“Joshua.” She moans, clutching her head. “He’s so serious with Bettina.”
“That doesn’t mean he’ll knock her up. Wearing condoms is drilled into every made man because there is no shortage of whores deliberately trying to get pregnant.” I pat her knee. “Don’t worry.”
“But I do,” she says as I take the next bend, grateful the roads aren’t too busy this time of night. “And condoms aren’t always reliable,” she whispers. She swipes at a few errant tears running down her face.
The way she loves those boys is beautiful to behold. From the moment she married Gino, she welcomed those boys into her heart.
And their bastard father has only ever thrown it back in her face.
“I can talk to Joshua, if you like,” I suggest. “Make sure he’s being careful.”
She turns to me with black streaks running down her face. “You would do that?”
“Of course. They are your sons, and their father is absent. They may not be part of our crew, but they are part of the New Yorkfamiglia,and I like to mentor the younger boys. The couple of years after you first initiate are the hardest. They might welcome someone to talk to who has been in their shoes, and they know me.” I have been at family gatherings with them over the years, and everyone knows I’m Ben’s number two.
“That is kind of you to offer. I’ll think about it.”
I nod, turning onto the next street. “I’m taking you to my place.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Just take me home.”
“You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I can’t go back to your apartment, Leo. What if Ben finds out?”
Ben owns the entire apartment building, and ninety percent of the units are sold or rented out. The rest of them are kept for our personal use. It’s not uncommon for us to put visitors up or to help some of our men out if they need a temporary place to stay. Traditionally, Ben’s close team and personal bodyguards live in the apartments underneath his penthouse, so that’s why Ciro and I still live here. Occasionally, we travel with the boss to his main residence in Connecticut, but most of the time, we live here.
If that’s Natalia’s only resistance, I can easily quash it. “Ben doesn’t live there anymore. The only time he uses the penthouse is if he has a late night or very early morning, meeting or if Rowan and Sierra are coming up to the city for the weekend. It’s only me and Ciro living there at the moment, and he won’t be home for hours.” I have no clue where Ciro disappears to in his downtime, because we are not close, but he rarely returns home before five a.m. on Saturday nights.
“What about the cameras?”
I tug on her blonde wig. “You’re in disguise.” I smirk. “And I can doctor the tape. Any other objections?”
“I’m not having sex with you,” she whispers, averting her eyes and looking out the window.
That stings. I want to ask her why she was prepared to have sex with a stranger and not me, but I bite my lip and keep those words for the morning. “Natalia. Look at me,” I say, as I turn onto the street that leads to the Mazzone building I live at. “I would never take advantage of you.Never. I am taking you to my home because you are drunk and you need someone to take care of you.” I brush my fingers over her chin. “That person is me.”
Tears well in her eyes as she nods. Leaning over, she kisses my cheek. “Thank you, Leo.”
No, thank you, dolcezza, because I have dreamed of holding you in my arms again while you sleep, for years, and now I’m getting to do it again.
39
Natalia
There’s a mariachi band playing loudly in my head when I wake. Trickles of golden sunlight filter through the blinds, and I squint as my eyes try to adjust to the light. Rubbing my sore temples, I sit up, trying to ignore the screeching, thumping melody bouncing around inside my skull. Wrestling my tongue from the roof of my mouth, I almost gag on the icky taste coating my oral cavity.
Ugh. I am never drinking again, which means I am never returning to Club H. The only way I could work up the courage to go there was by pouring alcohol down my throat.
My fingers trail over the empty space beside me in the bed. It’s still a little warm, so I know Leo can’t have gotten up too long ago. I glance down at myself in his T-shirt, and it all comes flooding back to me.
I guess I passed out when he carried me from the car to the elevator and into his apartment. I barely made it to the bathroom before I heaved up my guts. I remember Leo holding my hair and rubbing my back as I hugged the porcelain god. I was so hot. Sweating under my leather dress. My face was on fire, and my throat was burning. My cheek was plastered to the cool tile floor when I blacked out again. The next thing I recall is being naked with Leo, fully clothed, holding me up in the shower. The cold water was like manna from heaven, and it cooled me down.
Leo increased the temperature, only to wash my hair and my body, and then he wrapped me in a fluffy towel and helped me while I brushed my teeth. He stood outside while I did my business and then carried me into his bedroom.
I rub a hand over my heart when I remember how he carefully combed and then blow-dried my hair before patting my body dry and helping me into his T-shirt and a pair of his boxers. I lift the shirt to my nose, inhaling the citrusy notes of his cologne and the fresh pine smell from whatever laundry detergent is used to wash his clothes.
My eyes dart to the bedside table, finding the half-empty bottle of water. He made me swallow some pain pills, and I shudder at the thought of how much worse my hangover would be without them. Tears prick my eyes when I remember him crawling into bed beside me and holding me in his arms.
