20. Lucy
Lucy
I hum to myself as I put a little snake plant near the back windows. “Here you are, Professor Moriarty,” I say softly, turning it just so.
Around me, a dozen other plants are spread out. I carefully find places for them too. There’s not much green in this house, and it was beginning to feel oppressive and stifling. But now a knot in my stomach begins to unclench.
I keep thinking about Adriano and his father.
There’s a deep, dark trench of pain in this house.
I can only imagine how much suffering has happened, but it’s all been kept quiet.
I’m willing to bet Adriano’s never spoken about his feelings for his father’s condition before.
Men like him keep it all trapped inside, but no person can live like that.
Bad feelings fester. They never resolve if they’re never released.
Plants help a little bit. I don’t know why, but having life scattered all over is good for the soul.
There are other boxes open on the counter. Bubble wrap and moving paper are thrown all around, and little porcelain teacups are lined up along the counter.
“You’re going to like it here, Voldemort,” I whisper to a little spider plant. “You and Professor Moriarty are going to get along swimmingly. You’re both terrible humans. Well, I guess you’re not totally human anymore.”
I hum to myself as I spritz my plants with water.
When I turn back to the sink, I yelp as I spot Adriano lurking in the doorway, watching me with a strangely intense look on his face.
I haven’t seen him since yesterday. The man comes and goes without telling me much of anything, and I’m left guessing about whether my bed will be empty or not.
Maybe it’s better that way. The alternative is lying awake thinking about him rolling over and burying my mouth with his lips.
I smile awkwardly, not sure what he’s doing.
My heart rate doubles whenever he’s in the room.
My eyes glaze over his full lips and down to his muscular chest, and I think of those hands and all the sinful things they can do to me.
A thrill runs up my spine, and I find myself wanting more than I’ve ever wanted before.
“What’s that you’re singing?” he asks quietly.
“Just, uh, some old lullaby. I have no idea what it is, honestly.”
“Where’d it come from?”
“My mother.” I clear my throat, but I can’t seem to move. I’m like a deer under a wolf’s gaze. I’m trapped, prey for a monster. But in this case, the beast is my husband, and I want to willingly give myself up to the altar for his sacrifice.
“It’s nice. I like it.” Then he looks at my plants. “Are you redecorating?”
I shake my head. “Just putting out my boys.”
“Your boys?”
“This is Voldemort.” I gesture at the spider plant. “That one’s Hannibal Lecter, and over there is Captain Hook. I’ve also got Dracula, Sauron, Grendel, and Darth Vader.”
His eyebrows raise. “They’re all bad guys.”
“My little menagerie of villains.” My nervousness thaws as I talk and start showing him the different kinds of plants. There’s an arrowhead, a Chinese money plant, a cast iron plant, and a bunch of others. “Indoor stuff. Easy to care for. I figured this place could use a little green.”
“There used to be plants in here, but they all died over the years.” He tilts his head, considering, and walks over to the kitchen island. “That tends to happen around me.”
I shiver slightly as he picks up one of my vintage teacups. “Careful with that.”
“Another collection? I didn’t know you were big into tea.”
“I usually drink coffee from them.”
He laughs lightly. “I like these. How many do you have?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I’ll keep most of them in storage, though. Don’t worry. If I can get some space in the basement?—”
“No basement,” he says firmly.
“Right, I forgot. That’s where you do your murders.” I smile at him, but he doesn’t smile back. Well, shit, okay then.
“You can keep them up here. We’ll make room in the cabinets.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’m not trying to take over your space.”
“It’s fine.” He puts the teacup down and moves closer to me. “What other collections are you hiding?”
“I didn’t show you my skulls yet?”
His lips quirk. “Now that I’d enjoy.”
“I bet you would. I’ve also got a bunch of dead mafia assholes in my backyard.”
“Strange, I collect the same thing.”
I lick my lips. He’s so close to me now. I reach for one of my plants, mostly just to busy myself, but he stops me. His hand lightly holds my wrist, and he’s staring into my face.
