My pussy is feeling a little raw… guess I squeezed a bit too hard. That’s all right. The orgasm I got from him will keep me sated for a while.
I lean back on his shoulder and close my eyes. “I want to stay here, like this, forever.”
He doesn’t say anything.
“It’s so nice here, in your arms,” I continue. “I feel so safe. Like you’ll never let anyone harm me.”
He still doesn’t say anything. I wonder if he’s feeling guilty about what he’s done. I don’t want to spoil the moment by reminding him.
I can’t help but think about what he just told me about his brother’s death. The helplessness he felt, the guilt. The same feelings I had about my mother when she died.
“I wonder if either of us will ever be able to live a happy life,” I tell him. “And love like normal people do.”
“I don’t know,” he whispers in my ear. “I don’t have all the answers.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “It wasn’t a question. Just me thinking aloud. Using the logical part of my mind, rather than relying on instincts, and emotion.”
The post-sex glow is fading somewhat, and reality is beginning to press in on me. Talking and logical thinking only further bring me back to earth, and I feel the usual guilt taking root.
Yup, I’ve gone and fucked the man who kidnapped me once again.
And yet, I know he’s more than that. I’ve seen glimpses of the boy I once knew. Massimo hasn’t plunged completely over the abyss yet. There’s hope for him.
Still, I can’t help but ask him the question that’s at the top of my mind. “Was my father the highest bidder?” I turn to look at him. The peace in his eyes I saw earlier has shifted, becoming something darker. “Are you going to return me to my family? I have to know. Please, Massimo, tell me.”
“I told you, I’m working on something,” he replies evasively.
I study him uncertainly. “Father wasn’t the highest bidder, was he? It was the Rizzos.”
“No, you’re wrong,” Massimo insists.
I stare into his eyes, but I can’t discern if he’s telling the truth or lying. Maybe it’s partly true, but I suspect there’s more to it than he’s letting on.
“So you’re not giving me to The Cleaver?” I ask him. “Not directly, anyway. Considering the marriage that awaits me when this is done… but maybe I can convince Papa to call off the wedding. Maybe—”
Massimo’s face contorts with rage and I flinch, feeling momentarily afraid.
“That bastard isn’t going to lay a hand on you, ever!” Massimo says, almost shouting. “I’ll cut off his balls and feed them to his dogs!”
His face is red and he’s breathing hard. Suddenly he seems very aware of my wide, staring eyes—he shoves me off and violently hauls himself out of the tub. He snatches up his clothes and, dripping wet, marches out of the bathroom. In a moment I hear the entry door shut and the lock clicks.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m at least somewhat cheered by his words, because I definitely don’t want to marry The Cleaver, but I’m also worried. I didn’t expect Massimo to become so jealous. But then again, why shouldn’t I expect it, after all we’ve shared?
Still, I’m worried about what’s to come. He says he’s “working on something.” I pray he doesn’t kill anyone I love. But even more so, I hope he doesn’t back himself into a corner, because that’s the last place you want to be in when you’re surrounded by the wolves of the Palermo mafia.
What’s Massimo going to do?
19
Massimo
Idon’t know why I reacted so badly when Angela mentioned marrying The Cleaver. We’ve talked about the arranged marriage before, but it never elicited such a strong reaction. Maybe because her comment came so soon after we fucked. That could be it. Or maybe she’s just growing on me.
I’ve never been a jealous person, but I guess I’ve just never had anyone I cared enough about—when it comes to her, it seems I’m becoming extremely possessive. The thought of that asshole touching her filled me with an all-encompassing rage I’ve experienced maybe twice in my life: the first, when her father tried and failed to kill me; the second, when my brother died.
Shit, my growing feelings will only make the coming days so much harder. Well, nothing’s ever easy in this life I suppose.
I return to my room and towel off in the ensuite master bathroom. I’ve left a soggy mess across the floor but whatever: it’ll dry off. I lie atop my bed, not bothering to slip under the covers, and stare at the ceiling.
