“No.”
“Really?”
I don’t want to move. I want to stay like this as long as we possibly can.
“Can I ask you something?” I whisper.
I take his silence as a yes.
“That necklace, the one that got broken?—”
He sighs. “It was my father’s. My mother gave it to him the day they got married,” he rasps.
Wearing it every day, does it bring him comfort or misery? How is it to live with such weight around his neck?
Time passes in silence. I’m still awake, enjoying his slow breaths and low snore as he naps. I lift my hand to caress the scars on his face, wishing I could make the ones inside him disappear.
“I’m breaking the promise I made to myself many years ago. But it’s okay because it’s for you.” I swallow, feeling so vulnerable and afraid. But I keep whispering, “I’m yours, Luca Nero, even though I know you’ll never belong to me.” I pause, pursing my lips as I try to stop the trembling. “I know that hearing myapology means nothing to you. But I am so sorry. I feel like dying inside every time I think of what my family did to you. I wish I weren’t an Enzino. I wish…I wish I was yours.” I can say all of it only because I know he’s asleep.
Eventually, I curl up against his shoulder and just look at him.
These feelings toward him, I will crumple them up and toss them away. But not yet. Not yet.
The wordaddioin Italian is loosely translated as goodbye, but it’s rarely used. Because it’s meant to be said to someone you’ll never see again.
I tuck myself against him. My eyelids droop as tears escape while echoes ofaddiokeep resounding inside my head.
Chapter Eleven
LUCA
He didn’t finish eating lunch. The words keep echoing in my head as I take a drag from my Toscano. After two weeks, I know most of Art’s annoying quirks and astonishing preferences. Constantly munching on food is essential to him, and he rarely leaves any behind. But when I left, I saw the half-full bowl of spaghetti on the kitchen island.
Why do I keep thinking about that? I walked out of my condo, with him gazing at me, his lower lip pushed out and an almost yearning look in his eyes, silk nightgown open, showing his alluring, naked body. I tried, and failed, not to drink it in, how could I not when I remembered how prettily it breaks under me.
Fucking him bareback is fucking amazing. But pounding him through my cum, knowing I made him soaked, makes me want to hit my chest and roar with satisfaction. I let out a breath and shake my head, feeling my cock hardening. What the actual fuck?
It feels like I’m always ready these days, dick heavy and throbbing. I shouldn’t like that Art craves it as much as I do. But I do. I like it a fucking lot. Just how I liked what he whispered to me when he thought I was asleep.
Jesus, it’s a total mindfuck.
I spent my whole life hating his family, and yet here I am, thinking about what he said. Words that I would normally let slide right past me reached and clanged inside, in a place I didn’t even know still existed.
I inhale the smoke deep in my lungs. I hate this, whatever it is he created inside me. I hate him. I still do, same as always. So what is going on here? Fucking shit! I drop the cigar on the floor and stomp on it just as I hear Marco’s raised voice.
“Is that SGI? Or is that fucker really on fire?” He points at the burning corpse behind me. It has finally stopped moving.
In our line of work, witnessing something like this isn’t common, but not rare either. I do what I’m ordered to keep the family safe. It was ingrained in me since I was a kid. Nevertheless, every time I kill someone, I lose a little piece of my soul that I’ll never get back. When you are raised Catholic, sinning and guilt become part of your everyday life.
The smell of charred meat fills the warehouse, annoying me to no end, and I signal Jeff to open a window.
“Fabrizio Turi asked for a favor,” I explain.
“The mayor’s assistant?” Marco raises his brow in surprise.
“That burning piece of shit got out of jail on a technicality after brutally raping his wife.” He was the son of a billionaire, entitled, perverted prick. This wasn’t the first time his rich daddy paid for a get-out-of-jail-free card.
There’s no selfless reason behind the killing. It’s not a vigilante quest—even though I enjoyed torturing the vile piece of shit—there’s no balancing the tip of the justice scale. We have ulterior motives to help.