God, those eyes. They’re dark and gorgeous.
They suck me in and threaten to drown me.
And I want to be drowned, ruined, choked, suffocated, if only to let him get closer and closer, to let him sink into me.
Sink into my bliss. He’s all the promises I’ve been afraid to keep, and worse, I want to explore the simmering darkness between us.
I think of my hands behind my back. I think of his palm-shaped bruises on my ass.
I know there’s worse. His tongue licking my split lower lip.
“Your grandmother visited me yesterday,” he says quietly.
I blink a couple of times. Leave it to Helena to somehow kill the mood even when she’s not around. “Why’d you see her?”
“She wanted to warn me, and now I’m warning you. The danger with Gray Wolf and Demir Yilmaz is real. I’m not being overly protective when I tell you to stay in the house.”
“What did she do?”
He strokes up my arm. His fingers are gentle and callused. A chill fills me. My heart doubles, sliding up into my throat.
“She started a war,” he whispers as he reaches for my hair. His fingers slip through, tightening against my messy bun. “But you don’t have to be afraid.”
“I didn’t say I was.” I want him to crush himself against me.
But it’s like he’s holding back. Every sculpted muscle is tense.
Longing rings down my spine, hot and icy cold all at once.
I know this is stupid. He only wants me for my name like everyone else in my world.
If I weren’t a Willing-Morris, Adriano wouldn’t go anywhere near me.
I still don’t care. I need his brutal lips. I want his terrifying body. Every muscle in my body tugs closer to him like I’m being pulled by invisible forces. My pulse hammers between my legs, and I’m close to begging.
Kiss me. God, put me out of my misery and kiss me.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to update you.” Donatella’s voice comes from the hallway.
Adriano stiffens, then he releases my hair. Slowly, he turns his back to me, and I’m left blushing and breathing hard. Was I really about to whimper at him right here in the kitchen? Where anyone could have walked in on us?
I didn’t know my brain was that broken.
“What’s going on?” Adriano asks.
Donatella glances at me, and Adriano just nods. “Your father’s the same today as he was yesterday. Struggled to get out of bed. Not eating much of anything. I think it’s time.”
Adriano tenses. “I’ll call Dr. Yamal.”
“I think that’s for the best. Only I’m afraid—” Donatella stops herself. Her hands wring together in front of her. “I’m just afraid it won’t help.”
“Thank you for telling me. I’ll make the call.”
She nods, glances at me, and hurries back toward Salvatore’s part of the house.
Adriano’s shoulders sag. He leans against the counter, his back to me. His fingers dig into the granite.
I step forward, not thinking, and press myself against him.
His back is broad and warm. He’s so big and strong.
I wrap my arms around him the best I can, clinging onto his chest, pulling myself tighter.
I hug him hard and stay like that, breathing with him, saying nothing.
I know there’s nothing I can do that’ll make this any better. Except I can be here for him at least.
“I should call,” he says, his voice leaden.
“I can be there with you. Or I can go sit with your father and Donatella.”
He doesn’t answer at first. Then he slowly turns and looks at me, his eyes filled with burning emotion. Anger, sadness, pain. All of it splashed across his face like paint splatter. He touches my cheek and leans forward, lips brushing mine.
“Go sit with them,” he says quietly. “I’ll join you shortly.”
“Anything you need.” And God, I mean that, I mean anything, anything at all. Anything to make him feel better. Suddenly, I’m desperate to give myself to him, if only as a distraction from what I know he’s feeling.
Another kiss. This time deeper. It’s whiskey and mint. It’s the pinch of agony right before the flood of orgasm. “Thank you,” he whispers, and then he leaves the room.
My knees are weak. I nearly collapse. I steady myself, breathing hard. Every time he’s around, it’s like I have to struggle twice as hard just to keep myself upright.
Or else I’ll fall to my knees for him and pray, like a good girl should.