12. Mortality
Chapter twelve
Mortality
(Dante)
As beautiful as the garden looks in its early morning hues, I have to stop mid-run. My body simply refuses to carry on. Fuck!
Bent over, hands on my knees, I try to will away the aching in my neck that’s quickly spreading to my back, to my legs.
My running partner slows to a halt beside me.
“Everything okay, sir?” Dario’s face is expressionless, as always. In the six years he’s worked for me, I don’t think I’ve ever seen any other look except that deadpan seriousness. He is a great guard though, no nonsense.
When it came to training—or anything for that matter—he was no Emilio. But my second-in-command wasn’t getting any younger, and keeping up was slowly becoming an issue. I had to find a new running partner.
And now I’m the one who can’t keep up.
“I’m fine. You go ahead, I’ll catch up,” I grind out, still bent over.
My body is on fire, and not in a good way.
I clench my teeth, trying to hide the discomfort from my face.
How will I be ready for tomorrow if I can’t even get through a run?
The muscular man with the thick beard and the solid-black tattoo sleeves hesitates. His job is literally to protect me.
But we’re still on the compound, in the back where the forest trail is—nobody can come in or out without using the front gate.
The entire property is surrounded by thick 20-foot walls topped with electric fencing, and guards with dogs are always patrolling.
We’ve beefed up security since the wedding.
“Signore…” Dario stops, unsure how to word his thoughts without sounding disrespectful.
I know what he’s thinking: the boss is getting weak.
He might be right.
It feels like my body is literally falling apart.
But even more reason for it to do so in private.
It’s been three days since the wedding ambush on Saturday; how can I still be sore?
I stand up straight, giving him a look that has made weaker men shit their pants before. “Dario.” My voice is stern, assertive, piercing through the pain.
The guard nods, remembering his place. “Sì, Signore.” He lowers his head.
“And Dario…”
“Sir?”
“Not a word.”
“Of course.” He jogs off like he can carry on for miles without even breaking a sweat, and he probably can. At that age, early 30s, so could I.
When did I get so creaky? Jesus.
I’m not even that old!
Though, I’m older than my father was when he died—two years older already.
My mortality falls on my shoulders like a boulder dislodged from a mountain—heavy, unstoppable, crushing.
This is not the time to fail, I tell my body stubbornly.
With clenched fists and gritted teeth, I force my feet to start moving again, grateful to be out under the watchful eyes of my guard.
My struggle is between me and whoever is manning the property surveillance now. It’s probably Nikko, but he’ll never say a word.
Despite my determination, I don’t get far as the aching in my legs quickly turns to cramping a few steps later.
Swearing under my breath, I drag myself to a nearby bench, one of the many wooden ones my mother had specially made for the grounds.
The garden was always her sanctuary. She liked to sit outside and read or go for long walks, especially in the rain. My father used to think she was mad, shouting at her from his office upstairs to come back in, that she would get sick, but she never listened, not about the rain walking at least.
All these years later, and I still miss her. Still wish that the bullet could’ve found its intended target that day instead of robbing us of our mother, too young.
How different things would have been…
There is no rain today.
And the bench looks much more worn than in my memory.
I make a mental note to ask the new house manager to have it taken care of. Missus Nell. She came highly recommended, and we haven’t had any issues yet. Sure, she isn’t as efficient as Alicia was, but she seems less likely to fall in bed with my brother and betray me.
Though you never know. Luca always liked them older.
Luca...
As soon as the name enters my mind, I force the thought of my degenerate younger brother away, or at least I try.
Danica doesn’t know this, but Luca messaged me on our wedding day.
He congratulated us, apologizing for the umpteenth time for selling me out to the Riccis to pay his gambling debt.
I didn’t bother replying. There was nothing left to say. He’s as good as dead to me.
Before, Luca was all I had. But now I have Danica. I don’t need his chaos in my life anymore. I’m done bailing him out—literally and figuratively.
The many (many) “I’m sorry” messages from Luca will continue to go unanswered.
I am tired of looking after him, of cleaning up his messes.
Sure, he had a shit deal too, but at least Luca didn’t have to live with the unbearable weight of becoming the head of the family before even hitting his 20s.
A job I didn’t want. One that took everything from me—all my dreams, my aspirations…
How foolish of me to ever believe that my destiny held anything but death and destruction.
While Luca played video games in his room, I was out on the streets, ripping people’s eyeballs out with my bare hands, doing what needed to be done to keep the family safe, to keep it thriving.
But Luca never appreciated any of it. So naive.
When I was learning how tax worked and how to avoid it, he was seducing the kitchen staff, sneaking bodies of all genders into his room at ridiculous hours.
Sure, it wasn’t all bad. We had good times too, despite being so different. Luca used to be such a kind soul, so soft, so sweet.
