Chapter 69
CARMELA
A month has gone by, and I still haven’t had that conversation with Dante and Christian. But I did get to catch up with Cherry and tell her how sorry I was.
“It wasn’t your fault, Carmela. I can’t imagine the pressure you were under,” she said . “Please put any guilt you feel aside and trust that I can handle Leon Barone at his worst.”
She used to have a spark in her eyes when she spoke about Leon. Now she sounds like wants to liberate him of vital body parts. I hate that that’s probably down to me. She said she was still working at the clubs and was doing well but kept the conversation to lighter topics afterward.
When I asked Dante about it, he told me to leave it alone.
Christian chuckled without humor and said going there was a bad idea.
I still called Leon and demanded to know what had happened.
He said he loved me, but that he would instruct my ‘men’ to do their worst if I didn’t ‘drop it’.
So I dropped it, for now.
I get to hang out with Jessica and see my father most days. And although I miss my Mama, I am also grateful for what I have.
Only healing takes time, and I have a lot to work through. Sometimes I get this terrible guilt for being happy.
I worry about what the three of us mean, whether this can be forever, and how that is possible when I see so many blockages in the road ahead.
Sometimes I still have nightmares.
And sometimes I feel like I just want to run and run like it might finally quiet the frantic thoughts inside my mind.
DANTE
“Dante?”
I try my best to school my features and mask what lies underneath. It’s been nearly a month since she fled my apartment. It’s been three days since Ettore died.
“I thought we might have dinner out together this weekend,” I say, ignoring the question she just asked.
She’s been requesting to move out of the main home and into the summerhouse with her father and sister. Yesterday, I gave her a straight no. Today, I’m trying a different tactic.
“Dinner? Dante, you’re not listening to me.”
“Yes: you, me, and Christian,” I say, still not listening to her. “A new restaurant opened in the marina complex—they don’t even have salmon on the menu.”
She huffs out a little breath.
I smile.
She doesn’t return it, but she’s sending me an almost shy glance, and her cheeks have taken on a darker hue. I’d say she’s thinking about dick.
I’m thinking about it too. Putting mine in her. But also how Christian and I have barely seen her over the last month, and that, when we do, no matter how we try to love, and to show her love, it feels like it never quite penetrates the shield she has wrapped around herself.
“So you’re saying we can go out now?” She sounds uncertain.
“Yes, within reason. Your sister is about to start college. I don’t want to interfere with that, and it’s time, either way.”
I made a mistake in letting Carmela stay with her father and Jessica in my parents’ former home—now my home.
My reasoning was sound at the time. There was a lot of shit going down and the house provided comfort and security.
With hindsight, I was setting a precedent and giving mixed signals regarding her status to us.
It’s time to reclaim my home and my woman.
The single story summerhouse within the grounds is better suited to Cedro’s needs. The few necessary renovations are now complete. Today, her father and sister moved into it and out of my home.
They are close by, and protected.
And we get some privacy back so we can resolve our unorthodox relationship.
“Will you give it some thought? What I asked?”
Hell no.
It would appear Carmela has forgotten what I told her in my office the day she fled.
I will never let her go. Not willingly, nor through negligence, nor any other reason.
And I won’t have to. The tracking implant embedded under her skin may not have been my idea, but I was more than happy to play my part.
I have to admit, Christian is nothing if not pragmatic, and he doesn’t suffer from undue ethics when it comes to protecting what’s ours.
“Just in case she gets confused and runs again, yeah.”
I can’t lie about it. Putting it under her skin while she slept—with a little help—was deeply compelling, uncovering a dark need in me. No discussion. No protests. She can’t be lost to me again because I can’t live without her. When she came around, I fucked her like a man possessed.
Fine, I started the process earlier…
“I just need some time.”
She’s pleading with me for understanding. Maybe a better man would listen to her. She’s been through a lot. But no one gives you the ‘I need time’ line and then gets over it.
She’s telling me it’s over.
Fuck that. There’s no chance I will let her go. If she wants to work through her feelings and issues, she can work through them from the vantage of my bed with my dick inside her.
