Chapter 21
Zeno
Paulo was still sitting at my dining table after I let Santini out the door, wine glass in hand as he pondered the state of my patient. “He seems better, mentally,” he said without bothering to look back at me.
“Does he?” I regained my seat, though all I wanted to do was bury my head in my hands.
“He’s talking more.”
“He barely said a word.” Paulo smiled and amusement played across his face. I shook my head, grabbed my wine glass, and threw back the rest of my drink. “Okay, fine. He talked more for Santini.”
The man never talked unless he was comfortable. Even back when he was a kid, when Paulo had just sprung him from juvie, back when I was still in school. Paulo had come to me with his concerns for the boy. But there was nothing I could tell him at that point. Because, physically, Santini was fine.
Mental health had never been my strong suit.
How could it be, growing up in this world?
It wasn’t until Jet befriended the kid, until the two broken boys Paulo had taken in began talking to each other, that we realized Santini was just a quiet boy.
Now, a quiet man.
“Perhaps he felt the need to make up for your silence.”
I dropped back against my chair, fingering my empty glass and wishing it was full.
“It’s been a long couple of days.” Days of worry for Clara. Days of guilt at what I’d done. Guilt for what I wanted to do again.
Her healing was my main concern. I couldn’t sacrifice her security just to get my dick wet. Not after what she’d been through. Not after what she told me she’d been doing for years.
Stealing Daphne’s pills. Trading completed homework assignments for cash so she could go out and buy her own. Sneaking into Stephano’s club, not so she could drink and party and dance, but so she could meet with her dealer and get more drugs.
Drugs so she could focus. So she could calm the screaming voices in her head.
So she wouldn’t tear her skin from her body or get lost to a thousand little rituals.
Paulo didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. I was well aware of where this conversation was going to go, long before he and Santini showed up on my doorstep for our weekly dinners that were part of Santini’s treatment plan.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Paulo.”
He hummed quietly. “I’m sure you don’t. Unfortunately, Berto is demanding answers that I don’t have.”
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I looked at the door to the kitchen, wishing I could disappear through it. I wanted to get back to Clara. To make sure she was okay.
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
I fucked the girl, and I wanted to do it again.
“It’s not my story to tell!”
Paulo’s brows lifted toward his hairline, nearly getting lost in his thick hair. I sucked in a deep, pained breath and closed my eyes. The hairs on the back of my neck rose, like lightning was charging the air around me, and my stomach churned like it was lost in a storm.
“Clara?”
“Hi Paulo.”
My eyes flashed open in time to see my girl leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. He wrapped both arms around her, holding her in a tight embrace. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore.”
For fuck’s sake. My cheeks felt like they were melting right off my face.
She’d said the same thing yesterday morning when I’d asked, and she wasn’t talking about her bruised head or skinned knees.
I could only hope Paulo’s gaze stayed on those bruises and scrapes, and not the caution in her every painful step.
“Are you a virgin, Clara?”
She huffed out a sharp breath, then squeezed her muscles around my cock that was still very much buried deep inside her. “What do you think?”
I squeezed her back, my hands clamping down on her ass while a war played out in my head—hold her still, or move her along my already stiffening cock?
“Before this?” I ground out.
“No. I’m not.” She said it like she told me she wasn’t on the pill, and I didn’t know what to believe.
“You said you weren’t sexually active.”
Clara rolled her eyes, then strung her fingers through my hair. She leaned forward and kissed my lips. “It was only once. A long time ago.”
“What happened? Who was it?” My jaw hurt from clenching it, from stopping more questions from tumbling out.
“Spin the bottle,” she whispered, dropping her gaze. “It was just some dumb kid I don’t even remember. Lots of fumbling in the dark for about two minutes of lackluster panting before he embarrassed himself by spilling all over his chest. I barely felt a thing.”
My body heated and my cock stirred to life. The girl shifted her weight, dragging her drenched pussy over my length before settling down again.
It felt so deep, so much better than anything I’d ever felt before.
“It was nothing like this.” She kissed me again, and it took everything in me not to pummel into her and tear her to shreds. “No one could ever compare to you, Zee. Even when he was inside me, all I thought about was how I wished it was you.”
“Clara—”
“I’ve only ever wanted you.” She lifted again, settled back down. “Tell me you thought of me too. Tell me you thought of being with me when you were fucking other women. That you dreamt of my pussy squeezing you like this.”
“Fuck! Clara!”
There was no stopping myself. I was already there, already shoved so deep inside her I knew I’d never fully come out. I’d already fucked her once; I couldn’t stop from doing it again. And again.
We didn’t sleep anymore. Each time I came, the girl taunted me with her dirty words until I got hard again, until I needed another hit just to live.
It wasn’t until hours later, when I finally pulled out of her, unable to do it again, that a horrible truth settled between us.
Just like the faint streaks of blood smeared across our bodies and my bed.
Paulo released her, watching cautiously as she did what had come naturally to her since she learned how to walk—climbing into my lap like she was a princess and I was her throne.
I froze, sure the man could see my guilt. But his attention was locked on all of her wounds.
The deep purple bruise that reached from her temple to settle under her eye.
The cuts and scrapes across her cheeks, her shoulder, her hands, her knees.
“Your attacker did this to you?”
Clara huffed out a breath. She pointed to the lump near her temple. “Jayden did this. Everything else”—she motioned to the rest of her injuries—“is courtesy of my loving brother.”
Paulo’s lips pursed and he lifted his chin. “You haven’t talked to your father.”
“Why would I?” Clara tapped her thumbs against her thighs, her words pausing until I strung my fingers between hers and wrapped our arms around her middle. “Why would I bother? He’s already made up his mind about what happened.”
“You don’t know that.”
“But I do!”
“Clara—” I tried, but she tossed a glare back at me that cut me off.
“No, Zee. I do know. Why else do you think he showed up here, pounding on your door?” She directed her attention back to Paulo.
“Why else did he go crying to you? He didn’t want to make sure I was okay.
He never does. What he wants is for me to fall in line and be the perfect little daughter without a brain.
He doesn’t want a daughter who thinks for herself.
He doesn’t want a daughter who wants more than the stupid women's luncheons and fake friendships my mother has always strived for. And most importantly, he doesn’t want a daughter who brings negative attention to our family name because someone else thought it would be cool to fucking assault me! ”
My God, the balls on this woman. I was Paulo D’Angelo’s lieutenant, and even I wouldn’t dare talk to him like that.
The tension in the room was thick, but Clara seemed immune. She pulled one hand free of mine and started tapping at her chest.
Paulo dragged his gaze over her before lifting his glass to his lips. After a small sip, he set it back down. “What should I tell your father?”
The tapping ceased. “You can tell him whatever you want. But it would be nice if you told him to leave us alone.”
For fuck’s sake. She was dragging me into this now. “Clara…”
But she just shrugged. “I’m done, Zee. I’ve had enough of coming in last.”
“Berto’s going to want to see you—”
“No, he won’t.” Clara pushed off my lap, leaving me scrambling to cover the evidence of what her temper did to me.
“The only thing he wants is to yell at me. I’m just making it easier on him.
He’s already shipped me off to Zeno’s house, I’m just making it a permanent move.
Now I’m no longer his problem. That’s all he really wants anyway. ”
With that, Clara left us, tossing an, “I’ve got a headache, I’m going to bed,” over her shoulder as she left the room.
Paulo’s eyes locked on mine, but he didn’t say a word until Clara’s pounding footsteps reached the top of the stairs. He lifted his brows, lifted his chin, then smiled as he shook his head. “At least someone around here says what they truly feel.”