Rinsing this out, I next took some body wash and soothed over every inch of her, spending a couple of extra minutes on the muscles in her neck and shoulders until they grew less taut. I began to rush through my own cleansing, but to my delight, she took over, returning all the favors I’d offered her. When it came to my still healing bullet wounds, she used extra care, and I loved her more in that moment than even before.
Her ministrations reawakened my cock, bringing it back to full mast again, and when she stroked it in earnest. She stood, retrieved the blind fold, and put it back on. Then, she resumed the pose I’d had her in. I smiled at her even though she could no longer see it.
“I’m going to lick your nipples now, wife.” I caressed her back and down to her ass, then laced my arms around her firmly, letting her feel me. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, husband.”
I followed through with my threat, licking her until each nipple stood to attention for me. I laid myself out on the bench, and arranged her over me, pulling her hips all the way up until her core bumped against my chin. Once I’d placed her hands on the edge of the bench for a solid hold, I spoke again.
“I’m going to make you come with my mouth now, wife.”
“Y-yes, husband,” she said on a moan, and I brought my tongue deeply into her smooth folds. Tasting her was something I hadn’t done, and having her like this, pleasuring her from below, was enough to almost make me come untouched.
She began to roll her hips, bucking against me, and when she came, her screams echoed off the glass and tile of the shower stall in waves. I brought her to the edge a second time, then sat up straight, sliding her down until I was inside her.
Once we could each reliably stand on our feet again, I ran the nozzle over us one last time. “I’m a better man because of you, and I’m never going to quit loving you for that,” I spoke the words like an oath because they were, even if blood wasn’t involved.
Lucia looked up at me with her fathomless blue eyes and brought her lips to mine. Just before she made contact, she said, “Yes, husband.”
* * *
I spentthe day traveling to our warehouses again, Father’s pet project for me. I stalked along each row of long tables watching as the marijuana was dried and processed before being placed in official—and legal—bags ready for shipping. I toured the chemistry labs where the methamphetamine is refined from its ephedrine or pseudoephedrine beginnings and into the tiny shard or crystal components its users smoke.
Lucia had told me about Gianni being high as a kite while he was with her in the back of that limousine, how he snorted what sounded like about five different drug combinations. There, looking out over the facility where the meth was created, I stood behind a heavy sheet of protective glass. Meth was the most dangerous of all drugs to formulate, and as always, I felt happy to get away from there. I had no interest in poisoning myself or bringing back toxic materials on my clothing or skin to expose Lucia or the baby to.
The cocaine plant reeked of gasoline since that’s what we soaked the coca leaves in first. The next room contained a strong odor of salt and ammonia, enough to make my eyes and nose burn. This was why I preferred spending most of my time in the marijuana plants. It was a lot easier on my senses. I hurried through the processing rooms, taking mere glances at the operations to appease my father when he asked about this later, and examine the power usage of the last processing room.
This last room required the use of several microwaves in operation at once for drying the product, something that spiked electricity use. We had to keep an eye on the overall consumption to keep from giving ourselves away. From there I sauntered out to the warehouse where the refined and purified cocaine sat ready to ship out in little plastic-coated bricks.
The state of the art OxyContin facility was the final one I visited. Of all our drug processing plants, this one was the most industrial and professional in appearance. As far as the FDA was concerned, this place was shut down years ago, but within the boarded up windows and padlocked doors, we continued to conduct a massively successful trade. This drug was the one that brought the cash in hand over fist and was the one my father insisted I report on over regularly scheduled and unannounced visits. As the main cash cow for the Bonifacios, this building had the greatest chance of being raided should we ever fail to fly under the radar.
After I finished up my tour, I took my laptop and filled out the reports Angelo wanted. He’d punished me by sending me to manage all these facilities fulltime a few months ago, but in truth, the time had only been about demoralizing me. Hundreds of millions of dollars of drugs go through this handful of buildings, and he needed to be able to trust the one he sent to monitor their activities. To my knowledge, I was the only one privy to each location, each breakdown of chemicals, and each merchandise shipping manifest. If my father had any other choice but to trust me with this delicate enterprise, I might be flattered, but I knew him. He threw this at me simply because he felt wary about going with anyone else, even Marcello and Savio, both of whom have limited access to a couple of these sites each.
Idly, I wondered if he would’ve been trusting of Gianni with this venture. Gianni had been able to speak to our father in ways none of my other siblings or myself had ever accomplished, but looking back at his handling of Angelo, us and even the Bonifacios, everything Gianni had ever done seemed like it’d been a manipulation. A ruse. A way to get what he wanted. Which had apparently been myfarfalla. If he hadn’t been so keen on getting high the day of his big reveal, would he have been successful? Would he have murdered me straight out and escaped with my bride and forced her into his clutches?
I felt thankful I hadn’t had to find out.
The wound at my hip twinged and stepping out of sight of any of the workers, I stretched sideways until the discomfort passed. The hallway I stood in had a skylight installed overhead, and I noticed the sunshine coming in was diffused. Winter in Chicago meant wind, rain, and low temperatures, but I hadn’t counted on an aching hip to go with it. I’d heard older people in ourfamigliacomplain about arthritis when the weather changed, but I never thought I’d experience it myself at twenty-four.
Also, the pain didn’t just strike during bad weather. It caught me at random moments, and sometimes it was severe enough to make me catch my breath. Though the flesh wounds looked much better, the bone deep bouts of discomfort only seemed to be increasing. Which meant I’d just have to be more vigilant about not reacting to them in front of anyone else, not the workers in these facilities. Not myfamiglia. Not even Lucia.
While I appreciated her concern over me, she’d already seen me at my most fragile. As her husband I needed to provide her with strength and stability. I’d be a father in a few short months, and this child needed me to be strong as well. As the Cavetti heir, coming off as invulnerable was a must. If I was going to successfully become the patriarch sooner rather than later, no one could see me sweat.
Once home, I went to my old quarters to take a shower. I always did this as a precaution any time I visited the meth lab, but it also served the purpose of letting me apply the heat of the water and the massaging spray to the soreness of my hip. I’d been on my feet all day, and though the pain had started a couple of hours earlier, it hadn’t ceased. I ran the water over the wounds increasing the heat to almost scalding as I tried to ease the pain.
At last, it abated somewhat, and I dressed in some flannel pajamas before heading upstairs to my wife.
25
Lucia
As my pregnancy progressed, I spent more and more time with my siblings, though most of that was with the twins. Giorgio had begun to grow healthy again, and while I knew the time he’d endured down in the dungeons—someplace I never dared to go—had still adversely affected him, he refused to talk about it. Since I felt horrible about his ordeal, I dropped the subject, too, hoping eventually, he’d rebound from it.
Romeo had taken to buying me pregnancy books as gifts, and the three of us Bonifacio women spent hours pouring over them and discussing what my midwife had told me during my latest appointment. Another person who joined in our conversations at times was Philippa. When she’d bring by a meal, she’d mention how her sister-in-law’s pregnancy had gone a few years earlier.
“Watch out for swelling because that might mean your blood pressure is too high,” she’d say. Or, “My sister-in-law craved liver. Are you having weird cravings so far? If so, I can adjust your menu.”
“Cheese,” I told her. “Blue cheese, which I don’t even like usually. And hard-boiled eggs. I don’t even care if they’re warm or cold, I’ll eat them, either way.” In fact, I hadn’t been able to sleep the other night until Romeo and I went downstairs to the mansion’s colossal kitchen and pilfered some cold eggs the cooks had probably prepared for something else. Even though I’d already had dinner, at midnight, I ate the eggs, not satisfied until I’d eaten three.
