Savio
Iwanted her. Holy shit. My entire body wanted her so much that it was hard to deny, especially since my thoughts kept tracing back to her. Each moment throughout my day seemed to intertwine with thoughts of her. Sure, I could try to push it off or amuse myself with another girl. There were plenty of numbers in my phone, and plenty of them I had used as backups in the past. Girls who wanted me, who would do whatever I wanted without talking back or being difficult. Girls who would beg to have their skin rub against mine. But I had never longed for any of these girls the way my entire being longed for Alessandra.
Also, things were different this time. The situation had brought itself into our house, and there was no getting away from it. If I left the house, I wanted to go back. I wanted to see her. It was as though I had to be around her at all times. I was worried, too. I didn’t want Romeo or Marcello to put their hands on her. The thought of my father going into her cell and putting his hands on her made me feel so sick and angry that I wanted to hit something.
I’d managed to stop myself from doing anything, but it had been difficult. Just the slightest touch had almost caused me to go overboard, and I couldn’t take my mind off of how close I’d come to taking her. I didn’t know how long I could hold back. I just had to remind myself why I’d started taking her out of the house at all. It wasn’t because I wanted her—it was because of her voice. I wasn’t the kind of person to traipse after a girl and make her want me. No, I didn’t enjoy being the pursuer.
Then there was what she told me the previous night, and I couldn’t deny it. She wasn’t wrong.
My family was ruthless and savage. We’d taken her entire life away from her, and there was nothing she could do about it. We’d destroyed everything she’d ever known, and now she was trapped in our basement. Not that I could disclose all of that to her. Still, I couldn’t deny that seeing her talk back to me the way she had made her all the more attractive. There was something impressive about standing up for yourself, even in the midst of all the chaos.
I knew that my father and Romeo were all about destroying the Bonifacio name. They were relentless in their pursuit to become the Bonifacios. I didn’t understand the obsession, and I wasn’t sure I ever would. There was something sad about it. Our family was wealthy and powerful enough, but my father was always comparing. It was never enough for him. He always had to have more, and he wanted to be seen as the leader of the criminal underworld. With Romeo by his side, there was no doubt that he could pursue it pretty easily. They were both out for blood.
I leaned back against my many pillows and stared at the ceiling. One thought presided in my head, and it was the thought of Alessandra. Her soft, gentle lips, the sweet melody of her voice, her frail frame, and the warmth of her skin filled my mind. I shut my eyes, hoping I could distract myself with some other thoughts. But no matter how hard I tried, my thoughts kept driving back to her face. Thinking of her caused my entire body to tense as though I had to hold myself back from going to visit her. It had been nearly impossible the other night to keep my hands off her. It still felt wrong. Seeing her tied up like that was a turnoff. I didn’t want to force myself on her. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I could still hear her voice in the back of my mind, singing those lyrics with pride. She was stronger than I’d given her credit for. It had taken me aback, and for the first time in a very long time, I had no idea what to do.
There was an undeniable quality to the Bonifacio women that had captured my and my siblings’ attention. Marcello was busy visiting Chiara every other night, and Romeo was preoccupied with harassing Lucia. The only one that seemed to be focused on our everyday operations was my father. He’d already destroyed the Bonifacios. Now he had to build his empire from the blood that he’d spilled. They’d forever mark our name. The rest of Chicago feared us, but at what cost?
I brought my hands above my eyes, watching as they cast shadows up toward the ceiling. How much blood had marked my hands? It was hard to tell just how many people I’d killed in my father’s name. Twenty? Thirty? There might even be others whose faces I’d forced myself to forget. Even so much as being at the scene made me liable. All of us were too fearful of saying no to my father, though.
Now the underworld was becoming the same way.
My hands fell to my sides. I had to get up. I reluctantly pushed myself from the bed. I swept my feet from the bed and onto the floor. There was no controlling my thoughts. They’d been rushing through my mind the entire morning, forcing me to question everything that we’d been doing up until that point. The chaos that had ensnared both our families was taking its toll on my mental well-being. There were the images of the two Bonifacio brothers being tortured and my father’s twisted expression as he’d watched.
The fact that my other two brothers were likely sexually harassing both of their prized Bonifacio sisters repulsed me. I couldn’t handle the thought of them being hurt when they couldn’t do anything about it. I didn’t think it was moral or honorable. I’d rather fight a man who was at his peak than kick a man who was on the ground, wounded. It all came across as cowardly—the opposite of what my father thought it made him appear.
