33. Lawyer Up
Chapter 33
Lawyer Up
Antonella
Giulietta brings me back home, and even helps me carry a few of the shopping bags inside. I have her place them on the counter.
“Ciao!” She’s practically sprinting out of the house—sensing the impending doom coming through.
Giordano isn’t here.
Odd .
He never told me he was leaving. He doesn’t need to update me on his whereabouts, of course. But, it’d be nice to be informed when he’s not going to be home.
For dinner purposes.
Right .
I shake my head and kick off my shoes by the front door. I stomp over to the kitchen and angrily open a bottle of rosé—drinking straight from the bottle.
Damn it. I had a whole speech prepared and everything. Him not being here really puts a damper on the whole thing, which pisses me off more. Him being in the mafia—whatever. But I can’t go off on him about him lying to me about it if he’s not …
Fucking…
Here …
I shake my head, mumbling a plethora of profanities to myself as I pull up Lucia’s number and hit the call button.
“Pronto,” Lucia answers, “Who is this?”
“Ciao, Lucia, it’s Antonella. Giulietta gave me your number when we were out shopping today. I hope it’s okay.” I take a lengthy sip, and it burns my throat as it slides down. I forgot to eat today, and the rosé is blazing hot in my chest already.
“Ciao, Toni! Sì, okay. Of course. I’m sorry he didn’t give it to you sooner. That boy.” She groans.
“That’s what I want to talk to you about.” I hesitate. “ Who ,” I restate. They’re close, but is she not going to want to listen to me about her son? Can he do no wrong in her eyes? Some mothers are incapable of holding their sons accountable.
Maybe, I’ve made a mistake.
She sighs loudly. “What did he do now? I swear he has me grey more than Giulietta. Are you okay? Do I need to come over there?”
I raise a brow and nod. Oh, right. She can’t see me. “Sto bene. Although, Giulietta told me something she shouldn’t have. About your famiglia… occupation.”
“I retract my previous statement. It’s Giulietta who has me grey.” She chuckles. “This upsets you, no?”
“Sì, because I found out from her.”
“Wait, so you’re not upset about him in the mafia?”
“No, he’s not exactly graceful about it—” I take another generous sip of the rosé—heated cheeks in my face already. “Never anything confirmed, until now, of course. I think he may have even… made a guy disappear permanently in front of me, now that I’m honestly thinking about it. But, I’m actually more angry at the fact he doesn’t trust me enough to tell me himself.”
“Ah.” She chuckles. “There are some things best not known. Otherwise you will worry yourself to wrinkles. Vito told me a lot, and I was stressed a lot . I was happier with him telling me and being honest. It’s truly your decision, what you want to know—and what you don’t.”
“I’m sorry for what happened to Vito,” my voice lowers, slowly losing my momentum. Vito Marzano’s death made national news, according to my parents. However, the cause of death and who killed him wasn’t public information. “For Cillian to flat out attack him?—”
“Mannaggia la mort’,” she grumbles. “Giulietta told you this, too? The girl cannot keep her mouth shut. Grazie, for your sympathy,” she laughs. “This is why we keep her out of the loop. Also why she believes I don’t have a clue. Can I trust you won’t tell her?”
“Sì,” a laugh bubbles in my chest—or maybe the booze. Time to cut myself off. I slightly slur my words, “I’ll keep your secret.”
Lucia laughs. “My advice to you is—hear him out. You love him, no?”
Of course I love him. But I have some choice words before I’ll say it to him.
I bite my lip and nod, blinking tears away. Right, she can’t see me, again. I have to stop doing that. “I do love him, a lot. I’ve never loved anyone like this before,” I admit softly. “Take it to your grave, Lucia,” I warn her.
“Welcome to the famiglia! Though… I suggest giving him a little bit of the dramatics to keep him on his toes. It keeps him young.” She chuckles.
“You too, huh? Giulietta told me the same thing.” The corners of my mouth quirk up.
Like mother, like daughter.
“She’s learned from the best. Ciao, bella.”
“Ciao, Lucia.” I end the call, pleased with the interaction. “Alright, bottle. You and me until he gets home.” I chug the rest of the rosé. “Now, time to shine. Where the fuck is he?”
I run upstairs and change into a black, silk nightgown which leaves little to the imagination—with a matching silk robe on top of it. How much time do I have before he’s back?
After a few sprays of the vanilla perfume he got for me, I slide my feet into some fuzzy slippers.
