It wasn’t until Venezio and I were skin-to-skin under the blankets and the pinpricks of circulation assaulted every inch of my body, that I fully came back to myself.
Alone in the tub, I wasn’t surprised that things had gone from life-or-death to sex.
We’d been pressed close, mostly naked, both traumatized by the events of the night and needing comfort.
Besides, I believed him.
Maybe that was naive of me, but I did.
Yes, he was lying to me. Yes, he was using my organization. But, no, he hadn’t used me. He hadn’t used my feelings and desires against me. He’d been just as blindsided by that connection as I had been.
Was it smart of me to have sex with a man I now knew was in the mob? Who’d actually killed people?
Maybe not.
That said, when he’d told me he hadn’t killed the man who wanted to hurt me, I’d been… disappointed. I would have been completely okay with him having lost his life for what he’d done. If I’d had a gun, I knew down to my bones that I wouldn’t have hesitated to use it.
So why would I judge him for doing so in the past when it had been other life-or-death situations?
And, well, I hadn’t been an angel. Especially when my mom and I had been on the streets and struggling. I’d stolen things. I’d done whatever I needed to do to eat, to survive.
I knew that there were a lot of decent people who did objectively bad things. I understood that there were a thousand reasons to resort to a life of crime.
Everything about Venezio hinted at a hard upbringing. Which might have left him with precious few choices. Crime paid. It often paid well. And it didn’t require good grades or debilitating tuition debt. If he’d been trying to get out of an awfulsituation, he would reach for whatever was quick, whatever was easy.
Then, well, once you were in that life, it was hard to get out. Especially if he was in the mafia. That was a “for life” kind of thing.
There was a soft rap at the door.
“Need help drying off?” he called.
Did my belly flutter?
Yes, yes, it did.
I wanted to tell him no, that I could do it myself, but my hands were slick with antibiotic ointment.
“Uh, yeah,” I called, reaching out with my toe to drain the tub.
“Started to worry you’d drowned in here,” he said, grabbing me under the arms and pulling me to my feet in the little shower/tub combo.
There were little duck anti-slip stickers beneath my feet and a crack in the white tile to my side as Venezio grabbed a towel and started to dry me off.
It was not a sensual touch.
But I still somehow felt desire sparking once again.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because if you don’t stop, I’m gonna fuck you again.”
“That’s a problem?”
“Yeah,” he said, wrapping the towel tightly around me.
“Why?”
