“If you weren’t already pregnant,” he said, “I’d fuck you until you were.”
He slammed into me again and I lost my breath, starting to move like I had been before. He flipped me a second later, his body over mine, and fucked me until I could not hold back any longer. I screamed out his name, giving myself over to him. A second later, he spilled himself inside of me, his head back, his throat exposed.
I closed my eyes, trying to catch my breath. His lips moved against my body again, this time not as hard. He stopped at my stomach, his hands cradling my hips.
“I needed this,” he said, his breath warm against my skin. “I needed you.”
“Keep me with you forever,” I whispered.
He said three words that I was willing to bet my life he would die to see through.
“Consider it done.”
22
Corrado
Rain hit the windows of Macchiavello’s and ran down the panes in fast-moving lines. My grandfather had risked his life to have the steak, so I decided to check it out after his funeral.
The man who owned it, Mac Macchiavello, had my attention.
It could have been something as simple as my grandfather had ties to the restaurant. Maybe one of his men made a lot of money through it, and he wanted to try the famed steak.
It wasn’t that simple. I was aware of all of our dealings.
My grandfather was no recluse, but the older he got, the more he enjoyed being at home when he wasn’t at the Primo Club. Outings were rare for him. It took some pull to get him there.
Tito had told me he had arranged the meeting, which meant Mac Macchiavello had enough pull with one of the biggest crime families in history to get my grandfather to dinner. Even Emilio Capitani had a boss.
It wasn’t a usual steak and potato place, but then again, it was. The smell of meat and starch meandered through the air, but so did high-quality booze from the opposite side of the restaurant, where people could get a pricey drink and listen to live music. The bar was old time, prohibition-influenced. It was already starting to get crowded.
I recognized a few men right away. They usually traveled in packs, and this place accommodated them.
Alcina squeezed my hand. “It smells good in here,” she said. “Familiar.”
“You used to steak and potatoes?” I said.
“No.” She shook her head. “You can’t smell it? It smells Italian.”
I purposely went a little deeper when I inhaled. I nodded. “Yeah. It does.” After she pointed it out, I could smell garlic and tomatoes lingering underneath the heavy scent of red meat. It was almost on every plate.
“I would try the Italian dishes,” she said, “but I do not want to be disappointed.”
I laughed at her sour face. “Spoken like a true Italian,” I said. “No one’s cooking is as good as yours—or like yourmammaornonnamakes.”
We passed a table where a woman had some kind of pasta dish. Alcina narrowed her eyes, studying the woman’s plate as if she was rating it mentally.
“What’s the verdict?”
“Hm?”
“The verdict on the pasta dish.” I nodded toward it. The woman gave us a hard look before she set her fork down, refusing to eat while two strangers stared at her.
“Ah. It looks pretty good.” She smiled. “Actually,sorprendente.”
“Since it looksamazing,” I said, “we’ll get a few things to try.”
We met the men who had gone in ahead of us to get a table. A man dressed in a suit, who introduced himself as Sylvester, told us to follow him. He led us to a room that was set off of the restaurant itself. It looked like it was used for parties. A table that fit no less than fifty sat in the center. A two-way glass was built in the wall.
