I stay there while she writhes on the sheets, all restraint crumbling as the waves of her orgasms sweep over her.
When Constance finally pulls my head up, gasping for me to let her catch her breath, I crawl my way up her body, lining myself up with her slick entrance and filling her in one smooth push. She gasps into my mouth as our lips meet. I can feel her thighs tremble with the force of another orgasm sweeping through her at my invasion.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, making love. Nothing else matters in those moments except our two bodies finding pleasure, relief, and comfort in each other. This is exactly what I needed tonight after all the loss.
Afterward, as I lay beside her still breathing heavily and trying to recover, I finally let myself speak the truth. “I didn’t mean to try to keep you from your revenge,” I confess. “I’m just terrified something else will happen to you. I love you, Constance.”
I can barely see her expression in the darkness, but under my hand her breathing catches; she freezes for a moment, her hesitation heavy in the silence.
I slide my hand down and grab hers, then bring it up to my lips. “Don’t say anything. Just let me love you. When this is all over, when the Volkovs are gone, we’ll build something new. Together.”
She pulls me closer and puts her head against my chest. Her soft nod is enough. For tonight, it’s enough.
37
“You’ll make a damn good mom someday, sweetheart. You got your mother’s heart, thank God. And if I’m lucky, I’ll get to spoil your kids the way you deserved to be spoiled.”
—ROBERT MONROE
Constance
It must belate in the morning since thin bands of light are peeking through the blackout curtains. I roll away from the light to try to find Maximo, but my searching hand finds only a warm indentation in the bed where he had been lying. A moment later the stubble of his chin tickles my ear as he leans down and kisses me from behind.
“I’m going downstairs to the lobby. Tony should’ve dropped off an overnight bag from the house with some fresh clothes.I’ll grab them and come right back. I already ordered some breakfast to be sent up.”
Maximo presses another kiss to my temple before leaving the room. After the door clicks and locks behind him, I sink back into the pillows, the sheets tangled around me, fighting the dull throb in my skull. My stomach lurches, dizziness slamming into me when I try to sit up. The doctor called it a concussion, but deep down I’m not convinced that’s the only reason I feel like I’m going to be sick.
The doctor’s words replay in my head—you’re in the early days of pregnancy—and the room tilts all over again.
I struggle out of bed, every limb sore, and make my way stiffly to the bathroom.
I’m about to step back into the shower when Maximo returns with the overnight bag. I can hear him speaking to a server, and once I’m sure they are gone, I stick my head outside of the bathroom to see what they’ve brought. The cart wheeled in is stacked with plates of eggs, fruit, coffee, and toast. Maximo pours me a cup of coffee and offers it to me, but even the smell of it turns my stomach. Still, I take it from him with a smile I don’t quite feel.
“Thank you. I’ll run through the shower and then be right out to eat,” I tell him as I close the bathroom door and set the mug on the sink.
“How are you feeling this morning?” Maximo asks me from beyond the door. “Everything okay?”
I stand there, one hand pressed to my stomach. The confession pushes up into my throat. I almost tell him. Almost blurt it all out.
But when I open my mouth the words that come out are, “Sure, I’m just a little stiff from sleeping so well. I’ll be fine after some hot water.”
I climb into the shower and let the heat soak into me, tryingto decide what to do. I know I have to tell Maximo. Just not yet. Not while the Volkovs are still breathing. If he knows, he’ll sideline me, wrap me in bubble wrap, and I can’t let that happen, not when we’re this close.
Even as determined as I am to see my father avenged, I almost crack as we sit together at the small table, the words trying to spill out of me between forkfuls of eggs and toast as I choke down breakfast. Before I can summon up the courage, his phone lights up again, buzzing angrily with another message from Il Diavolo Bianco.
Maximo reads the message, his jaw tightening. “He wants to meet at an empty hangar out at Teterboro Airport, over in Jersey. His turf.”
I can hear the scorn in his voice. “That’s where we went when the police raided the Volkovs’ jet, right? Why would they want to meet up there?”
He glances at me as he thumbs back a reply. “It could be any number of reasons. Maybe they’re planning an ambush, or they want a lot of security cameras around them. Either way, it’s not happening. They don’t pick the ground. If they’re going to insist on this mediation, it will be on grounds I choose.”
“What did you have in mind?” I ask.
“I’m going to have them meet us at the junkyard in Brooklyn, one of my properties. It’s been a useful place in the past to dispose of problems, and it’ll do just fine for this one.” Maximo sends his reply and sets his phone down to continue eating.
The response is quick, his phone dinging again before he can get his fork to his mouth. He scoffs as he reads the reply, then hands the phone to me to read the message.
The junkyard? That hardly sets the tone for peace, Maximo. We want this to be resolved like gentlemen, without any more bloodshed.
