The moon is blue when she walks into the room. I’ve slept fitfully, awakened by flies, by sudden bursts of air-conditioning. But here she is, entering my room, and I can’t fucking explain what it does to my chest.
Between Gabriela being gone and my family needing to remain locked up in a bunker, my nerves have multiplied. I see it all. Hear it all, smell it all, and it’s why I keep my eyes closed while her clothes flow quietly to the floor and her bare feet diminish our distance.
The mattress gives to her slight weight. It’s been a minute since she entered, since I woke up, misgivings replaced by relief and anger, by fury and love for this person who’s wedged herself into my chaos when there shouldn’t be room.
I’ve been swallowing my relief, big globs that have tickled my Adam’s apple since the first click of the front door.
I twist, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her under me. She gasps, a small moan in her throat, and it’s the prettiest, prettiest thing I’ve ever heard.
Ice queen, I mouth against her ear. You think you can sneak in.
“I’m back, baby.”
“You love me?” I whisper.
“It’s too early to—”
“Fuck conventions. I love you,” I say and wrench her to her back. She doesn’t resist. She’s not my opponent, my enemy, the other famiglia. She’s simply who I love. My burning fucking chest knows it, and maybe that is a heart thing.
I pull the straps off her shoulders. Slowly, I do it, because she doesn’t like it fast. I revel in soft sighs, in shivers that show me I make her happy. I’m high on her bliss, such a new thing for me. Closing my eyes, I move with her until we find release.
I’m the boss this morning, and guess what? She’ll have to deal with that. If she doesn’t want to listen, I’ll just tie her up. Hell, if she doesn’t obey, if she thinks she can go out there, into all the evil of the world, she’s better off tied up anyway.
She’s making pancakes in the kitchen like she didn’t just disappear for hours after dark, with Fritz tailing her and sitting outside some arch bishop’s palace until she was done.
I need to get air, even if just for a moment.
So much could’ve happened. It was just her and one guy against all of the Santa Colombini, against Mobespierre Sanguine, against modern slavery in general.
We have no proof that they don’t have her information. If a single person mentions her name to Randolfo Santa Colombini, she’s toast. One single person discovering that she’s my love, and she’s the torture victim of the century.
I take my smoke to the balcony and shut the door against the delicious whiff of her cooking. Her skin. Just a stroke of my calloused fingers brushes pink across her fine-fine spine. I’d lose my mind considering what the cream of her would look like after the just-sharpened blades of Santa Colombini scalpels.
I allow myself a moment, out of reach of my darling and my employees. My stomach wants to wring inward, so I let it pull toward my center while my shoulders hunch forward. I shut my eyes, bending over the railing as if I’m looking down. It isn’t hard; under Il Lince’s roof, I faked the sudden onset of emotion for years.
The door behind me swings open. That’s the problem with being holed up in close quarters.
I suck in air, getting my emotions under control. The main thing is to not let the nightmare take over, the one of porcelain skin being raped by the metal of devils.
I don’t turn away from the ocean. It’s stunning, blinking foamy waves at me in erratic shoves, its unpredictability like that of humans, its splendor the opposite. I subdue the liquid coating my eyes.
She doesn’t speak as she leans her body against mine. I feel her breathing against my back, fast at first, then slowing to the pace of my stillness. I close my eyes again when her cheek quietly meets the center between my shoulder blades, remaining there, waiting for me to calm down. I know she knows.
“I’m okay,” she whispers, after everything. After being gone for three hours and forty-seven minutes while all I could do was hope. She wasn’t safe without me. She could have died without me.
“I know, baby,” she says as if she heard me. “Thank you for sending Fritz with me.” She lets out a small giggle. “I didn’t know until I came out of the bishop’s house and the crappiest of our loaners was parked across the street.”
That makes me smile. I turn. Leave my back against the banister and scoop her in. “You could have been killed. You run with the wrong crowd, you know.”
“Yeah.” Her lashes are thick and long. They glide upward, slowly, until bright-bright-grey gleams at me. “Darn bishops.”
I snort. Tip her chin up and kiss the tip of her nose. “You need to take this seriously.”
“I do. I’ve got it now, okay? I’ll be under your protection until we’re out of danger.”
My sigh is bigger than hers. My smile too. It grows on my face, and her eyes slit with amusement. “You like that, baby?”
“I do, very much. And keep calling me ‘baby.’ I like that too.”
I’ve whisked Tatiana off with the Lucid crew to The Summit in the Santa Ana Mountains. I didn’t ask if she wanted to come along. I didn’t have to now that she’s under my protection.
We got here a half hour ago. The place is what you’d call an industrial-sized cabin, with twelve bedrooms, four baths, a sauna, Jacuzzi, and a hotel-sized kitchen. No staff comes with the lodge, chef or otherwise, so a few of my employees will be taking care of the food.
Clown Irruption is set to arrive in a couple of hours, and with McRoy’s assistance, I get everything set up. The contract negotiations were finalized in a phone meeting last night. Now, the main living room upstairs, the one with the large fireplace, is being prepped for the official signing and a small celebration. Gianni and his crew are setting up the downstairs living room with a green screen and bedding to be changed out depending on the couple.
This video’s a lofty undertaking, no doubt about it. For some of the less passionate scenes, Gianni will fly out to meet the band at shows and airports, but the main scenes, the ones designed to blow people’s minds, will all be filmed here.
To be honest, I wish this project didn’t have to be hurried. I’m here, seeing it through, though, hoping the Santa Colombini stay busy elsewhere. Problem is, they’ve probably found out what happened to the men they sent to my house, which means I’ve skyrocketed on Randolfo’s list. On the flipside, my father’s keeping them busy.
