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Massimo was not thinking of him as he still lay in the mental grip of what Alessandro had done to Isotta. Massimo hated how much he connected with what Alessandro had done, how he somehow mentally and physically connected with the pain his archenemy had caused his wife. Isotta was his wife. She belonged to him. Isotta was his for the taking, but someone else had asserted penile authority over her and bent her to his vile will. Unrepentantly so.
Massimo tried to relinquish the lust-filled thoughts he had at the behest of another man’s hands. The only thing that brought Massimo some semblance of peace was that he had ended Alessandro’s miserable life for what he dared do to besmirch Massimo’s family name. His thoughts did give way to the intrusion and moved to Alessandro’s ending. At least he found some semblance of peace there.
Voices trailed in past the closed door to Massimo’s room. He couldn’t make out what was said, but he heard them. He fully expected the voices to fade as they so often did. This time, they didn’t, though. The voices ebbed and flowed as if the conversation moved closer to Massimo instead of a comment in passing as one family member passed another. And then the conversation stopped. Massimo’s ears piqued as he wondered where the noise had gone.
There was a rap at his door.
Before he could invite whoever it was in, his door opened to find his entire family there. Even through injured eyes, Massimo could tell something was amiss. He tried to scoot up higher in his bed so he could clearly see them and their expressions. Giordano and Giuseppe stood slightly in front of his mother, who still had a worried look on her face. The worry had been partly assuaged by what the doctor told them, but it wasn’t gone. Romina still carried worry like a noose around her neck that permeated the space she inhabited.
They had come in, but they were quiet. Massimo expected his mother to move to his bedside, checking on him to ensure he was on the road to recovery. Yet, Romina remained in her place. Her feet did not move toward her son. She was still railing from what was about to be said. The news would be difficult to share with Massimo, and Giordano despised it. He was pissed by it. He knew he had to be the one to share it, however. They were still quiet, with no one saying anything.
Although his father and brother stood in the front, Massimo focused his partially opened eyes on his mother. She would be the most telling, whether she wanted to or not. When their eyes connected, Romina felt the need to vert her gaze as much as possible, but not before Massimo’s eyes had truly connected with hers. Romina felt the need to shift her weight from one foot to the other, barely but evidently. Still, she felt Massimo’s rakingly and steadfastly riveted on hers. Romina dared not return his gaze. She didn’t want there to be a connection.
Giuseppe felt his father flailing at his responsibility; belaboring so, Giuseppe felt the need to speak.
“It’ didn’t work,” Giuseppe began, the words tumbling out.
Massimo scooted up higher in the bed, and his face red as much alarm as he could muster. He disengaged from his mother and engaged his hooded glare at Giuseppe.
“What the fuck do you mean?” Massimo didn’t scream because he couldn’t. Still, his words breach the momentary existence after Giuseppe spoke.
“Alessandro lived.” Giordano finally spoke venomously. It pained him to have to deliver the news to his son, but the delivery was inevitable.
Massimo heard his father, but he didn’t hear him as internal rage bubbled in his gut, replacing everything else. Everything else he needed to be quiet was finally totally silenced. Massimo’s nose flared as much as it could as he breathed heavily, shaking his head as though his father had spoken words of disbelief. But Giordano couldn’t allow his son to not believe.
“Alessandro is alive,” Giordano affirmed. His eyes finally found his sons as Giordano spoke with more conviction. The burgeoning thoughts of what the family’s next steps would be already forming in his mind. Massimo stopped shaking his head as he could no longer deny what had been so plainly spoken. He still couldn’t believe it, though. It made no sense. He was an excellent shot. Massimo had emptied the clip into Alessandro. It just couldn’t be.
“But he won’t be for long,” Giuseppe uttered partially under his breath but loud and clear enough for everyone to hear.
Everyone in the room agreed with Giuseppe, even if they didn’t make any overt gestures to the sort.
“We must move quickly and decisively to bring this thing to an end. The longer it takes, the more opportunity his family will have to retaliate. We can’t have retaliation.” Giordano tried to harness the increased anger he felt. His thoughts were no longer of Romina. His focus was solely on his familia in totality.
