Chapter Forty
The pain came first, as if someone had put a sharp clamp on the side of my head. The sounds came afterward. People shuffling, metallic clacking noises, short laughs, all men. The acoustics indicated I was in a small space. And the smell was wet, sticky earth.
My mouth was dry, and I moved my tongue.
“What’s the date?” said a voice. That voice.
I didn’t know the answer, but I opened my eyes. Lights and colors were blurred as if thrown into a blender.
“What’s your name?”
“Contessa,” I croaked.
“Good.”
I blinked, squeezed my eyes shut, and opened them again. The room was tight and low, with dirt walls and ceiling. Enzo and Niccolo passed by, yammering in Italian, and over me was…
“Capo.”
“Shh. Please. You got a good knock on the head.”
“Where am I?”
“Under l’uovo. But I’ll say no more.”
“Where’s Marina?”
He shook his head. “She’s fine, but stupid. Otto found her and you just in time. She’s being sent home to Naples tomorrow. How is your ear?”
That must be the searing pain on the side of my head. “Hurts.”
“It caught a bullet.”
I got up on my elbows and looked around. I saw a door on each side of the room and a wall lined with racks of rifles.
“I wanted to tell you something,” I said.
“Marina told me.”
I noticed then that he wasn’t touching me. He wasn’t holding my hand or stroking my cheek. His fingers were laced together between his legs.
“Thank you. The warning about the DA is very helpful. We were clearing out anyway. Paulie’s gone.”
“Why?”
“Why? He put you in a terrible position. We, ah…” He looked at his hands. My vision had cleared enough to see the red scratches on his fists. “We fought. He set the shop on fire. I don’t know who he will align with, if anyone. But not me.” He stood. The ceiling wasn’t much higher than his head.
“Antonio,” I said, “where are you going?”
“I have a war to prepare for. Otto will make sure you get home safely.” He walked toward the door like a doctor satisfied the patient would live.
“No,” I said, suddenly lucid. “Don’t. Please.”
“Nothing’s changed, Theresa.”
“That’s right.” I swung my feet around, and they found the floor. I was sitting on a wooden bench. “Nothing has changed. You feel the same. Deny it. Deny you love me.”
“I don’t love you.”
“You’re lying.”
“Contessa—”
“Don’t call me that until you admit how you feel.”
He closed the door, shutting out the sounds of the men. “What difference would it make? I won’t destroy you. If I take you in, you’ll be miserable. You’ll spend your life never knowing who I am or what I do. You’ll have to accept that I may go to jail for years, and you can’t leave me, even then. It won’t be tolerated. That’s the better scenario.”
“And the worse one?”
“You learn to tolerate me.” He put his hand on the doorknob.
I knew that if he went into the other room, only Otto would come back. It would be the last I’d see of him. So I jumped up and stood in front of the door. The world swam. I tried to lean on the wall, but my stomach turned over, and I was sure I would fall.
Antonio’s arms went around me, holding me up. My senses came back, and I pushed him away.
“Admit you love me.” I touched his face, feeling the stubble on his cheek and the exhaustion emanating from him. I wanted to make it all go away, to give him peace.
“It wouldn’t make any difference,” he said.
“Admit it.”
“I loved you the second I put my eyes on you. It doesn’t matter.”
“Let me love you back.”
“You have a life to live.”
“I have nothing.” I stroked his lip, and his hands remained at his sides. “I’ve danced enough. I’ve seen movies. I’ve been in every pool in Malibu. I’ve travelled. I’ve dated. Worked on a political campaign. Met stars. Had a job. I’ve done all that. What I’ve never done is love a man like you.”
He turned, ever so slightly, and kissed my palm, letting his eyes close. “What if you die from loving me?”
“What if I die from not loving you?”
He kissed my cheek, and I melted into him. I thought I’d never feel those lips again, and when I did, I groaned.
“Please,” I whispered. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”
“You’re going to get hurt.”
“Hurt me, then. I’d rather get hurt than live a lie.”
He put his forehead to mine and wove his hands behind my neck. It increased the pain in my head, but I fell into it, wanting his pain as much as I wanted his pleasure.
“Contessa, you make me crazy.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know where you’ll fit in with me. I don’t know your place.”
“My place is beside you.”
He leaned back, and I felt the loss of his touch deeply. I needed more. But he put his hand behind his collar and took off his medal of St. Christopher.
He pressed it into my palm, one hand over mine, one under. He looked into my face as if watching a storm gather. The metal was hard on my skin and warm from being close to him.
“Are you sure you want to never feel safe?” he asked. “Are you sure you want to always look behind you? Are you sure you want a life without people you trust?”
“If you’re with me, yes.”
“Are you sure you can love a man who’s damned?”
“Only you. Damned or saved, I want only you.”
“I have a problem, my Contessa. It’s been eating me alive since I kissed you. I want you, and I don’t know how to have you. I want you beside me. I want my world and your world to be one. To see you laugh in the morning. To see you weep my name at night. I am not ever afraid, but with you, I am. I’m afraid I won’t have you, and I’m afraid I will.”
He turned my hand over until my palm was facing downward, clutching the medal. He leaned down and kissed it, fingers, knuckles, wrist, and looked up at me. His eyes were felony black, lips built for declarations of love, jaw set to break barriers.
“I can’t let you go,” he said. “I want to be that man who can make you breakfast and raise children without always looking behind his back. I am going to make myself worthy. I am going to get out so I can’t hurt you. But I can’t just walk away from what I do, and I can’t turn away from you. God help me, every time I walk away from you, I only see hell in front of me.”
I put my hands on his face, letting the chain slip over my thumb and dangle. “Don’t walk away from me. It kills me when you do.”
“This life, it’s impossible to pay every debt and go straight.”
“Pay what you can.”
He took the chain and opened it. I leaned into him so he could put it around my neck and fasten it.
I laid my head on his shoulder and pulled back. “Ow. My ear.”
He turned my head to get a good look. “It’s barely a scratch.” He kissed my neck, moving the chain to put his tongue on the skin where my neck and shoulder met.
“I have a headache,” I said, pushing his ass forward until I felt his erection at my hip.
“I’ll fuck you gently. You’ll come long and slow. Your head will forget its ache when you shed tears.” He reached under my skirt from behind.
I groaned.
“Shh,” he said. “My men are on the other side of this door.” He pushed me back onto the bench and spread my legs. “Mi amore.”
He kissed inside my thighs, moving my panties aside to lick so slowly I almost came with anticipation. I grabbed his hair, but he wouldn’t suck. He only used the tip of his tongue on my clit.
“Antonio,” I whispered. The hard bench bit my back and the room was rough hewn from the earth, yet I’d never felt so comfortable, at home, safe. “Always be my Capo.”
He slid my underpants off and planted himself between my legs, his dick out and ready for me.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Fuck me,” I said with conviction. “Fuck me now.”
He put one of my legs over his shoulder, opening me for him. He moved my body like a precious thing, then he slid his dick into me. I was so wet, he got the whole length of him in with one try.
“Come vuoi tu, Contessa.” He moved out then in again, every inch a breath of intention to keep me safe, to keep me pure. But most importantly, I felt his intention to keep me. His voice dropped, and his words sounded more like prayer than surrender. “Come vuoi tu.”