“You want something to drink?” He strolled over to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. “Something to eat?”
“No, thank you.” Milan took a seat on the opposite couch from where the blow job had occurred.
Adriano flopped down next to him as he said a firm, “No.”
I said nothing, quietly walking over to the view of the city from the large windows.
“What about you,tesoro?”
It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me. I hadn’t expected him to be so kind for a man who was in the same line of work as my father. “Oh, I’m okay, thank you.”
“Well, let me know if you change your mind.” Francesco strolled toward me, toward the view of Chicago I was staring at. “How are you after the…attack?”
His words were careful, almost cautious, and I wanted to blurt and ask him what he and Adriano had been doing together at the wedding, but it wasn’t the time with Milan here, so I simply smiled and said, “Fine, thank you. I just hope they don’t decide to do it again. Once was enough for me.”
Francesco huffed a laugh. “They can’t. Milan had them all killed. Thank god. Parasites, all of them, always stealing and killing and?—”
“What?” I whirled on him, frowning deeply. “When?”
Surprise blanched his face, and he blinked at me for a moment before he chanced a glance behind him to where Milan and Adriano were sitting. Francesco cleared his throat and changed the subject, saying, “So, you like my house?”
I was relieved that the Camorra had been eradicated after what they’d done; I just hadn’t thought Milan had found time to do that. It sent a spark of unease through me that he was powerful enough to order an entire group of people dead, but this was Milan Lucca, and I shouldn’t have expected otherwise.
Going along with Francesco’s change of topic, seeing as he was clearly uncomfortable, I remembered the awe I’d felt going into the building and smiled as I replied, “That obvious? I’m half-tempted to ask your neighbors for tours of their apartments too.”
“No need, they’re all empty. I’ll show you around them if you want.”
“Empty?” My brows rose. “Why?”
He chuckled, guiding me to the couch with a gentle hand on my spine, but not to the blow job spot. “I own them all. I like property, it’s my thing.”
If property was his thing, did that mean he wasn’t involved with the prostitute business that the Outfit was known for? If that was the case, I felt a little less bad about enjoying his company. Like Adriano, being in Francesco’s presence felt like sitting by a fire in the cold.
I sighed into the seat, but Milan beckoned me with his fingers like I was some kind of dog. “Do not sit on that couch, Sicily.”
Francesco tutted loudly. “I haven’t fucked there, I promise.” He turned to me, leaning in close to whisper, “So dramatic. How’ve you coped with him so far?”
That bubble of loneliness popped at his joke, and I scooted closer to him, just to be with someone else who seemed to want me around.
Milan clasped his hands back into his lap, and Adriano reached across him to gently squeeze his wrists. Adriano was the only one who could undo his compulsions, and maybe he would be my way into understanding what Milan had done in his past.
“We need to discuss the Outfit, Francesco,” Milan said casually, not wasting any time.
The Capo froze, his shoulder tensing against mine, his eyes flickering to Adriano’s briefly. “Okay…”
“Adrian mentioned that you are aggrievedwith your status as Capo dei Capi.”
I narrowed my eyes on Adriano, but he remained firmly fixated on Francesco. There was so much longing there, so much aching tension, that the burning need to paint that look forced me to find the stray pen forgotten on the arm of the couch. A receipt was balled on the side table, discarded too, and the two connected in my mind instantly. I snatched them both, unraveling the paper to find Francesco’s purchases.
I smirked.
Cigarettes, strawberry candy, and condoms.
Theessentials,of course, considering Adriano smoked those cigarettes and had eaten that exact candy every night after dinner.The condoms were probably for him too.
I unclicked the cap of the pen and began to scrawl on the back of it. One line turned into a jawline, a second into a gaze of longing, the third becoming a small heart by the nose.
Francesco shrugged. “My father’s retired and left me in this crock of shit. Half of Chicago thinks it’s fine to abuse women, the other half are spending all the cash—it’s a fucking nightmare."