I opened the door to my bedroom and brushed my hand through my dark hair. The sun was warm against my skin as I walked out into the hallway. I wondered if Alessandra was desperate for sunlight. I knew that I would be if I were trapped in that dark cell day and night. I would crave the feeling of grass against my skin and the breeze through my hair. The basement was a proper dungeon—dark and damp. There wasn’t a single redeeming quality about it, except the showers. It had been the builder’s idea to put that in. Though my father had initially been against it, he’d relented in the end. The last thing we’d needed was the smell of unwashed bodies down there. The air was stagnant enough without the smell of people unable to clean themselves.
I rounded the corner and heard Romeo’s familiar voice. I cringed at what I heard and knew that he was feeling rather confident to be talking so loudly.
“Hey,fratello, what’s got you so worked up?” Marcello asked.
Romeo glanced over to me and smiled conceitedly. “What’s not to be cheerful about? We leaped to the top of the food chain last night.”
I could see Marcello’s expression from where I was standing. He didn’t seem overly pleased with what Romeo was saying. I wasn’t sure what was going through his head, but I imagined it was along the same lines of what I’d been thinking all morning.
I shrugged slightly.
“I mean, we can basically do whatever we want. The old dinosaur traditions that the Bonifacios and other ancient relics have lived by are obsolete. Ancient history. Things like marriage for the sake of truces or alliances are unnecessary. And heirs? Why waste our young adult lives creating children who have to be reared? We can just enjoy our time. Once we’re used up and ready to retire, then we can knock up whoever, and there’s our legacy.”
I was silent as Marcello questioned him. I didn’t want to be a part of the conversation. I could only imagine how my father would react. He wouldn’t be pleased with what Romeo was saying. He was growing cocky, and my father liked to put an end to that kind of confidence. He was, after all, the true head of the family. Romeo was still just an heir.
I could tell that Romeo hated the fact that our father still controlled the family. It was one of the things he always let slide. Romeo was known for being particularly stoic, much like Marcello, but whenever it came to our father, he always had a hard time not letting his guard down. I wondered if anyone else noticed. I wasn’t sure if I was the only one.
He also crumbled whenever my father raised his voice. Romeo wasn’t the kind of person to allow someone else to belittle him—he had guns to deal with those people. Many of our father’s goons knew better than to cross Romeo. Marcello, of course, had brute strength. Romeo didn’t have this adaptation, but he did have his dark gaze. Once set upon someone, it would make them rethink things. The only person who could put Romeo in his place was our father. I was glad that at least one person could control Romeo if only a little.
I left and made my way to the kitchen. I could hear Romeo’s voice from where I was standing. I didn’t want to be involved. Marcello would listen, regardless of how stupid Romeo sounded. Romeo should have known better. Running his mouth always got him in trouble. It was as though I knew it was going to happen before I heard my father’s voice yelling at him from the entrance of the parlor.
My stomach twisted in knots as he swore at Romeo and forced him to apologize. I took a few steps back and leaned against the kitchen counter, waiting for it to be over. I didn’t want to get in my father’s way when he was angry. It was always better just to avoid him when he was having a fit. He was the kind of man to take his anger out on anyone that was stupid enough to get his attention.
Still, it was amusing.
Seeing Romeo brought back down to earth was always nice. He needed some lessons in humility. Being the heir to my father’s name always made him feel invincible. He never cared whether the rest of us were suffering. So long as he was in my father’s good graces, he could do anything he wanted. He was exactly like my father, and I hated it with a passion.
And why wouldn’t I? I’d been dealt the hand of being the youngest son. I’d always heard from other people that being the baby in the family meant that you were coddled and catered too. Fuck that. I’d received the exact opposite. I had found myself at the other end of a whip one too many times. The only one who’d ever cared for me and shown me any kind of love was my nonna, and she wasn’t around long enough to teach me what human kindness was. The only sort of pleasure I received from others came from sleeping with women. My family never hugged or verbally expressed love. Any kind of intimacy came from being able to sleep with a woman who didn’t know what kind of family I had or what kind of upbringing I’d been subjected to.
My thoughts turned back to Alessandra as my father’s voice echoed throughout the house. I breathed in deeply, trying to calm my nerves. The mix of my father’s yelling and the frustration of my feelings for Alessandra were reaching their peak. How was I supposed to juggle it all? What the hell was I even feeling? Desire?
