“The dancer. Tell me, who is she.”
“Ah,” he stammered. “I cannot reveal her identity. We have a legal, binding agreement, which I know you understand. Besides.” Another quick glance at my wife. “Herhusbandwould kill me if I broke it. You understand?”
“She is married.”
“Oui.” He answered as if I had asked him a question.
I snatched my wife’s arm, and she became breathless as we charged through the crowd. Before we arrived at the place we were staying for the night, I took my wife’s wrists, about to pull her toward me, but she gave me a grin before she startedfighting me. She lifted her neck some, wanting me to wrap my hand around it, and I did.
“Tell me, is this what you want from me,la mia spietata regina. For me to take what’s mine.”
“Fight me for it,” she said, breathless.
We did.
We became rough in the backseat, my wife slapping, clawing, and biting me, me pushing her around like a threadbare doll, until we had both ripped each other’s clothes off, and she was dripping for me, and I was rock hard for her. I kept my hand around her throat as I sat her on top of me and fucked her into the roof, her eyes rolling when the pressure around her throat became tighter and tighter.
My wife was on top of me.
But the thought of the dancer…how soft her body had moved, like a whisper…consumed me.
“Thinking about that beautiful dancer?” Rosaria’s voice was garbled, punctuated by moans loud enough to be heard over the music. “We should kill her husband. Adopt her as a little pet after, ah?”
I did not say a word to her, just increased the pressure around her throat.
She smiled at me. “You want to fuck her, don’t you?” Her voice was raspy from the pressure. “Stick that big cock in that beautifulficaand split it apart until her juices drown your cock.Mmmmm. I bet she tastes like sweet fruit and cinnamon all in one.” She rolled her tongue over her lips.
She kept up the commentary, my cock impaling her, my grip on her throat tight, until she exploded all over me, and I exploded inside of her at the thought of another woman.
This pleased my wife.
She orgasmed twice more that night—and after I fed her pasta in bed and she fell asleep, she had a smile on her face. I had never seen her do that before. Smile after we fucked, only the two of us.Though a third person had been in the car with us, by thought, not counting my men.
I could not sleep. The hollow cave inside of me felt like it was growing wider and darker, old and new ghosts crying out inside of it, keeping me awake. I thought back to the night in the witch’s tower, but I did not seek the scarf that had drifted inside with me that night. It was too delicate for my monstrous touch.
Chapter 10
Blood Is Blood Unless It Runs as Thin As Water
The private plane touched down in Trapani, and after, I nodded to Donato to take the passenger seat of the black Ferrari that waited. It had the Fausti symbol painted in a small mark on the driver’s side door, a clear warning that no one was to fuck with it. Donato was not pleased that I ordered the rest of our men to take accommodations close to the landing strip, but I wanted this time alone.
Being with Donato felt that way. As if I was alone with my thoughts and could allow them to roam without having literal eyes behind my head.
Donato watched my back as if it was his own.
He was quiet as we flew through the streets, his eyes on the sea. The evening sun in Sicily reminded me of citrus—a blood orange. It seemed to bleed over the land and water, coloring the world a spectacular orange-red. The breeze was soft with sea air, and it smelled of fruit orchards, seafood, and salt. I took a cleansing breath of it, breathing out all the pollutants inside of my body.
The sea air touched my lungs, but it could not touch my heart.
That was growing dimmer and darker by the day, until I knewall that would be left inside of me would be eternal nights. My lion lost in it. An eternal slumber.
I was not sure if what I was about to do would snuff out what little light I had left, delivering me to that place of impenetrable darkness much sooner than I anticipated.
An Italian tenor gave the background music to the city unfolding in front of us. The roads were quiet, and I took the ones to the villa facing the sea with a tempo that echoed the speed my father used to reach when he was a driver.
As my foot kept pressure on the accelerator, I sped up the hill, the world going dark and the lights coming on, highlighting the dead grass on either side of us, the crude road, and the stark white villa up ahead, some of its exterior, the entire back, made of glass and overlooking the shushing sea. The water in Trapani was exotic, with swirls of blue and green creating turquoise waters.
Come morning, I would go for a swim before I attended to business.
