Chapter Thirty-One
Stefano
“SO, WHAT, YOU’RE WITH that girl now?” Vale asks as we study the chessboard between us.
“It’s complicated.”
“Isn’t she just one of those runaways you take in?” he presses. “From what I’ve seen, you don’t usually get involved with a woman unless she’s someone.”
“It’s complicated,” I repeat, sharper this time.
“Mhm. I bet it is.”
We’re out on the back patio, playing our usual post-Mass chess match. Normally, I look forward to these Sunday afternoons with Vale. But today, my head’s not in the game. It’s on the woman inside the house. On her green eyes and rosy lips. On her tight, sweet, peachy pretty pussy.
All I really want is to go back in there, pull her into me, bury my face in her neck, and breathe her in.
Her calming, yet intoxicating scent drives me out of my goddamn mind.
I want to sink deep inside her, over and over until she falls apart.
Watching her ride the high of an orgasm is my newest obsession.
She comes like it’s a religious experience.
Majestic. Breathtakingly beautiful. And I’d sell my fucking soul to see it again. And again. And again…
If I’ve learned anything this weekend, it’s that she loves coming as much as she loves food. And I’m becoming addicted. Addicted to how she looks at the pinnacle of that high. Unraveled. Pure. Like a work of art on the edge of destruction.
Absentminded, I pull out the pocket square stained with traces of her from earlier. I bring it to my nose and take a quiet breath. Inhale her. Keep her with me.
“You’re playing like garbage,” Vale says. “Where’s your head?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” I tuck the square back into my pocket and try to focus. “There’s been a lot going on these days. Little fires everywhere.”
“I’ve heard.” He pauses. “How’s my son doing?”
Death’s on his calendar... “Luca is Luca. Solid, but a slave to the strip clubs.” I make a move on the board. “You could ask him yourself, you know.”
“I’ve already told him exactly what he needs to do if he wants to repair things with me,” he replies, arms crossed as he contemplates the board. “The ball is in his court.”
“Didn’t the Messiah command us to forgive seventy times seven?”
“I’ve offered my son something greater than forgiveness. It’s up to him to decide if he wants it.”
Vale and Luca’s relationship has been fractured ever since Mari, his youngest daughter, drowned in their backyard pool while Luca was supposed to be watching her. Vale never forgave him for it. You’d think a man who turned his life around and became a priest would’ve found a way to let go. But no.
Anyone who doesn’t personally know him would probably assume their rift worsened because Luca became a stone-cold criminal while Vale went holy. But the truth is, Luca’s hands aren’t any bloodier than Vale’s.
There’s a reason he has no qualms sitting in the company of killers.
Before the collar, Vale was viciously manipulative, cunning, and deadly.
A tactician. And I’m not convinced he’s changed.
Not really. These days he saves souls, but I’ve seen the ones he’s taken.
The vacant darkness in his eyes hasn’t changed.
And if the eyes haven’t changed, neither has the soul. That’s why Lorenzo doesn’t trust him.
Luca, who also blames himself for his sister’s death, has always craved his father’s approval. Still does. But he’s going to die without ever getting it.
“Honestly, I think you two should work your shit out before it’s too late,” I tell him. “Mari’s gone. Aunt Roslyn’s gone. You should be closer than ever, not constantly at odds. It’s shameful.”
He grinds his salt-and-pepper jaw side to side.
“Blood is important to you, Stefano. Someone shares a drop of your blood, and you take them in. You try to help them, save them all. That’s your biggest weakness.
How many times has it bitten you in the ass?
For some of us…” He moves a piece, snatching my knight.
“…blood is the enemy. And family is who we choose.”
For over a week now, I’ve been having a recurring dream. A dead eagle hanging from a post, a rosary wrapped around its neck. Took me nearly two days to work it out, because I forgot Luca has a full-back eagle tattoo, shoulder to shoulder.
The dead eagle is him. The rosary I’m guessing represents the weight of guilt and blame he’s carried over Mari’s death. Maybe. My dreams are never exact, just symbolic. The only thing I’m always sure of is the core message.
Luca’s going to die. Soon.
But Vale doesn’t know about my dreams, so there’s only so much nudging I can do to get him to make amends with his son.
Before this weekend, only Lorenzo and Gio knew about my dreams. And they’ve begged me never to tell them about them.
Said it creeped them the fuck out. But now she knows.
And she didn’t even flinch. Didn’t look at me like I was some broken freak.
Just…accepted it. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.
And for a moment, I felt…I don’t know, I felt…safe. Fucking weird, but safe. Grounded. Steadied.
I’m losing my goddamn mind over this woman.
“I’m guessing you’d rather be in there with your young lady than out here with me?” Vale cuts in, dragging me out of my thoughts.
“What?”
“You keep glancing toward the house,” he says.
“Nah.” I wave him off. “Just keeping an eye out. Make sure she doesn’t run off with my silverware.”
Vale barks out a laugh. “Ah, Stefano Castello. I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Whatever you’re thinking…” I point a finger at him. “You’re wrong.”
“Of course, of course.” He lifts both hands in mock surrender, still laughing. “I get it. It’s ‘complicated.’”
I pull out the pocket square again and breathe her in.
Yeah. Really fucking complicated.