8. Nico
NICO
Growing up, I hated this dining room.
Father insisted that we take our dinners together here as a family, even though there were only five of us for sixteen chairs.
He’d sit at the head of the table, and my older brother Vincent at his right hand. Mother always sat on the opposite end, while Gia and I sat closer to her but never next to her. On occasions when I would get too far from him, Father would demand that I come sit closer.
I knew better than to be too slow on those occasions.
We were anything but the stereotypical Italian family. Dinners were eaten in silence, and everyone walked on eggshells, stealing glances towards Father just in case he flew into one of his angry outbursts that ended with smashed plates, smashed glasses, or a split lip for either myself or Vincent.
Now I’m sitting where he did, staring at the empty seats. Candlelight flickers and I look down at the simple gold band glimmering on my finger while I wait for Lydia to join me for our first dinner as husband and wife.
I wonder where she’ll sit.
Giorgia has prepared a wonderful pot of Italian wedding soup, and even put it in a warmer pot so that it’ll simmer cheerfully by the candlelight. My fingers drum impatiently against the table as I wait.
Then, the door opens and Lydia walks in. My fingers stop mid-drum when I see her.
She's exchanged her white dress for the cream blouse and grey sweatpants that she wore when I brought her here in the first place. Giorgia had washed them of the mud and blood, and there’s a light clean scent clinging to her skin as she takes Mother’s old seat across the table.
The blouse slips low at the collar as she sits down, enough to show the full line of her collarbone. When she leans forward to reach for her water glass, the hem rides up, and a narrow strip of skin peeks through.
My mouth goes dry when I see it, and I make an involuntary fist around my spoon before tearing my gaze away.
A servant rushes over to fill a bowl for her, places it in front of her without a word, and retreats back to the side of the room in silent obedience.
“Thank you.” She smiles warmly.
As soon as she turns to look at me, the smile is replaced by an icy glare.
She picks up her spoon, stirs the contents of her bowl, but doesn’t bring it to her lips.
“Is the food not to your liking?” I ask, and then add, “Wife?”
“I’m thinking,” she replies as she continues to stir. “Husband.”
"You can think and eat."
She stops stirring. "Is that an order, Don Nico?"
“I think we both know that there’s nothing I can ever order you to do.”
“And yet.” She brings her spoon up and lets a meatball fall back into the soup. “I’m forced to sit at this table sharing a meal with you.”
“It’s customary for husband and wife to share dinners together, especially on their wedding night.”
“I was under the impression that a man usually asks a woman before marrying her,” she retorts. “So maybe let’s not talk about what’s customary?”
I reach for my wine and take a sip. “Then what do you want to talk about?”
Her jaw tightens. “How about when I’ll be free to go?”
“What are you so eager to run back to, piccola?”
She goes back to her bowl. "Personal business."
“Personal business back at that house I found you in?” I ask.
“What’s it to you?”
I set my glass down. "You flew across an ocean in the middle of your best friend's wedding to go to that house."
"And you followed me across that ocean to it." She stabs her spoon towards me. "And left a corpse there."
"We both know if I hadn’t shown up.” I slam my palm on the table. “That corpse would’ve been the least of your worries!"
Lydia jumps at the sound. Her jaw tightens in silence, and her knuckles turn white around the spoon handle.
Are you your father, Nicolas?
“My point is,” I drop my voice to something that resembles even. “For better or for worse, we’re married. There shouldn’t be secrets between us.”
“Easy for you to say.” Candlelight flickers in her green eyes. “You still won’t tell me the truth of why you chose to marry me other than some cryptic statement about killing two birds with one stone.”
She’s not wrong. If I am to gain her trust, or at the very least find out what she’s doing at that house, then I have to offer her a shred of honesty in return.
"My father made a contract before he died," I say. "With a family who built their money selling women and children."
Lydia’s hand softens slightly around the spoon, but she doesn’t put it down just yet.
"And part of that contract required a marriage,” I continue.
“Between their oldest daughter and my father’s only surviving heir.
And as the new Don, I have no interest in tying my fate or my Family’s fate to those monsters.
I needed a way out, and I needed your silence. Marrying you accomplishes both."
She's quiet for a moment as she processes what I said, and then asks with unmistakable hurt in her voice. “So I’m just a fucking convenience for you?”
"There's nothing convenient about you, piccola."
Her shoulders slack at my words and the fight deflates from her. She looks down at her soup that’s starting to turn cold. Then, to my surprise, she slips her spoon in and takes a small sip.
Her expression changes again when she tastes it. And she takes several more spoonfuls before she looks back up at me. “The soup is very good.”
“Giorgia has an excellent recipe.” I pick up the wine again and sip at the light thaw between us.
Lydia nods and then continues to sip. After a few more spoonfuls, she starts talking again, but to the table instead of me.
“That house was my mother’s.” Her hands start shaking slightly. “She needed my help. That was why I left France.”
I tense as something hot and bitter pours into my veins. “What kind of help?”
"The kind that isn't yours to give."
"Tell me the problem," I say. "And I can make it go away."
Her gaze is heavy and angry. “This isn’t a problem you can kill your way out of.”
“Every problem is one I can kill my way out of.”
“Not. This. One.” Her voice drops to a pitch I haven't heard before. "So just leave it."
Like hell I will.
I push my chair back, stand up, and start walking towards her. She recoils at the sudden motion but she doesn’t back away. A flush rises to her cheeks as she watches me come closer and closer.
