Chapter Thirty
Elio
I have lost my mind.
I had always prided myself on my ability to wield control. To pull back when I knew I was breaching a line I shouldn’t and couldn’t cross. But tonight, my sense of reasoning had drifted into the open sky.
The moment my mind decided it was okay to pull down my walls and let that pestilent woman see a side of me I reserved for people who knew little of my world, I knew I was compromised.
Sex was sacred to me because I knew how many men in my field had fallen due to the body of a woman: her smiles and curves, the soft voice that would make a man wonder what exactly she would sound like when he buried himself inside her.
For years, I had deprived myself of the intimacy that came with sexual activities.
For precisely three reasons.
One was distraction. I couldn’t afford it. The fear of missing out on something important while doing something as measly as fucking a woman was very close to home. I couldn’t afford a mistake like that again.
Two: my attachment issues. Becoming attached to a woman who would only want me for what my body had to offer was as useless as the act of fucking itself.
I would not delude myself and say that as a new adult, I hadn’t longed for the intimacy that came with being in a relationship or the absolution that grew with the bond of marriage.
Three: respect. Seeing how my father had handled the issue with Elia’s mother and how he had disrespected my mother countless times afterward, flaunting the women he practiced infidelity with, I’d vowed never to be like him.
To respect women. It was why I was never with the same woman twice, why I could finger-count the very few women I had been with in my whole existence.
Grace, the woman from the art exhibit, being the fourth and second to last. I’d only been with her once, and I made sure it never happened again because I knew if it did, I’d most definitely enter into a relationship with her because I wasn’t about to fuck a woman more than once for the sake of pleasure. It would have to mean something.
I didn’t just act out of pure lust. My actions were continuously measured and calculated before even carrying them out.
This was precisely why my mind was spiraling.
I was aware that it wasn’t the drug.
On several occasions, I had admitted to being attracted to Zahra because I conceded that it was normal. I was a full-blooded man, always finding myself in the presence of an aggravating, attractive woman who was sharp-mouthed and provoked useless emotions in me.
Seeing her walk to that railing, wearing that sorry excuse for a nightgown, which exposed tormenting legs and thighs that delivered sinful images to my mind’s eye, I knew I had to be on guard.
But the minute she sat beside me, opening that mouth to talk to me and ask me questions no one had ever bothered to ask, I just couldn’t shut up. I couldn’t stop myself from bringing out the Elio Marino who lived outside his head, and far away from the chaos his last name compelled.
Her presence was hot and cold. Sometimes she drove me to the brink of wanting to actually go through with killing her … and sometimes, like tonight, she pushed me out of my head into a comforting place where I had no reason to hide or pretend I was a well-packaged psychopath.
It scared me.
She scared me.
I should be thanking Angelo for interrupting and stopping me from doing something I wouldn’t be able to take back, but I surprised myself by picturing his body mysteriously falling over the railing, with me standing behind it, watching him plummet to his death, for choosing this time to check on me.
And the way she had rushed out, separating herself from me like it would end the world if anyone found out we’d been that close, had me feeling … strange.
I was annoyed, yes.
But I was confused even more than I was annoyed.
I liked kissing her.
I had done it because I momentarily forgot the meaning of control, credit to her heat against the strain of my crotch and those pierced hard nipples pressing against my chest. But more than anything, there was an aching I needed to please, one that tugged deep in my stomach, one I had never felt before.
Her lips called to mine, and I wanted a taste, even though I knew it was a cretinous thing to do.
But she had run from me … why?
Did she hate it?
Did the intoxication of the drug fade from her eyes and show her who exactly had kissed her? Was she appalled by it? By me? Was she worried about what Elia would think? Goodness gracious—what would he think?
He would kill me, of that I was certain. She was his, and I had just ruined that.
But it was terrific for me; I won’t lie.
It was intimate and rapturously addicting, but was I the only one who felt it? Did I do it wrong?
It was inescapable. I knew I would obsess over this until I got an answer. I would waste precious time dissecting the look of irritation and discomfort in her eyes the moment she rushed to her feet.
Women had tried to kiss me a couple of times; if I had succumbed and kissed them, would they have looked at me the same way, or was this because Zahra hated me?
