We’d have that freedom someday.
I’d make sure of it.
Chapter28
Saverio
August. The entire month should have just been calledmezzogiorno. Even at night, the air never lifted. Only when a cool breeze lingered did it cool my skin.
It was so hot my balls were sticking to my legs. I lifted them. Not as heavy as usual. That had nothing to do with the heat; it had everything to do with the siren in my bed. She was using me for my body.
The thought made me grin.
Her voice carried from the kitchen. She was humming some song playing on the radio. She'd fed me a beautiful meal, and after, I'd knocked all the plates to the floor, and she became my dessert on the table. I licked every inch of her clean.
Still naked and full, I took a seat on the bed but then relaxed against it.
The heat made me feel like the world around me was a mirage.
Pictures of us were now in frames around the casa. Her clothes hung with mine. Her shoes sat in the same space. Her latest book was on the table beside the bed, along with a scented candle and hand cream.
Even the pillows and sheets smelled like her.
Our lives had tangled and become one life.
I pulled her pillow closer and closed my eyes, falling asleep.
Sometime in the night, we were at it again. Hands reaching. Lips crashing. Arms and legs tangling. Bodies addicted.
My pulse pounded in my ears, and my blood rushed. My mind was void of all thoughts while I buried my cock deep inside of her. Void of all thoughts, but giving her pleasure came second nature.
We’d fallen asleep that way, slick with sweat and stuck together.
I was always on high alert. It was the nature of the beast with the life I lived. But with Mia next to me, and the lavender scent in the air—I knocked out with my hand over my heart. The skin was still raised there. I'd gotten a tattoo of my wife's name in script. I could feel it while I slept. The vulnerability beneath my skin.
Then I was sitting up. Staring into the glow of a fire. A bead of sweat slipped from my neck and ran down my chest. It was cool compared to the heat of the flames. The contrast was so vivid, like running an ice cube along a skillet.
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I tried to wake myself up. My muscles felt drained. My blood struggled to move through my veins.
All that fucking lavender, I thought, my mind sluggish.
The entire room had a dream-like feel to it. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I was dreaming.
The flames danced and hypnotized me. I was no longer in the casa, but being walked into a prison, my hands handcuffed behind my back. Men were behind bars. Talking shit.
Until they noticed the tattoos on my hands.
I'd been sent to do a job.
I was always brought in under an alias. The man had existed once upon a time. A lifelong criminal no one would miss. His body floated somewhere in the Hudson, probably. At that time, I didn't know the specifics, only that we were around the same age, and he had no family or anyone to report him missing. He was listed as a prisoner.
They brought men like me in under aliases like his to finish the job, and then they brought us out.
The air smelled feral. Wild men behind bars. The scent of metal thick, like a wet penny. I turned my face toward the windows to the left. The sun blasted in my eyes. Hot spots danced in my vision as I was led into a cell, drawn into darkness. The door rattled and locked after I stepped inside.
Turning my back toward the guard, I set my hands against a square opening in the bars, and he uncuffed me. Another guard handed me a pillowcase and a sheet. There was already a pillow left on the top bunk for me. The area smelled of toilet water and spicy fries.
A man relaxed on the bottom bunk. His back was turned toward me. He was facing the wall, staring at a bunch of pictures stuck there. At a glance—a dark-haired woman with red lipstick. A few of her. A few of her with him. A few of him and her with two kids. A girl and a boy. A few singles of the kids, and a few of them together. They both looked like him, though the girl had the potential to look like the woman later on in life.