When I stand over her, I place a single hand on her shoulder and lean down until we’re face to face. "Remind me again what you are."
She opens her mouth, takes a slow trembling breath, and says. “Your wife.”
"Exactly." I stare into her eyes. "And that means I won't accept you refusing my help. Now, tell me what your mother needs."
"Never."
My hand moves from her shoulder, up her neck, and comes to a stop on her cheek to feel the unmistakable warm flush against my palm.
"Have it your way, piccola." I keep my voice even as I lean in closer and closer. "But don’t think for a moment that I won’t find what you’re so intent on hiding from me."
“I don’t doubt that at all.”
Her face and lips are now inches from mine. But the ice has returned to her eyes even as her skin burns hotter and hotter under my touch. We’re close enough to share a single breath, and I realize that there are things I would do for her that I won’t do for anyone else.
This woman has power over me that’s utterly unbreakable, and I’ve never been weaker than whenever I’m in her presence.
“One more thing,” I say. “You’ll need to accompany me to church on Sunday.”
“Let me guess.” She blinks. "Refusal’s not an option?”
I nod. “Good girl.”
A familiar satisfaction courses down my spine at the slight tremor she gives me at those words. I let my eyes move over her cream blouse, the grey sweatpants, and all the way down to her feet before I bring my gaze back to her face.
“As a Don’s wife, I expect you to also look the part when you show up to church.”
She curls her lips defiantly. "Are you about to send me another dress that doesn't fit?"
"No." I brush the pad of my thumb against her lower lip. "You get to go buy them yourself. I won’t have my wife showing up in ill-fitting garments. I told you, there are privileges to being a Don’s wife. This is one of them."
“You’re sending me out of this house? Alone?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I reply. “I’d never let you go out there alone.”
“So you’re coming with me like a good control freak so you can dress me up like the Barbie doll of your dreams?”
“No,” I reply. “I have Family business to attend to."
“Family business,” she repeats. “You mean killing people.”
"Yes, piccola." I curl my fingers under her chin and tip it up toward me. My thumb continues to make small circles around her soft pink lips, savoring the warmth in her breath from every shaky exhale. "Killing people."
"Who gets to be my lucky babysitter?"
"Anastasio," I answer. “You met him this morning, and before you get any funny ideas, know that I gave him permission to drag you back to me.”
“I expected nothing less, dear husband.” Her lips remain in that stubborn defiant smile. “But what if I decide that I want to run off with your precious boy toy?”
“Anastasio knows better than to shit where he eats.” My jaw clenches and my voice thickens as I tighten my grip around her chin. “And so will you. I expect you to be on your best behavior when I let you out of my sight tomorrow.”
The flush from her cheeks now expands to the base of her throat. Her chest is already moving faster than she wants it to even through the loose fabric of her blouse.
My cock has been pressing painfully against the front of my trousers ever since I put my hand against her skin, and it’s only gotten harder from her wet lips and hot breath.
Instead of answering with words, she parts her lips further, and then closes them around my thumb. Blood drums in my ears, pulsing hard and wet, as her tongue moves against my skin in one slow, unhurried stroke.
Every coherent thought burns away from my mind and all I want is her lips around a different part of my body.
Cazzo.
The heat burns through me as she takes me deeper and deeper. It drops down my throat, into my chest, and collects straight at the tip of my cock until I’m rock hard and on the verge of tearing my fucking pants.
The pressure has nowhere to go. My grip on her jaw grows tighter. My free hand finds the back of her chair and locks around it. It's either that or I drag her up out of the seat by her hair, and I’m already doing everything I can to hold myself back.
Then, she starts to suck. Her eyes are fixed on mine as she takes my thumb all the way into her mouth, tongue swirling around the tip and shaft.
In the dim candlelight, the flush of her cheeks looks even redder. She adjusts her position and exposes more of her shoulders for her dark hair to fall around.
Her pulse moves faster and faster against my thumb as she sucks. The wet heat of her mouth leaves my ears ringing, and my knuckles grow white against the chair.
“Do we have an understanding?” I strain.
Her hand runs up the inside of my thigh. There’s no mistaking the devilish grin as she rests her palm against my pulsing dick, nodding without breaking eye contact.
I’m running on a very short and rapidly emptying reserve of self-control.
With her mouth continuing to work my thumb, she starts to rub the sensitive head through the fabric.
A groan breaks past my clenched teeth, and her grin widens. Her fingers unzip my pants, freeing my cock, and she gives me only a second of respite before she fists around the sensitive head.
Her fingers feel like heaven as she starts to pump. My knees buckle and I hold onto the chair to keep myself upright. Somehow, she’s found a way to turn the tables around on me. And she did it so damn effortlessly, too.
Wet filthy sounds fill the space between us. She’s moving faster now. Faster. Faster. My pulse races. My ears are ringing.
And then…
A violent shudder rushes through me, a ragged breath tumbles out of my mouth, and I empty myself into her hand with thick ropey spurts.
Her green eyes are darker now, shadowed with triumphant victory as she massages my cock to wring out every last drop.
Only when my cock stops twitching does she release her lips from around my thumb, breathing in short and unsteady pulls.
She brings her hand up to her lips, and runs her soft pink tongue over her cum-soaked fingers.
"I understand you perfectly, Don Nico," she whispers sweetly. "And don’t worry. I’ll be a good girl tomorrow.”