, and I can’t understand him.
For a second, I panic. Then I look over at Donatella, and she gestures at me like, go ahead and talk .
I smile at Adriano’s father. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Marino.”
He mumbles again, looking back at the TV.
“Do you mind if I sit with you?” I ask him, pulling up a chair.
Adriano looks at me, almost suspicious. But when his father says nothing, Adriano goes back to helping him eat.
I watch the show. Salvatore murmurs a few times, and I respond to him like we’re chatting about the characters. All the while, Adriano is shockingly caring and patient until the food is all gone. Donatella takes away the tray, and we’re left to finish the show together.
Salvatore grumbles and shifts in his seat like he can’t get comfortable.
Adriano calms him a few times, gently patting his arm and helping to adjust him.
I smile and talk as though this were all totally fine, but it breaks my heart to see Adriano like this.
I would never have imagined such a vicious, brutal man could be so soft with someone.
But it’s like a new light is shining inside my husband.
The show ends. Adriano gets up and says goodbye to his father. The old man only mumbles back. I bend down and kiss his cheek on a total whim, not sure why I even do it. For a second, Salvatore stares at me, frowning, and I feel Donatella and Adriano tensing.
But the old man smiles. “Pretty girl. Come back and see me again.”
“I’d be happy to,” I say, smiling back.
Adriano ushers me away. He seems agitated and torn as we walk down the hallway together. At the stairs, he turns and faces me.
“Don’t talk about my father’s condition with anyone,” he says, his tone sharp. The softness is all gone. “Especially not with anyone in the Famiglia. None of the guards. None of the captains. Do you understand?”
“Why don’t you tell them?”
“Because my father wouldn’t want them to remember him like this.
” Adriano looks away. “He was a proud man, and he gave me a lot. If I can protect him during his last years—” He shakes his head.
“Just don’t talk about his condition with anyone else around.
Only a very small number of people know how far his condition has progressed. Do you understand?”
“I promise, I won’t.”
“Good.” He moves down the steps but looks back again. “I sit with him every morning. You can come again tomorrow if you like.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Fine.” He nods and walks away.
I stare after him. My husband comes off like a ruthless killer. And that’s exactly what he is.
But he’s also a son who cares about his father and is willing to go to great lengths to protect him.
Which is beyond admirable. It’s incredible, if I’m honest with myself.
I wouldn’t do that for Grandmother.
Mostly because she’s terrible, but still.
I feel a new respect for Adriano as I head back to our room.