Bellissima… Enough to tease.
Waltzing my overly-confident self back downstairs and into the kitchen, I open up another bottle. I pour white wine in two glasses.
One for me.
One for him.
He should be here any moment now. Or at least, I hope he’ll be. It’s getting late. I place them carefully on the dining room table and shut off all the lights throughout the entire house; the only thing lighting up the room is the wood burning fireplace over in the living room.
Show time .
I finish plating the Fileja alla Silana for us, knowing he’ll be hungry when he gets home from—whatever he’s been doing. Sauce for me, no sauce for him. We’ve conveniently run out.
Oops.
I place his down next to the cannoli I ruined. On purpose.
I sit on the chair across from his, taking slow sips of the wine in my glass. If we are going to have our first fight, I’m going to be damn dramatic about it.
“Amore, why are you sitting in the dark?” He flicks the light on, then walks further into the room.
“Funny you should ask. You’ve been keeping me in the dark. Figured I’d look the part, too.” I laugh as I gesture to the food. “Eat. ”
His face contorts from happiness into confusion. “What are you talking about?” His gaze drops down to the his plate full of plain noodles, then back up to me. He squints. “There’s no sauce.”
“There is not. Very keen observation.”
His eyes shift over to my plate, full of noodles with my homemade sauce he loves so much. “ You have sauce.” He plumps his bottom lip out in a slight pout.
“I do.” I bring the fork up to my mouth, slowly parting my lips, eating the pasta.
He’s practically salivating—frothing at the mouth like an animal with rabies.
“What’s the matter?” He plops down in the chair where I placed his dinner. A darkened glare darts between the noodles and I with a glower on his face. “Amore?”
“ Eat ,” I snarl, glaring up at him through furrowed brows. I stab the perfectly saucy noodles with my fork, then bring it up to my lips once again.
To tempt him.
To torture him.
“Do you mind telling me what this is about? I am lost.” He doesn’t touch the fork, though he does drink the wine I poured for him.
“Interesting choice to drink the wine—which could be poisoned.” I snort. It’s not, obviously.
“If being murdered by you is the way I go, and you’re the last thing I see before my last breath escapes my body… I say it’s a pretty good way to die, no?” He takes another lengthy sip, maintaining eye contact with me.
“Ti ha dato di volta il cervello?” My fork drops out of my hand, onto the plate with a loud clunk. “Giordano Marzano, you have lied to me this entire time!” Tears prick my eyes. I’m not sure why I’m becoming emotional about it. I’m going to blame the drinks. “Why? ”
I’m yelling at him. His pupils are dilating . Wait, they’re dilating? Why? I’m yelling at him. Does he like this?
No way.
“Lied to—” He pauses, gathering what I told him. “Lied to you?”
“By omission.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to get the image of him on top of me out of my mind right now. “That’s not honesty,” I lower my voice to a more calm tone. I didn’t intend on yelling at him in the first place, but it’s how the words came out.
Whoops.
“My parents told me. My best friend told me. I find out the truth from your sister . What I don’t understand… is why you think you have to keep me shut out.” I scoot my chair back and rise to my full height, keeping my hands planted firmly on the table.
“I’m protecting you.”
“From who? Yourself ? I don’t want protection. If I want it, I’ll ask you to throw on a condom next time. I want the truth.” I roll my eyes, and take a few steps toward the stairs.
Seal the deal .
“They say it was only speculation. They truly don’t know. I don’t know. Shit, I theorized you were a goddamn serial killer for a moment there.” I snort, even if it is mixed with a half-sob. “I had this whole damn tally sheet of—is he a serial killer, a super awful FBI agent, or a mafia man.”
His brows furrow, creating a deep crease between them. He remains silent, taking in every word I’m saying.
“Why couldn’t you trust me? I’ll keep your secret.” My hands tremble at my sides. “You know I will,” my voice shakes. Stay strong, Tone. “Haven’t I proven enough to you? That I’m trustworthy?”
He reaches out to grab my hand, eyes swirling with a mixture of pure, primal desire and contrition. I pull away from him, not allowing for him to touch me. But oh, how it’s all I want him to do .
Fight for me.
Fight with me.
God, I’m fucked up in the head, aren’t I?
“Please, let me explain. Sit, Antonella,” he commands.
He tells me to sit?
I’m sat—like a fucking dog .
My lips part, and a cool rush of air fills my lungs. The crackling of the wood fireplace over in the living room adds to the ambiance of the fire burning between us.
