I close the email and try to put Finch out of my mind. I have important shit to do before I sleep, like finalizing that list of names for my crew.
The soldiers are easy enough. I know the men I want, the ones who are loyal to me already, the ones who appreciate my work and treat me with respect, even from outside Fuscone’s crew. Then there are the men who hate Fuscone as much as I do, or maybe more. Then there are the ambitious ones, the ones I know who are smart and shrewd, the ones who don’t care if their Capo is queer as long as working in my crew aligns with their interests.
Then the most important one, the man I’m going to need as my own second-in-command, just like I was for Sam Fuscone. Someone to give the orders when I’m not there, my 2IC to keep the troops in line.
I know Frank wants to be that for me, and of course I’ll find a role for my brother. He’s loyal, he’s unquestioning, he’s tough. He’s great muscle, built wide and thick, with a natural scowl.
But he’s not a leader, my brother.
I love him and I’ll do anything for him, but I want my commander to be someone who can persuade and charm, not just threaten and punish. I want a counterpoint to my own personality. Frank is likeable enough, but he’s only got one tool in his toolbox, and that’s violence. I need acleverman, not just a violent one. I want someone to keep me on my toes, someone who’ll tell me like it is, not what I want to hear. Someone with their own ambitions so I can reposition him in my place when the time comes, and I move up the hierarchy.
An ally in the wars to come. Because I can see what’s coming, and I need to find a way to take advantage of it.
* * *
I don’t finishmy strategizing until well past two, but once in bed I still can’t sleep. Half an hour later I get up, deciding that I need a glass of water, and while I’m down in the kitchen I can check that the night guards are still awake outside. I wouldn’t put it past them to sleep on the job, even though they know it would end badly for them.
But when I peek through the curtains in the foyer, I see the night guards out there, alert and awake, just like they should be. I’m glad, because I’ve included these two in my list of potentials.
I head back upstairs, but when I get to the door of my room, I pause.
Just down the hallway my husband is sleeping in our marital bed.
My own words come back to me, and I flush in the dark hallway, even with no one to see.You’re a good fuck. We can make some sort of arrangement for our physical needs.
My body aches just thinking of him, like it’s crying out for Finch: to feel his hot skin against mine, the clench of him on my cock. I already miss the way he gasps at my touch.
But I need to keep my head together, too.
In the end, I turn away from my bedroom door and head to the master suite. I’m half afraid he’s done exactly as I did, and locked the door. But he hasn’t. The door opens silently as soon as I twist the handle, and I can hear his steady, slow breathing. He’s deeply asleep, the kind of sleep only children and the innocent enjoy.
I slide into the bed trying not to disturb him, but he wakes with a start. I stifle his cry by pressing my lips to his, rolling on top of him and pushing his legs open with mine. Within a breath, he goes from fear to desire, and moans around the tongue in his mouth. When I pull away, he begins to mumble a question, but I put my hand over his mouth, my fingers dipping in, letting him suck on them.
When they’re soaked, I take my fingers from his mouth and push them between his legs, wriggling under his balls impatiently to get to that hole I’m so desperate for. I mean to make it fast, careless. I mean to bring us both a quick release, but I can’t. I get lost in the wonder of his body despite myself.
I make sure he comes first this time, making it good for him, making him cry out my name, and I don’t try to stifle him when he comes, letting him call out his thanks to me before I let go myself, filling him up, whispering his name into his neck like a private prayer.
Afterwards, I hold him close until his breathing returns to its deep steady rhythm.
And then I slip out of the bed and go back to my own, where sleep finds me at last.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
FINCH
Fun fact: there’s not much to do when you’re a marital hostage to the Morelli family, especially with no phone, no internet, and no goddamn hobbies.
There’s a TV, but I can’t seem to find the comedies funny or the dramas interesting. Besides, Marco likes to watch ESPN all day and gets antsy if I turn over to anything else. There’s a library, but I’m not much of a reader, although Luca is, judging by the number of books I’ve seen lying around the house over the last few days, always open, in the process of being read. Real boring shit, like biographies of dead Romans or modern entrepreneurs. But I never seen Luca himself, just these remnants of his reading.
I find myself wondering what the hell I used todoall day when I was free as a bird, stretching my fine finch wings over the great City of New York. Because I can’t remember much of substance, but I was neveralone.
Not like this.
I used to go to the gym most mornings, or for a run with some buddies. Then I’d have lunch with more friends at my favorite cafés—a different one each day, to spread the love around. I’d hang with an arty crowd in the afternoons who were looking to procrastinate, maybe chill in Central Park; if anyone I knew had a job, sometimes I’d crash their workplaces and see what they were up to. Nights were for partying, for chasing highs, for finding a warm body to spend a few hours with.
Everything I did revolved around reducing any time alone so I didn’t have tothink. And if I ever did find myself alone too long, I could kill the panic with a benzo, maybe watch some porn and jerk off.
These days I don’t see many people. These days there’s too much time to think.
