Aedan
Over the next few days, I report to Bruno at the bar way more than is strictly necessary. I go to him almost every afternoon, and most of the time we end up just talking. I tell myself it’s for work, but the truth is, I’m just hungry for a glimpse of Livia—and the old man’s company is a damn sight more comfortable than Dad’s. When I see Livia, my whole body aches, but she turns frosty on me as soon as I step into the backroom.
“Livia,” I say, nodding, giving her a smile, hoping that maybe she’ll give me something in return. And there, for a moment, I see something behind her stony expression, a little glint of lust or affection or something, but then she looks down at the desk.
“My father is in his office,” she mutters.
I stand at the desk for longer than I need to, looking down at her lips, those damn kissable lips which I can still taste. At her breasts, which are tight and pushed up in her bra, squeezing together and making me think dirty thoughts. She pushes back in the swivel chair, sliding on wheels, and I can’t help but look at those legs. The most perfect goddamn legs I’ve ever seen.
“Is there anything else?” she asks, voice cold and professional, with only the barest hint at something else.
“No,” I say, swallowing, my Adam’s apple suddenly feeling huge. “No, alright.”
But I keep staring at her. As I watch, a shiver moves through her body. I can see it, starting at her shoulders and moving down to her legs. She tries to fight it, but she does a little jig, and then shoots fire up at me with her eyes. “What?” she hisses.
“We should get a drink,” I say. “Or dinner. My treat. We can even go to an Italian place this time, if The Clover isn’t fancy enough for you.”
“I’m busy,” she mutters.
“I haven’t given you a time yet.”
“I’m busy,” she says forcefully, as though trying to convince herself as well as me.
I want to linger, ask her what’s wrong, but I’m not about to stoop down and become one of those whiney guys who basically beg a woman to go out with them. Fuck it.
I go into Bruno’s office. “They bother you on the way in?” he asks.
“No,” I lie. It was just the usual stuff, anyway, “Peter Pan” and that. The other shit has quietened down since the Italians learnt it was the Mexicans, and since Bruno gave them a speech telling them not to touch an Irishman without his permission.
“Good,” Bruno says, smiling. “These are my troops, you understand, but sometimes the troops get ahead of themselves. And Tony, well…every general needs a mad dog, I suppose.”
“Yeah.”
“So, why’re you here?”
When he asks me the question, it’s the first time I give it any thought. The real reason is sitting out there, legs crossed, lips pursed, looking kissable and hot and like a woman who would give a man the best night of his life. And in here, the kind, smiling don I’m starting to take a shine to, way more than I should considering one of these days I’ll have to slit his throat. Damn, this is fucked.
“Thought we could go over strategy,” I say, picking a reason at random.
“Sure,” Bruno says.
We keep up the charade for a few minutes, and then Bruno says: “I’ve gotta say, Aedan, thanks. It’s not often a man in my positon has to say that. But, really, thank you.”
“It’s alright,” I mutter. “It’s no big deal.”
“Carlos and his men would be picking over my corpse if it wasn’t for you, so yes, it is a big deal.” The way he looks at me, it’s like the way I’ve imagined Dad looking at me hundreds of time. Appreciation, respect, genuine affection, as though I’m not just Dad’s mad dog—Dad’s Tony—but a real, proper person. It’s a bitch to admit, but Bruno’s looking at me like a dad, more than Dad ever has. Traitor. Scum. Bad son. Mom’s voice, scathing. Piece of dirt. What sort of son are you? Animal.
I wave a hand. “Couldn’t let ’em take you, is all. Would’ve meant a hell of a lot of trouble for me.”
“So that’s why you did it?” Bruno asks, no malice, not like Dad, who would throw one of his tantrums if one of his men admitted to self-preservation over blinded loyalty.
“Yeah,” I say. “No—I did it ’cause I didn’t want you to die, and I didn’t want Livia’s father to die.”
“And those are two different things?”
I think, and then nod. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Hmm.” Bruno leans back. “You were right. Just a flesh wound. I can’t believe I passed out. It seems I’m not as young as I once was.”
“It happens by surprise,” I say, thinking of Mom, who turned from a young, hopeful woman to a beaten depressed crone in a heartbeat. “One day, you blink. The next, you’re in the grave.”
“Is something bothering you, Aedan?” Bruno asks.
Yeah, your daughter. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted any woman in my life and she’s gone cold and mean on me. I feel like I need her. I’m aching with the desire for it.
“No,” I say, rising to my feet. “I’m fine.”
I leave, and that’s how it is every day, having an informal chat, getting a look at Livia, and then leaving.
One day, as I’m leaving, Livia has her legs propped up on the desk, heeled feet crossed, legs looking taut and full and sexy and just so fleshy that all I want to do is lick them down, and then up, up all the way to her pussy, and just keep licking until her eyes roll back in her head and she comes all over my tongue.
When she sees me, she starts and withdraws her legs, too quick, and falls back in the chair.
I dart around the desk quickly, lean down, and catch her before her head can hit the floor.
For a moment, we stay like that, my arms wrapped around her. She seems to relax into the embrace. I feel the heat of her, arms burning, chest rising and falling so damn quick I’m sure her head is filled with the same thoughts as mine—the same dirty thoughts. And then, she realizes where she, maybe who she is, and she snaps at me: “Let go.”
“If I let you go,” I say, “you’ll fall.”
True, but the real reason is that holding her just feels so, so good. Just being close to her. She’s so goddamn sexy, man. Just think of all the women you were with before. Think of all those women who never made you feel a goddamn thing and compare them with Livia and the difference…the difference! Night and day, black and white…quick, numb affairs with faceless women and a bone-deep longing for this one perfect Italian princess. Fuck!
“Aedan!” she hisses. “I said, let me go!”
I shift her chair back upright, and then take a step back. She glowers up at me, her dimples concaved, big dips in her face, making her look cute despite the supposed anger. I can’t help but grin down at her. But she doesn’t take this too kindly. A man can’t do a damn thing right, I reckon. Good, Mom’s voice picks up. Because you need to remember who you are, who she is, who the whole lot of them are. Loyalty, pride. What’s the matter with you?
But right now, staring down at her, even the phantom of my dead mother isn’t enough to stop me. Nothing is. Taken by a sudden urge, I start leaning down into her.
Her jaw drops in disbelief. She moves quick, darts for the pen, and holds the tip to my throat. “Don’t even think about it,” she breathes, panting, and I can tell she wants it just as bad as me, but she’s letting her baggage get in the way. “Don’t you dare.”
I hold my hands up, grinning. “Alright, princess.”
“And stop calling me princess!”
I retreat to the other side of the desk, our eyes locked, and then, with an effort, turn away and leave the bar.
Ignoring the Italians’ insults, I walk into the street and stare up at the azure sky, wishing Livia would just stop it with this trash. Wishing she was sober that night. Wishing I could lose myself in those gorgeous bronze legs.