Should I whack him with a wooden spoon or kiss him? Both. Goddamn him and his charming looks. My teeth click shut, angry at him again for being so attractive. “Truth. Now.”
“I apologize for withholding the truth from you, amore. I’ll tell you everything. But, first…” He stands, taking a step closer to me— hovering over me—invading the space I purposefully put between us. His fingers trace along my jaw before gripping my chin, pulling me in closer to his face with a possessive force. He runs his thumb gently across my bottom lip. His voice is a hushed tone, “You will not be able to leave once I tell you.”
Boy, he’s dramatic, isn’t he?
I hold in a snort. “Did I say I wanted to leave?” I squint, peering up at him through my lashes.
There’s a flicker of desire behind those forest green eyes of his. His voice strengthens with confidence. “I am the leader of the Italian Mafia here in Chicago.”
“I know.” I tap my nails against the wood of the table. “Tell me something I don’t.” He releases my chin and I bring my glass up to my lips, taking a sip of the wine—for confidence. Fake it ‘til you make it. “Don’t worry, we won’t tell anyone.” I smirk, grabbing my phone off the table.
“We.” He nods and purses his lips. It takes him a moment to process what I had said, but after , his expression shifts to confusion—full blown furrowed brows and everything. “ We ?”
Now he’s getting it. I send the texts.
You’re right. He’s in the mafia.
Ok, not only is he in the mafia. He’s the head of the Chicago Italian Mafia.
“Audie, of course.” My gaze remains locked on my phone as I await her response. “She’ll love this information.”
His eye twitches. “What are you telling her for?”
“She’s my best friend. I tell her everything.” My eyes flick up to him. I whisper as menacing as I can while squinting. “ Ev-ery-thing .”
“And… she’s trustworthy, too?”
My phone vibrates with a text. Hopefully Audrina.
Audie
I knew it!
No, no. You only said he’s in it, not the damn Don.
Damn Don. If you ever give me his phone number, it’ll be his contact name.
Have at it.
With a satisfied grin, I shut my phone off. After texting her his number. She can bug him now. I’ll get back to her later, I have a conversation to finish first.
I scoff. “Of course. Now, is there anything else you’d like to share with the class?”
He pulls his phone out from his pocket. “Did you just give her my personal number? And she called me a damn Don ?”
“I don’t answer questions without a lawyer present,” I quip. “You’re the one in for questioning… Don Marzano.” I suppress a giggle. I can't even take myself seriously.
“ Don Marzano .” His jaw tightens. “You don’t call me that.”
“You probably don’t want to know what I have you in my phone as, then.” As the laugh bubbles up in my throat, my body convulses from holding it back .
He pinches between his brows. “What is it?”
I swipe over to his text thread and face the screen toward him.
His jaw tightens and head tilts slightly, reading over the contact name—Friend. His darkened, infuriated gaze flicks from the screen to my face. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Friend ?” He spits out the word, as if it’s an insult. “Didn’t I say to not say the word…”
I answer honestly, “I didn’t. Technically, I typed it.”
He grunts, leaning away from me. “Change it.”
“To what? What am I in your phone as?”
“Moglie.”
“Since when?”
“The day you gave me your number.”
“Should I change it to roommate instead?” I ask, to be an asshole.
“You’re about to get your ass spanked. But knowing you, you’d like it.” He hums.
With hearts in my eyes, I know the perfect name, but I’ll change it later.
“Tell me more?” I plead.
“Fine. My father was murdered by another mob. Cillian, to be more specific,” his voice lowers.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
He blinks. “Damn. Did Giulietta tell you everything?”
“Again, I don’t answer questions without a lawyer present.” I glance down at my nails. Picking up the habit from my one time hang-out session with Giulietta. Maybe I should take her up on the offer for a manicure. “Jimmy, right? You said your lawyer’s name was Jimmy?”
“Antonella.” His shoulders drop.
“Così così. She doesn’t know as much as your mother does.” I smile, giving up the bit.
“You talked to her? ”
“I want you to tell me more.” I nod, entertaining myself entirely too much. Blame it on the alcohol.
“I have spent the past year tracking them all down and killing them off one by one. How much detail do you need, baby? I’ll tell you every single thing I’ve done. Everything I do is for your safety and protection.”
He’s truly going to tell me everything, isn’t he? I don’t want or need to know everything .