No more hiding. The world will need to get over what we have, and that includes her father and her sister if they have a problem with it.
She’s scared, maybe insecure, possibly even confused, and definitely weighed down by the guilt of nearly losing Christian.
If I thought she genuinely didn’t want this, us , could I let her go?
I don’t fucking know.
“It’s late; let’s talk about it tomorrow.”
Her face says she doesn’t believe me.
She would be right.
I’m calm on the outside as I get ready for bed.
Inside, a fire is raging.
I send a message to Christian. His reply makes me smile.
She’s not on birth control. I’ve been keeping track of the days since her last period. And while I don’t know her exact cycle, I’m betting on the next few days being her most fertile.
CARMELA
Yesterday I got a straight no.
Today he ignores me.
He’s not going to let me go.
I always thought Christian was the unhinged one, that Dante was conventional—at least within the bounds of being a made man. He’s not. Dante bears dark, possessive traits. Beneath each layer is another one… I wonder where they might stop, just how dark and deep they go?
He told me once he would never let me go, and I’m starting to sense what that means.
Worse, my pleading with him for space may have inadvertently ramped up the stakes.
So stupid, Carmela.
My husband is gone. Dead.
I don’t feel sad about it; I feel relieved.
In some ways, I’m free, but it also feels like I’ve stepped out of one cage and into another.
I’m not saying I won’t come back to them, which is probably what he’s thinking. That’s not it at all. I love them—both of them. The moment they touch me, I burn for them.
But I’m also scared, as well as going fucking crazy between guilt and need, and I feel like I’m losing sight of who I am.
Is trust and love enough to make this work, in a world full of judgment?
The terrible cloud has finally lifted but I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for one of them to tell me this is just too hard—that I’m too hard.
Every day I tell my reflection in the mirror that I’m worthy of happiness. But, the truth is, I don’t believe the words yet. I’m in pieces, and no matter how I try, the different parts of me don’t fit together the same anymore.
They tell me they love me.
They show me they love me.
It’s exhilarating.
And terrifying.
I didn’t trust them when I should have, but now I do. I understand that I can’t live without them. But I also need to know that they trust me.
Trust me enough to let me go and let me come back.
He showers in the guest bedroom, leaving the en suite to me. I take a shower before putting on my sleep shorts and T-shirt.
I’m fooling myself. I know he’s going to peel them off me the moment he returns to the room, but I’ll enjoy that too. It’s almost like a game where I delude myself that I might just go to sleep.
Would I want to?
No. I want his hands on me.
Both his and his brother’s hands, because the best nights are the ones when Christian comes home too.
When I enter the bedroom, he’s already in bed, the covers up to his waist. He’s tapping away on his cell phone and barely glances up at me.
My breath catches. God, he’s beautiful.
See, this is what happens every time I’m around him. I swear he puts me under a lust trance.
Maybe I should take one of the spare bedrooms… There are eight of them in this house.
“Don’t even think about it.” He doesn’t look up when he speaks.
“Think about what?” I say casually.
“The spare bedroom. I swear I'll burn the other beds in this house and all the couches if you start that shit again.”
Well, alright then. I huff out a breath and stalk to the bed like I hate his overbearing ways.
I don’t, though, do I? They arouse me.
And what does that make me?
Wet .
Every filthy command, every flash of dominance, every possessive statement that curtails my acts of rebellion.
I consider doing it anyway, to see what he will do—Dante’s follow-throughs are hot.
And addictive.
“Get undressed.”
He’s not even looking at me. He’s still looking at his phone.
I’ve frozen in place with one knee on the bed, the other foot on the floor.
“Was my instruction in some ways confusing, Carmela?” He puts his cell phone on the nightstand. His eyes darken as they meet mine. He smirks. “Or go ahead and run. If you need to.”
I swallow hard. A hot, languid pulse kicks off between my legs. He doesn’t care how this plays out. He’s utterly unbothered about what choice I will make, whether that is stripping down or making a bolt for it.
I don’t move, and neither does he. We stare at one another. The tension grows between us.
“Are you being a bad girl, Carmela? Do you need me to punish you?”