40. Matilde
Matilde
Sex in his SUV was exciting, but, all afternoon, I kept thinking about our lack of closeness on an emotional level when we’re intimate and finally worked up the nerve to call Frankie.
“Nico has always appeared cold as ice around me, Matilde, but you know how our men act in public. I used to wonder if Carlo was really capable of romantic love. I’m happy to say he definitely is.”
I wanted to draw hope from her words, but Carlo and Nico are two different men, so I’d asked her about oral sex instead. Nico has done it to me so many times now and never once asked if I might reciprocate. I wasn’t sure why that was if men supposedly love it, and it added to my insecurities.
Feeling emboldened, I decided to act before I lost my nerve even if that meant interrupting him during a business meeting. I thought it was going well, and I’d felt a blooming sense of empowerment.
Then he turned me toward the desk for sex.
He doesn’t hold me close unless the lights aren’t off. He doesn’t want to look at my face during intimacy. Am I just a vessel for his pleasure, a nanny who’ll never leave his children, an added burden that he gave his last name? I want more than that.
All my uncertainties about our marriage and the buried feelings of powerlessness from my captivity boil over, leaving me teary and Nico looking like he wishes he could disappear. I’m scared he’ll withdraw after I drive a Margareta-sized wedge between us, but Nico doesn’t withdraw.
“No, I don’t think of her or anyone else when I’m with you. The truth is, looking someone in the eyes during sex is a very intimate act.”
“I know. That is why I want it. But you do not want it?”
“No, I don’t.”
My heart breaks with those three little words, and I curse myself for developing feelings for this man with ice in his veins. I knew the deal. Why did I push for more?
Naked and ashamed, I decide it’s time for me to withdraw, and I take the first step to retrieve my robe. “No.” He firmly refuses to let me escape.
“You are dressed. I want clothes,” I whimper, unable to stop the flow of tears.
He shrugs off his coat, helping me put my arms through the sleeves until I’m as covered as I would’ve been in my robe. Then, he sits down again, tugging at my hand. I want to resist, to pull away, but all the strength has seeped out of me, and I find myself sitting in his lap once more.
“Seeing you cry… my chest is caving in,” he murmurs.
His words prompt me to lift my chin, and he swiftly darts forward, surprising me with a gentle kiss on the lips. I’m incapable of saying anything more intelligent than, “My nose runs.”
He smiles, making my heart ache even more. Unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt, he wipes away my tears and snot with his sleeve. “I don’t give a fuck about a shirt,” he promises when I look aghast.
Once my face is dry, he leans in again, more slowly, to give me another kiss.
“Eighty-two.” I’m puzzled by the random number until he continues. “That was my eighty-second kiss, but only the eighty-first that meant a damn thing.”
My eyes fly open wide. “You mean ever?” He nods, and my stomach flips. “How?”
“I kissed Margareta at the altar on our wedding day. Never again.”
“Never? Why not?”
“She didn’t want to kiss me. I wouldn’t force them on her.”
Does that make him sad? I can’t tell. “But what about before?” He frowns. “I am not stupid, Nico. The mafia is not for monks. I know you would have been with women before marriage.”
“I would never think you’re stupid. Yes, there were women before my first marriage.”
“Then how-”
“Kissing is not required for sex.”
My cheeks flush as I struggle to picture doing that without a single kiss. “Do you mind kissing me?” I ask, hoping he likes it as much as I do.
“I don’t mind it.” Not exactly a ringing endorsement. Then, he cups my face, his gray eyes filled with tenderness. “I love kissing you, Matilde. Eighty-three,” he rasps, dipping his head to press his lips to mine again.
My heart starts swelling until it feels like it will soon burst out of my ribcage. He’s been keeping count of our kisses ever since we married? I lost count weeks ago. “I still do not understand.”
“No, you couldn’t because I’ve not told you anything about that part of my past… but I will if you wish to know.”
I nod, encouraging him to begin. After a quiet sigh, he does.
“I took the oath at fourteen.”
“You told me. And you got your scar soon after from a traitor your father sent you to question.”
I reach for his face, and he draws back as he always does… but then stops himself. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, either for me or to convince himself.
Carefully, I touch his temple where the scar begins and slowly trace my way down his face until I reach the point where it ends by his ear. I knew he was sensitive about it, but it finally strikes me how sensitive he might be. “Does it hurt?”
