I took a seat opposite the bed, staring intently at how he allowed Francesco to be so rough with him, his hair being pulled, his body beingused.Typically, whenever we had shared women in the past, he had been dominant, even more so than me, but he was simply moaning into his pillow and permitting this.
It indicated a high level of trust and familiarity, and clearly he was enjoying it, so I sat back in the armchair opposite his bed, took out my phone, and began to look at photos of Sicily from the wedding. I had not understood the point of hiring a photographer back then, but I was grateful to myself now. There were photos of her from the wedding, photos of her from events, but my favorites were the photos of her that Adriano liked totake from around the house. She was napping on the couch like a cat in one, eating a bowl of cereal with a grin in another, laughing with pancake batter on her nose in the last. I found beauty a difficult concept to quantify, but my wife was beautiful in every possible way, even in the ones where she glared at me as though she possessed a world of hatred in those deep green eyes.
A chuckle slipped free as I analyzed that one.
It was strange how one photograph could create so many feelings. Perhaps it was happiness, or humor, or l?—
“What the actual fuck are you doing here?”
My head lifted to meet his gaze. “Good evening, Francesco,” I answered. “I live here; this is my home. You should have let me know you were visiting; I would have made myself available to greet you.”
Adriano’s jaw was agape as he stared at me, still beneath Francesco. He seemed to be shocked, like he was doing something that he was not allowed to do.
“Why didn’t you knock?” Francesco said, removing his grip on Adriano’s curls to gesture to the door as if I did not understand the concept of knocking or what a door was.
Adriano made a sound that suggested he might have wanted to speak but could not, or at least chose not to.
I shrugged. “I have not knocked on Adriano’s door once in my entire life. I will adjust my behavior and knock next time.” A silent moment passed before I noticed that they were both still staring at me. “Did you want me to leave?”
Francesco drove his hips forward once, causing Adriano to groan. “I don’t care, just let me make him come before you kick me out.”
I frowned. I would not kick out Adriano’s partners; that would be suboptimal for his emotional processing, but before I could say that, the two were continuing, harder this time as though they were in a rush.
My eyes closed as I yawned, and I thought of being warm in bed with Sicily instead of sitting here. She had accepted me as I was with all my faults, and letting her go, even upstairs, made memissher.
When the pair came loudly,together,which I thought was most sexually optimal, I stood and entered Adriano’s dark green bathroom to find a towel for the pair, but was greeted with Adriano following me, unblinking and flushed instead.
I could not deduce his expression to one emotion. It was rather confusing.
“Are you well?” I asked him, handing him the towel.
Adriano did not nod. He snatched the towel out of my hands, running it over his sweat-soaked hair before taking a pair of discarded sweatpants from the floor and slipping them on.
I frowned as I watched him. I had never seen Adriano this way. He was distressed, and I could not understand why.
He stared at himself in the wide mirror above the sink, shaking his head at himself.
I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Adrian?—”
“Why are you here?” he asked roughly.
Though I could not entirely figure out why, this conversation did not seem appropriate given Adriano’s current distress, but he waited, staring at me in the mirror like he did truly want to know. I whispered, to keep the conversation away from Francesco, still just beyond the door, “I told Sicily. About it all.”
“You did?” He frowned deeply. “I thought you didn’t want her to know?”
“I did not, but she said she would not leave and she kept her word.”
The door creaked, and both of our attentions turned to the doorway where Francesco had covered his previous nakedness with sweatpants and a soft shirt that was definitely Adriano’s,and was leaning against the doorframe with a smile that made his dimples pop.
“Nothing says romance like loving your man over his life-binding contract.”
I blinked.Howdid he know?
Adriano’s face and ears tinged pink as he blurted, “I told him too.”
“And you trust that he would not tell your father that he is aware of the contract?” I asked.
Diego Sansone, my father’s ex-Consigliere, Adriano’s father, was the enforcer of the contract that had changed our lives. If we did not obey the rules, if we told anyone, Diego had the right to end our lives, and kill those we trusted, all on my deceased father’s behalf. Even if Diego died, there were clauses in place to keep the terms alive.