I’ll never forget how vulnerable he used to be. My little brother didn’t stop crying for weeks when our mother died. He was only seven.
I thought him lucky; he didn’t remember her as much as I did.
But perhaps we were both unlucky, being stuck with a father so cruel.
Forcing my mind back to my present challenge on the weather-worn bench, I massage my leg, trying to get the cramping to stop.
It’s not just my leg that hurts—it’s my lead-pipe accosted neck, the fresh whip bruises on my ass, the various healed-over stab wounds scattered over my skin like tattoos I never consented to, decorating me in the painful memories I can never escape.
At some point, I probably have to accept that my past is catching up to me, to my body at least.
But not today.
With a heavy sigh, I force myself back on my feet. If I stay away too long, Danica might get worried.
She was still asleep when I snuck out to catch a run, hoping it would clear my mind, maybe make me feel calmer about tomorrow’s attack on the ports.
But it had the opposite effect, adding more worries to my already stressed mind.
Even after all these years, it never gets easier—this business. I expected it to, but it didn’t. So many tough decisions, so many impossible situations.
But what choice do I have?
Nobody gets out alive…
I take a shortcut to the back door by the kitchen, forcing myself to straighten up and walk normally. To wipe the pained look from my face and greet the kitchen staff with a simple nod.
“Sir?” It’s Missus Nell, scurrying around nervously as she eyes me through those thick, square glasses that always slip down her nose, forcing her to push them up again mid-sentence.
The kitchen isn’t usually a place I frequent often, so I understand why she is nervous.
“Not to worry, Missus Nell. As you were.”
She nods, returning to what appears to be the stocktaking of the pantry.
“Would you please send up some coffee to the master bedroom in 20 minutes?”
“No problem, sir.” She nods, wringing her small hands like she’s washing them under an invisible stream.
“And something sweet for Danica. Maybe one of those Danish pastries she likes, if we have any.” I force a smile, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.
“I’ll see what I can arrange.” A faint smile curves her thin lips for less than an instant, and then she looks down again.
I want to tell her she doesn’t have to bow her head for me, but instead, I just thank her and drag my tired body up the stairs, one painful step at a time.
Danica is still fast asleep when I sneak back in. My snoozy Queen.
She looks stunning as ever, even with her hair all messy and standing up in weird places. But it’s not her hair that’s got my attention; it’s the gorgeous left breast peeking out from under the slipped covers, inviting me to caress her skin.
Danica opens one eye, a soft smile on her face. “You staring at me?”
“Maybe a little.” I smile. “Good morning, my love.”
The mattress dents in as I climb into bed with her, not even bothering to shower first. Building up a proper sweat would require managing a proper run, not just a few yards. But nobody else needs to know that.
“Hey, baby. Come here.” Danica opens her arms, and I sink into the comfort of her embrace. She kisses me deeply, enveloping me in her familiar early morning scent that could be bottled and sold as an aphrodisiac.
I am instantly hard.
My hand finds its way to her breast like a moth to moonlight, drawn to those little hard nipples instantly.
“Hmm,” she hums softly, pressing her breast into my hand, her back arched.
“May I?” I pinch the nipple between my fingers, drawing a quick moan from her lips, and she nods, closing her eyes and lying back, allowing me the honor of pressing my lips to her skin, to suckle like a hungry infant in need of nurturing.
It’s my turn to moan when Danica’s palm unexpectedly closes around my cock, pulling it from the running shorts.
All my pains and aches are forgotten as my bride pumps my erection while I suck on her nipples, biting them ever so gently from time to time, just to hear her moan.
No liquid comes forth from her breasts, only from my cock, and it lands on both of us, a sticky glue that bonds us together momentarily.
Danica kisses me deeply, swallowing the heavy pants from my lips, holding me close until my climax subsides.
“Thank you, Tesoro,” I tell her, enjoying the surprised gasp she lets out when I stick my fingers between her folds, teasing her clit. “How are you feeling down there?” I rub the sensitive bud slowly.
“You know I wake up horny as fuck…and my nipples are so sensitive, especially now.”
“Well, let me return the service.” I start moving lower down but Danica stops me suddenly, grabbing my arm.
“Not today.” She looks alarmed.
“You know I don’t mind you unwashed. I prefer you dirty.” I grin, continuing my path downward, kissing her belly, lower…
Danica shakes her head. “It’s not that.”
I look at her, my brow knitted in confusion. “Should I be worried?”
“No, it’s just a bloody mess down there.” She laughs, shrugging. “That time of the month and all.”
I don’t answer, just pull the sheet from her body and continue my trail of kisses.
“Dante…” she gasps as I take her clit between my teeth.
I don’t respond; just follow the path until the familiar coppery taste fills my mouth.
Like a bit of blood has ever put me off…