“No. The pain was gone in a few weeks, though it took several months for it to heal and the redness to fade. I still lived at home, and Caterina was only five. Back then, she believed Dante and I could do no wrong, and I’ll admit I relished indulging her every whim, being her hero.
But that night when I came home, my mother saw me first and started crying while my father was his usual abrupt self, more interested in what I did to the traitor.
When Caterina came downstairs to see what was wrong, she took one look at me, screamed and ran off sobbing.
She locked herself in her bedroom. I could hear her crying.
It tore at me more than the physical pain.
Dante finally convinced her to let him in to console her. Him. Not me.”
“She loves you, Nico. It hurt her because you were hurt.”
“I know that. She was just a child. I never blamed her for her reaction, and I knew how hideous it was. She was my first failure.”
“What failure do you mean?”
He sighs again, shaking his head. “You’re aware how very different things are for boys raised in the mafia versus girls.”
“Of course.”
“I was still a virgin when it happened. For many weeks, I focused on my duties as a Made Man and future Capo as my face healed, but eventually some of my father’s men who knew I hadn’t been with a woman yet took me to one of our brothels. An overdue initiation, they jokingly called it.”
I purse my lips, making him chuckle.
“Yeah, I wasn’t really sure about it either.
I was nervous, but I refused to admit it, even to myself.
When the women were paraded in front of me, and I was told to choose whichever one I wanted, I caught a few of them staring at my scar and then quickly looking away.
I told myself it didn’t matter. One of them kept eye contact with me a bit longer than the others.
Her horrified expression when I chose her convinced me of a brutal truth.
They would fuck me because that’s what they were paid to do, but they would never want me.
When we got to the room, I told her to turn around.
I figured if she didn’t want to see my face, I didn’t have to see her revulsion. ”
“Not every woman looks at you like that.
I don't. I find you very attractive, Nico.” He leans back, staring at me with that suspicious scowl I saw so often in my early days here.
How do I convince him? I place my hands on his chest, sure to look deep into those stormy gray eyes.
“I do. Have I ever made you feel differently?” Slowly, he shakes his head, but I can tell it will take him time to absorb this truth.
“What was your marriage with Margareta like?”
“Unhappy.”
“You said it was a disaster starting with your wedding night. Why?”
“It was arranged for the peace pact after the Trio civil war as you know. From the start, I wasn’t everything I should’ve been with her, Matilde.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was too busy hating myself for my role in Caterina’s match.”
“Nico, I heard about this. Your father arranged her match with Sil, Jr. Not you.”
“But he gave her to Alessio after I killed his brother in a fit of rage. I don’t regret killing the sadistic bastard who killed your mother, but I knew Alessio would abuse my sister.”
“You consider this your failure? It is not. If anyone is to blame, it's your father. I lived in the De Luca household for a month. Alessio does not mistreat Caterina.”
He nods, but I can tell he’s not entirely convinced of that either.
“I was preoccupied by my role in Caterina’s fate when I met Margareta at our betrothal dinner.
I was colder and more remote than I should’ve been and…
during the visit, I overheard the servants gossiping about how disappointed Margareta was that she wouldn’t marry handsome, charming Carlo Vicini and remain in New York.
I understood, but it didn’t make me very excited to be a groom. ”
“I can see why.”
“After that one meeting, we married a month later. She was already twenty-one, so no one saw any reason to delay.”
“And you had your first kiss at the altar?”
“I did. Not that I was about to tell anyone that.”
“It is silly that it would be a bad thing if I had kissed someone before we married but it would make you look bad if you had not,” I comment.
“You’re right. The double standards of the Trio are ridiculous. When I think of what the expectations will be for Lucia versus Amadeo, it almost makes me wish I could give them a different life but…”
No one leaves the mafia.
Neither of us says it. We both know it.
“Don’t get me started on the fucking bloody sheet tradition.”
“No, I will start you. Tell me.”
He smirks at my demanding tone before turning serious again. “As Margareta’s family was committed to the tradition, we knew our sheets would be presented in the morning.”
My nose wrinkles up in distaste, recalling stories I overheard as a girl.
“I wasn’t nearly as experienced as most men I knew. When we reached the hotel suite, I remember my hands were shaking after Margareta went to change out of her dress. When she rejoined me, she was in a sexy nightgown… and holding a blindfold.”
“Why a blindfold?”