But why would she stop me from hurting myself if she hated me? Why would she ask me questions about why I couldn’t sleep?
I was treading through a territory I knew I shouldn’t cross. All through the day, this woman refused to leave my mind. I’d asked myself similar questions to the ones plaguing my mind now.
Did she care, stopping me from ending it all? Why didn’t she get nervous and scared around me? Why didn’t she drive away from me? What was she up to today? Did she tell Elia about what happened?
When she’d told me she had to get away from everyone, I had a burning desire to ask, and I would have asked what happened, but I knew I couldn’t get invested.
I knew little about her.
I’d found she had some history with some self-made mobster in Sicily, but I didn’t know how deep it ran or how she came to be here in Milan.
I knew nothing. I needed to stop wondering and asking questions, but a part of me also knew it was too late, and if picturing Angelo’s death wasn’t proof, I didn’t know what would be.
“I most definitely interrupted something, didn’t I?”
I blinked, looking up at him. “Every human has two angels, the good one that rests on the right shoulder, and the bad that rests on the left.”
Angelo frowned. “I don’t…”
“You’re the good one. The one always giving advice that I would never follow and popping in when I don’t even need you. The one I’d love to squish, but I can’t because I happen to like you. How fortunate for you and unfortunate for me.”
He opened his mouth to say something—closed it, opened it again, before finally closing it.
My lips lifted in irritation as I watched him try to find an excuse.
He cleared his throat, standing straighter, his hair rough, as if he had just gotten out of bed. “I didn’t know you wouldn’t be alone, Marino, and—the girl was the last person I expected you to be with. Are you fucking her?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I mean—something was happening, the way she rushed—”
“And how is any of that your business?”
“It’s not, but it’s unlike you. I mean, you did try to drown her before, so … it’s just—you don’t, you and women—I’ve never…”
“Go on, Angelo, I’ve heard you form consecutive sentences before. You can do it.”
He sighed. “You’re right; it’s none of my business. But if you are … involved with her or … want to be, or would soon be? I can ask my people to carry out intensive research on Manuel Conti—”
“Leave it to me,” I said, getting to my feet, surprisingly without staggering. I felt very sober but still a little light. “No one does any research on her. I doubt you would find anything useful.”
Angelo’s eyes widened with surprise as he watched me. “My God. You didn’t deny it.”
“Deny what?”
“That you’re involved with her, or would want to be, or will soon be involved with her.”
I bent to pick up the empty beer bottle on the ground, straightening before walking to the end of the chair and leaning on it. “Why? Are you interested in her?”
“Of course not.”
“In me, then?”
He gave me a blank look.
“What? You are awfully invested in this. I only want to confirm.”
“I am not interested in you, Marino.”
“Okay, why are you so concerned then?”
“Because I am concerned. I don’t trust her. I’m usually not this skeptical about people. But—something about that woman ticks me off the wrong way, and I don’t want you…” He trailed off.
“Carry on.” I urged with my hands.
He sighed. “I’ve never seen you with anyone, not since Grace. So I know if this thing with Zahra is a thing, then it might be serious for you, and we know little about her to conclude if she is to be trusted.”
“No one is to be trusted, Angelo. Besides, as far as the situation is right now, there is nothing between her and me. I appreciate that you care, but I am not a child. If I need relationship advice, I will come to you, but I don’t need it.”
He nodded. “All right.”
“Good. Now, about that phone. I was hoping to discuss it when it’s daytime, but I might as well tell you now. I need one.”
He blinked at me like he hadn’t heard me well. “You … you need a phone?”
“Yes. What is wrong with you today? Why are you lagging? Should I be worried?”
“No. I’m just surprised. I’ve been trying for years to get you a phone, but you’ve always refused, so I’m a little shocked that you want one all of a sudden,” he said, and when I didn’t respond, he rearranged his previous blabber because he didn’t exactly ask a question.
“Why do you want a phone all of a sudden?”
“Someone might be expecting my text.”
“Someone…”
“Yes.” I leaned off the chair, walking past him. “A very kind woman who gave me a ride in her car. She gave me her number and asked me to text her. She’s my friend. Her name’s Gemma.”
“So … a stranger is the reason you’re getting a phone after all my efforts over the years?”
“Yes,” I said, opening the roof door.