They exited Massimo’s room as quietly as they entered. He lay on his bed, still reeling from what had been shared. The mere thought of it was unbelievable. How could Alessandro possibly have lived? Massimo felt deflated because he had been so convinced that he had killed him. Even being a good shot had to be good enough to have offed him. How could he miss vital organs so definitively? Massimo had heard what his father said but struggled to believe him. He didn’t want to show disrespect to his father by questioning what he said, yet he needed to know for sure. Massimo wished he was back at his own home so he could command a servant to make a call, command his guards to act, something to settle the matter once and for all. He started to relax in the bed as much as he could with his thoughts fixed and focused on the undeniable question he still had. Massimo had been physically and mentally tired before, but now, it was merely physical. Massimo’s body had grown tired. His mind was quenched with the possibility that his enemy yet lived.
Although it was difficult and rough to manage, Massimo began to drift off to sleep. He had fallen off so sufficiently that Massimo barely heard the rap at the door. When Massimo didn’t call back, Giuseppe eased the door open and then, looking at his brother, realized that Massimo was closer to sleep than he was awake. Giuseppe moved closer to Massimo, thinking he would confirm that his brother was asleep. But Massimo wasn’t, and the closer Giuseppe got, the more he realized his brother was awake.
“What’s going on Giuseppe?” His slightly slurred speech caught Giuseppe off guard.
“Bad time?” Giuseppe asked.
Massimo shook his head.
Giuseppe took the seat next to his brother’s bed. “How are you holding up? Need anything?”
“No,” Massimo uttered. He took his time with what he said next. “I have to know if Alessandro is dead or alive.”
Giuseppe’s brow wrinkled. “I thought we already knew?”
“Then I need it confirmed.” There was such seriousness, such a no-nonsense way in which Massimo spoke, Giuseppe understood just how serious he was. He tried to minimize the glare Massimo had that felt impenetrable by dropping his gaze. Giuseppe averted Massimo’s eyes as much as he could, but that proved ineffective. Eventually, Giuseppe and Massimo’s eyes met, and Giuseppe understood.
“I’ll make the call,” Giuseppe offered. He lifted himself from the seat and started to make his way out of the room.
“Thank you,” Massimo whispered as Giuseppe closed the door. Massimo returned to slumber and soon found himself asleep.
Isotta and her mother finished their conversation. Although, near the end, they intended it to be more pleasant than it had been, they agreed to separate amicably. Whether it was an actual agreement or not, neither would say, but they did part ways. Isotta slowly strolled back toward the door, but she moved slowly and thoughtfully. The thoughts were unexpected because she didn’t think she’d missed him, but Isotta realized she did. Isotta found herself chuckling and shaking her head. There wasn’t anything to miss, she considered. And then Isotta straightened out her face as she meandered. Isotta found a bench to sit on as the wind blew gently in the trees. She sat there and allowed her mind to wander, ruminating on what she actually missed about her husband. There was certainly enough for her to be angry of, shaken by, and disconcerted with.
Isotta allowed her eyes to roam vacantly in the countryside and her mind to wander and then focus on what about her husband she missed, or maybe even what she really wanted from him, needed from him. The first touch to Isotta’s inner sanctum was methodical. Massimo slowly inserted his finger, exploring the width and depth of her jewel and then finding her pearl that he massaged gently and then more vigorously. Isotta whimpered as her hot juices coated his probing finger. And then, Massimo’s movements were like a pendulum, his hand pulling back just a little, pushing just a little more - the inertia from the movement and his long, firm finger fucking her gently. When Massimo inserted a second finger, Isotta’s pussy walls collapsed around them, tightening, and she whimpered even more. She couldn’t resist his touch, even if she wanted to. Massimo used that to his fullest advantage, the finger fuck intensifying. Isotta was practically losing her mind. Her libido was in overdrive, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. There wasn’t a damn thing she wanted to do about it, either.
