Page 13 of Mafia’s Final Play

Even if he wanted to be with his wife.

She came in just as he put the pasta into a pot of boiling water, Anton not far behind her. This was weird, having Anton around so much but the man was quiet, unobtrusive, and did his duties. That was what mattered. “How’s it looking up there?”

“Good, real good. We have a clear line of sight all around the perimeter and beyond that, it’s just forest. I don’t like that part, but the way the owner put concrete all around the house in an oval shape makes this a lot easier to keep an eye on.”

“Great,” Matteo said as he stirred the pasta. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

The rest of the night was spent watching television with Marie. Anton went back upstairs to keep watch from there, while Matteo would get up every now and then with the excuse of getting a bag of chips or getting them both drink refills. He wouldn’t let her do it, not because he was coddling her, but because he didn’t want her to know that he was also keeping a check.

There was no proof that she was in danger, but Anton hadn’t been able to trace who the contract came from. To Matteo, that meant it was someone with a lot of power, someone like his aunt. Someone that hadn’t yet received what they’d paid for. It was up to him to keep her alive.

The house came with a security system that covered all the windows and doors, as well as a four-foot perimeter outside of the house; they would know if someone tried to get in while they were asleep. That eased some of Matteo’s worries and he went to bed with her that night feeling like everything would be okay, for a little while longer.

They cuddled up close together, the air outside was cold, even for the local average from what he’d seen. There’d been a forecast for snow, but they had food for a couple of weeks, plenty of wood, and enough guns in the place to fight off a small army. They’d make do.

He held Marie tightly that night, once she’d fallen asleep, and even when she made to turn over, he followed her with his own body. He needed her heat, her presence, to be able to breathe like a normal human being. She moaned in her sleep, her arm reached for him, and that need for him made his heart swell with pride and with something that he could only describe as adoration.

How had she come to be so important to him? He could admit now that he’d kidded himself when he asked her to marry him, that part where he told them both that he was only doing it to save her. The first time he’d made her come, had that been it?

He could still remember the way she’d clung to him in the pool, soaking wet and completely his. He’d never had anything, or anyone, that had been so completely his. She’d given herself up to him, even if she had no clue who he really was. Maybe because of it.

That was one of the amazing things about Marie, though, her ability to forgive, to adapt, and move on. She wasn’t like the other women he knew, always looking for the next big thing, always on the prowl for more. She was happy with what she had, and she let him know it every day with her smile.

Even now, so far from everything they knew, she was adapting already. The palm of his hand slid over the soft flannel of her pajamas to the silky skin beneath it. He wasn’t trying to wake her up, all he wanted to do was feel her skin, steal some of her warmth, because even in this cold, she warmed him up. It wasn’t desire, though he had plenty of that for her. No, what he felt now was something he remembered feeling a very long time ago, before Celeste, before the word “mafia” was a term he knew. Back when his mother helped him open his Christmas presents and sat his birthday cake in front of him, brightly lit with candles.

The thing Marie brought to him was comfort, and that was something he couldn’t let go of. He’d known from the first date with her when they’d only shared coffee at that tiny little café in Louisiana that she could make him smile. She’d brought out something protective in him, that was a given, but she’d also given him a gift he hadn’t known he needed. The sensation of being a human that mattered to someone else.

Her eyes had taken him in eagerly, so he’d known there was a sexual attraction there. But the things she asked him, like how he was, if he was doing alright, those were things nobody ever asked him, not even Penelope most of the time. Certainly not Celeste.

For a brief moment, he thought about his mother and her descent into alcoholism. That was Celeste’s fault. She’d taken him away from his mother, left her with nothing, and didn’t even apologize for it. Not that he knew of anyway. She’d taken away her delightful little boy, the one with the smile that made everyone’s heart melt and turned him into a somber, sad little boy that made people look away.

Those that had known him before couldn’t stand to look at what Celeste had done to him. The saddest part was not a single one of them had protested, not even his mother. They’d all done what they were told, so long as their accounts were topped up with their monthly allowances. What was one little boy’s happiness compared to their desire for wealth and all that came with it?

He’d been abandoned a long time ago, but when Marie came along, he’d finally belonged to someone. That hit him in the gut with a hard punch that nearly made his heart stop. He’d assumed that he’d grow bored with her, but he hadn’t, because she showed him what it was to have someone to care for and to be cared for by. He was hers now, not Celeste’s, or even his mother’s. He belonged to her.

He bent his head to inhale the scent left behind by her shampoo. It was always something that smelled of apples. He loved it, he loved her.

Fuck. He was in trouble in a way he’d never thought possible. Despite his shock at the realization, he stayed close to her. Another sign of just how deeply he was in love with her. He’d never needed to hold anyone before, not like he did Marie. For now, he was comfortable admitting it to himself. Maybe one day he’d tell her, but not now. Not when he needed to stay focused.

Maybe when this was all done, he’d take her somewhere nice, on a warm vacation to the tropics perhaps, and tell her exactly how he felt. Until then, he’d just hold her, keep her safe, and make sure his heart didn’t get trampled. As long as he was the only one that knew how much he loved her, his heart was safe, locked inside the cage of his chest where it belonged. One day, when he could, he’d tell her.

7

Marie pushed her hand under her pillow and felt her body relax as she absorbed the cool sensation between the sheet and the pillowcase. Why was that so soothing, she wondered but was soon distracted when Matteo slid in beside of her. They’d spent the day hauling wood into the house, for the two fireplaces downstairs and the one in their bedroom.

It had been a long job, one that Matteo insisted on doing alone, but she’d put her foot down, literally. She’d stomped her foot she was so mad when he told her he didn’t need any help. She smiled at the memory now, at the way he’d laughed before he’d given in and let her come out.

In truth, she’d felt tired and wanted to curl up on the couch and read a book, but it was an opportunity to go outside, so she’d helped him. He’d put his own foot down when she tried to help him carry wood upstairs and had reminded her that she’d had a major surgery not that long ago. She needed to be careful.

She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but she was even more tired by then. She’d felt like her arms were about to detach from her body and her feet were frozen solid, she was sure of it, so arguing was pointless. She’d gone into the kitchen, put on a pot of coffee, and waited for him to finish before she made them both a cup and took the mugs into the living room.

It had been a nice day, despite the work, or maybe because of it. She’d had a nap after lunch, and they’d made dinner together. Those were the only times she saw Anton, at their meals; otherwise, he stayed up there in the attic, keeping watch. He had come down long enough to install cameras on each side of the house before he’d gone back up to watch everything on the television up there. Surely, he must be bored up there? But he didn’t complain, he only came down, answered Matteo’s questions, ate, then went back upstairs.

Now, she was in bed with her husband and the night was eerily dark. She’d explored the house, although bedrooms and a study weren’t that interesting. She’d also found some old books, both fiction and nonfiction, that looked promising. Exhaustion pulled at her, made her yawn as Matteo pulled her close to his warmth. He was like a radiator and she snuggled close to absorb some of his heat.

There was still a chill in the air, even with the fireplace roaring at the other end of the room. A cast-iron screen protected them from sparks or stray pops of overheated wood. The sound of the fire crackling at their feet was kind of soothing.

“We never had a proper fire in our house in Louisiana. There were fireplaces in the bedrooms upstairs, but we never used them. I think because Momma had no idea how to light one.”