Felix has shifted most of his crew to the Nascimbeni war. It’s a bad sign when even Il Lince approves of his added forces. At least we agree on one thing: we need to lose as little famiglia as possible.
Sounds like the Santa Colombini have re-decided and are getting back into cocaine now that their arch enemy shows an interest. That’s a bad deal for my father. If I were Il Lince, I’d back out of those territories before it was too late.
I pull McRoy to the side. “Felix arrived yet?”
“Yes, he’s prepping the barricade down at the lower gates.”
“Good. We need complete discretion. If any member of the band’s entourage gets even the slightest trace of danger, they’ll be out of here.”
“I repeated that to him, sir. He legitimately rolled his eyes and said, ‘Isaias knows I work with senators. Nothing will be in plain sight until every guest has driven the mile up to the main lodge, parked, and fucking walked inside.’”
“He swore too?” I grin, because that was definitely not McRoy’s words. He’s a pussy.
“Absolutely he did. I think we hurt his ego.”
I glance through the row of high-set windows of the living room. They don’t allow for much light, but the view of the parking lot below and the driveway leading up to the building is perfect. Another benefit of these windows is that it can’t be easy to look in.
The first car rolls around the bend of the road and comes to a stop in front of the lodge. Zoe bounces out of the front seat. Emil emerges too and throws an arm over her shoulder, nuzzling her ear. He mumbles something that makes her laugh.
I walk downstairs and greet them. Nadia and Bo pull up as Zoe accepts my polite hug, other cars following right behind. Seems the band drove through the mountain pass as a caravan. I’ve heard their tour manager is a bit of a control freak—which I respect. It must’ve been a pisser for him to deal with six separate cars, only one of which is a van with the gear and crew members.
I snicker to myself, happy some of the bedrooms have bunkbeds; this place is going to hold thirty-seven people between my guys and Clown Irruption’s. Quite the boy-scout trip.
As Bo leads his wife up the stairs, I scour the road one last time. I never did get my commitment from Aishe. I’ve tried calling her, but she doesn’t pick up for me anymore. Tatiana got a hold of her once, because she didn’t know her number, I suspect, but after that, she seems to have stopped picking up calls from unknown numbers.
I’ve got a few girls, here, Belen included. One of them’ll have to do. Belen is delirious at the prospect of working a rock star. It’s just that I hate to lose.
Nadia’s wearing a sheer red night gown that drapes over her ass. It’s short, so we get to see the top of her thighs. She strokes a hand down her husband’s face, and it’s perfect. There’s so much love in that gesture.
Gianni whispers to Dan, and I see him adjust his camera, probably going in for a close-up, because Bo has forgotten all about the world around him. Their new song, “Deep in You,” is on repeat, low in the background. We’ll layer the actual soundtrack later. Now, we’re just playing it to keep our artists in the mood.
“Do what you do with your husband. He’s been away for so long,” Gianni murmurs. “You’ve watched him on TV. You’ve talked on the phone, and you’ve missed him so much. He’s here, now. Your daughter is asleep, and finally, you have him to yourself. Show him everything.”
Her eyes flick up. Shyness shines from them. “I’d do a bit more to him than this in real life.”
Gianni bends down next to their heads. “Don’t be self-conscious. This is about you and Bo only. These people”—he lifts an arm, encompassing the cameramen, himself, the producer, and me—“have seen so much more than you’d ever dream of doing, even with your husband. The only thing we don’t see are the real emotions we now get from your faces, and that’s what we’re here to capture.”
He lets out a sigh and straightens, a hand disappearing to rub his lower back. “The only thing is, to get the full spectrum of those emotions in such a way that we can blow people’s minds—the desire, the need for each other after having been apart for so long—you need to be real.”
The still planes of Bo’s features wrinkle the tiniest bit. “Can you be more specific?”
“Sure. You’re not actors, which you don’t need to be to pull this off. Because there’s no acting needed, right? You love each other, and when you’re together like man and wife, there is no pretending. You guys are the real deal, what everyone dreams of having.”
“Hey! Can we come in? O-o-oh, look at you guys. Hot,” Emil says, sauntering in with Zoe under his arm. She giggles and waves at Nadia.
Gianni’s producer walks over and politely shows them out. There’s a hushed exchange, Emil’s eyes glinting with humor. Then they’re off, and the door is locked so no other stray visitors can enter the set.
“Sorry about that,” Gianni says, smiling. “Anyway, as I was saying, we’re after the real deal. Long story short: you will want to lose your inhibitions and go all the way.”
“As in what?” Nadia’s gaze tells me she understands just fine. She simply can’t believe he’s asking this of them.
“I’d like all clothing to come off in the most natural reconstruction of your lovemaking at home. I want you to get joined and continue the way you would under normal circumstances, when you’re not under my spotlights. Then, when it all feels so good you can’t take it any longer, I want you to come.”
Nadia gasps. Bo sits up, holding her hips still over him as he glares at Gianni. “You promised this would be PG-rated. I won’t put my own wife in this situation, okay? The contract…”
“Yes, definitely. I’m not saying to go outside the contract. You should go in detail as much as you feel comfortable, no more, no less. But think of it this way: it’s for your expressions only, for the vibe and the authenticity of your feelings. We’re not interested in close-ups of genitals and the like in this video. This will become PG-rated, but what happens below your faces, below the sensual moves of bodies, is there, and it will make the rest look real because it’s actually happening.”
Bo stands slowly, steadying his wife as he does. He opens his mouth to speak, but I interject first.
“It’s okay. I completely understand.” I nod to Nadia, then to Bo. “Take a break. We’ll shoot someone else first, maybe Emil and Zoe. Then we can discuss your limits afterward.”