I’ve made my executive decision —I’m going to live the princess lifestyle. Unbothered. Giulietta has it right.
I shake my head, running my fingers through my wavy hair. Both theories are true, I suppose, in some way. Not all serial-style. But he does do the whole… murder thing. Lucia mentioned something previously during our call, about the stress and wrinkles.
I groan. “I don’t appreciate being lied to. I don’t necessarily need every graphic detail. Please, be safe. I want you alive and to come home to me every night. And… give me my card back. I told you I wasn’t going to use your money.”
“Done.”
“Welcome home.” I wink at him.
“ Home .” He smirks. “This means you’re here to stay, yeah?”
“Allora, don’t lie to me, amore. ” I throw his adorable nickname back in his face.
“I promise, Antonella.” He grabs my hand and kisses the back of it. “By the way, it’s our money, amore. But, I’ll give it back to you. No lies, however, what am I supposed to tell you when it’s things you don’t want to know?”
Um… excellent question. What am I supposed to tell him? The first thing to pop up in my head, of course. “Safe word.” A cheesy grin spreads across my lips.
“Amore, we’re not doing anything right now.” He pulls me into his chest. I groan, comfort washes over me as the scent of his sandalwood cologne, mixing with his body wash, fills the air around me. “Why do you need a safe word, right now? ”
“I meant… like a word. We could have another for… murder stuff.”
“I do more than murder, amore.” The vibration in his chest from his laughter sends shivers down my spine. “What would you like the word to be? Say I come home from work—you ask me what I did all day,” he says. I nod along, taking it all in. “And I say, casually , of course. Oh, amore, I brutally stabbed someone in the?—”
“Beans!” I shout, not thinking of a specific word.
“Beans?” He tilts his head.
“Beans.” I nod, confident in my decision.
“Beans it is.”
I lean in against his chest once again. Snuggles are nice. I peer up at him while batting my lashes. “I’m glad you ended up not being like a creepy stalker slash serial killer guy.”
He nods in agreement, but once he realizes what I had said, his facial expression morphs into confusion. “Wait, you—I—You thought I was a… serial killer ?”
“More or less.” I grimace. “Definitely leaning toward the more part at times. That or a terrible FBI agent. One of the ranks who’s sent out to do low-level work.”
“Low-level. This house at a low-level wage? Allora—” He scratches the back of his head, raised eyebrows and all. “I mean… I sort of?—”
Maybe, I’m not off entirely.
I hold up my hand, gesturing to him to stop talking. My eyes flutter shut. “If it’s for a good reason.”
“Fine, for good reason. Revenge,” he whispers, as both of his hands cup my cheeks. I lean in against his rough touch. He’s my home.
“Cillian?”
His whole body tenses up. “ Yes , him. It’s personal.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Usually, I have a person, Giacomo, he?—”
“Beans,” I whisper.
He presses a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Loud and clear.”
“Wait, is that why the one man I talked to disappeared and you were there all of a sudden?”
“Beans,” he whispers.
“So…” I nudge his shoulder while wagging my eyebrows up and down. “Organized crime, huh?”
“Well, I don’t like to be un organized.”
I snort. So he totally clipped the guy who was going to ask me out on a date. Now I have to ask this next question. “Have you ever done the cement shoes before?” I bite down on my lip and raise one brow, over and over again while winking.
“Have I done the—what?” He squints, glancing down to the shoes he’s wearing currently, then back up to me.
“You know.” I nudge his shoulder, giving him another wink. “Good ol’ cement shoes. Weigh a body down, toss it in the water. You know— cement shoes ,” I whisper.
“Stay off the internet.” He snorts.
“Fine. I’ll get all my mafia-related information from a direct source.” I stand up on my toes and press my lips against his, kissing him softly. He kisses me back with more intensity, of course, tangling his fingers in my hair while pulling me into him. Desperate not to let go of me.
We break apart after a few moments and he pats my head. “You know, sometimes I do forget how corta you are.”
I glare at him and then stomp on his foot. “How dare you.”
“Ah, cruel . You’ll regret doing that, amore. Not as much as you’ll regret not putting sauce on my pasta.” He picks up the cannoli I also had on the table—filled with cottage cheese.
I smack his hand away, causing him to drop the disgusting cottage cheese cannoli on the floor. “I wouldn’t eat that if I were you,” I warn .
“Oh, God .”
“Show me what you got.” I wink at him as I run up the stairs.
He follows closely behind me.