“You better be at the slaughterhouse when I get there tonight, you useless piece of shit! Coretti thinks he has the upper hand now, breathing down my neck because of you!” I can imagine the spit flying out of his mouth.
“I will,” I tell him.
He ignores it. “Thank your lucky stars I need this marriage, or I’d have already turned my best guns toward that fucker’s place.”
He hangs up, and my hand drops at my side.
Didn’t he do it already at the safe house? If he wasn’t the one responsible for the shooting, who was? Coretti?Cazzo! This is bad. Do I really want to go back to that pit of snakes?
Just when I started to think that I could make it, my father latches onto me and pulls me back in by the ankles. Luca is the only thing that could keep me from drowning, but I’m not sure he wouldn’t push me under water after he gets his revenge. It doesn’t really matter. I’m trapped from all sides, however I don’t need to find a way out anymore.
I leave the bathroom and drop the phone in my duffel bag before moving back to the kitchen, where the pancakes have turned cold. I don’t feel like eating anymore; lack of appetite is my body’s typical response to my father’s abusive nature—hate, fear, and contempt go hand in hand with it. I tear a piece of pancake with my fingers and shove it into my mouth anyway. Then I open the maple plastic jar and take a long sniff. I told my father I’d be there tonight, but I have no idea how I’m going to leave here.
Another sniff and my neurons seem to get fired up. I got a plan. Well, half a plan…an outline of a plan. It doesn’t matter since I have time to turn it tangible enough. I keep drinking and eating, giving little pieces of apple to Nacho. But instead of thinking solely of a way to escape, my mind starts to wander and ends up on Luca again.
I knew he was only a temporary fix. It was supposed to be one of the many distractions I used to forget. After all, there is noway he wants to keep playing this hate-fuck game much longer. I don’t know what I feel for him. I don’t. But one thing is for sure: from the moment I met him, I wanted those green eyes on me, no matter how much he disliked me, treated me poorly, or pushed me away. Because when he looks at me, I see limitless possibilities in those pools, I see a different, brave Art Enzino. And I like him.
It’s fucking crazy, right? I spent a little more than two weeks with the wacko. It’s nothing, not enough. But because of the dangerous circumstances and the sharing of all those uncontrollable emotions, it feels like we’ve been together for months. I don’t know much about him, but all the little things I’m learning are neatly tucked away inside my mind. Like something precious I should cherish.
Sweet J, Arturo Enzino is one lousy poet.
I know Luca Nero is a bad man. But I see his loyalty toward the Leone family, I feel his incredible perseverance in avenging his parents and I hear the hidden affection every time he tells Marco and Fly to fuck off, because I know he’d die to protect them. He even shielded me from those bullets and saved me from those men. Me! Someone whom he hates. It’s rare to find a mobster with such principles in the criminal world, the same world I was born into and forced to remain in. So he’s a bad man, but he is the best bad man I’ve ever encountered.
When I’m done with the food, I look down and catch Nacho humping one of the cushions on the sofa. Luca is really going to throw him off the building if he keeps at it. My dog loves napping on Luca’s clothes when he’s not home and following him everywhere when he comes back. It seems like I’m not the only one interested in the grunting mobster.
I huff and walk back to the bedroom. I kind of got used to the minimal design, it makes me feel lighter, and with a little warm touch, it could even become cozy. The day Luca lets someone in, they’ll add that extra something. The thought saddens me a little since it will never be me. Not in a million years. Never. Never. Fuck, it hurts. It’s good that I didn’t unpack my bags since I’m going to leave tonight.
I look around the room, and my eyes fall on the lavender plant on the windowsill, which I discovered was Fly’s present. It’s the only splash of color in the room—not including his accessories. I move to the walk-in closet and look at the somber dark suits and shirts lined up. Next to them, all the neckties hang from the tie rack. All the shades of a rainbow and different bold patterns: geometric, plain, paisley, novelty. They feel so soft under my fingers. One of them is in the shape of a snake. I fucking love this about him, how the no-nonsense, rough, temperamental giant has a thing for eccentric accessories. I heard somewhere that a matching tie and pocket square is a no-no—I open the long drawer filled with hankies—the goal is to create harmony between them, by allowing colors to complement oneanother. Luca certainly knows how to do that.
I should have bought something he could look at for his birthday. Like that plant. But would he even have kept it? I’m still the son of the man who sent his father to jail to die and the half-brother of the psycho who murdered his mother and left him for dead. That’s what he sees when he looks at me.
A long, hopeless sigh leaves my lips as I turn around and stride back into the bedroom. Nacho is playing with Luca’s sock—my furry baby is not going to like leaving here. I move to the nightstand to grab a Butterfinger, but my gaze finds Luca’s necklace in a small ceramic tray. It’s still broken. My fingersbrush over the pendant. The Archangel Michael is a protector just like Luca is, the killer of evil. Maybe I can show him my gratitude if I fix the necklace. Maybe I can make the shop deliver it here. And maybe he’d contact me after?
The temptation is too strong, and without a second thought, I grab it and put it in the duffel bag’s pocket. Then I move to the laundry basket and grab a couple of his dirty shirts and stuff them inside too. It’s stupid, but I want to take his scent with me. I add a couple of socks for Nacho.
Luca said to get my ass sloppy and ready for when he comes back after lunch. So I start preparing myself. I take a very long bath, apply the apple body cream he seems to love, and then choose the sluttiest, sultriest lingerie Fly gave me. A black crotchless bodysuit with a fishnet waist and lace-front panties. The see-through halter-neck cupsend in an elastic neck strap that I’m looking forward to him pulling on as he rides me. It feels incredible on my skin and looks even better on me.
I cover it with a white nightgown made of silk and then do my hair and makeup. When I’m done, it’s time for lunch. Carlo waves at the bag on the coffee table before he closes the front door behind him. Is he going to be the one I need to trick later? Damn it, I hope it won’t be him. He’s my favorite guard.
I only eat half a bowl of spaghetti. My father’s voice is still echoing inside my head as I brush my teeth. I can’t shake off the anxiety. It’s clinging to me, mixed with an ominous feeling. I’m actually terrified by my emotions. They are so deep that their roots have more hidden roots. I hear the front door opening and closing. Then footsteps coming closer and closer until Luca’s massive figure appears on the bathroom threshold—followed by a barking Nacho.
He lets his gaze slide up and down my body and then focuses it on my face. “What happened?”
I’m a little more than vexed by the fact that he didn’t even show a smidge of appreciation for my look. But the care he’s showing toward me soothes the irritation.
“Enzino?”
I huff. He used my given name before. So why does he keep calling me that? To infuriate me? It’s like he’s trying to put a wall between us. Of course he is. Can I blame him?
“So? I’m waiting.” The arrogant dick sounds impatient—patting my dog on the head to make him stop jumping.
Can he read my face now? Perceptive, Captain-America-chested bastard. Wrong analogy. What’s the name of a brawny villain? Because as sure as fuck, Luca Nero is no hero, not even an anti-hero.
“You didn’t finish lunch,” he insists. Then his hand lifts and his thumb brushes the corner of my mouth. Toothpaste. Instead of wiping it off on a towel, he sucks it off his finger.
The mundane gesture gives more room to the deep sadness inside my chest. Because this, this closeness will end tonight. My body seems to want to linger in front of him, but I won’t be able to hide my inner struggle much longer. I try to pass by him and out of the bathroom, but he blocks me.
“You get a deep line between your eyebrows when your mind goes somewhere you don’t want it to. What is it?” His hand grips my chin.
