Page 47 of The Beast Who Begged Me

Rosa and I let Sammy talk, both of us happy to hear him so happy. He even cuts himself off once with a sheepish grin and says, “Sorry, I’m kinda rambling.”

“No, you’re not,” I reply. “It’s fascinating. Tell us more.”

It’s not fascinating. But it is heartwarming, just to see him so obviously into someone who is legitimately a good guy. Ricky and I aren’t what I’d call close, but he’s always shown himself to be considerate and thoughtful. Dami just gets too protective of Sammy to see that Ricky is an overall positive in his life.

After dinner, I go up to bed and read until I pass out. Dami comes in late and ignores my sleepy question about where he’s been. He just takes the book from my chest, sets it on the nightstand, and turns out the light. When he slides in next to me, I curl into him.

He doesn’t pull away. And he smells different than usual. He smells like…I’m not sure. Like cedar wood and sweat.

“More lessons,” I murmur as I drift off. “Tomorrow.”

He sighs, but he doesn’t disagree.

It’s enough for tonight.

Dami is sleeping so soundly when I wake up that I pause and wait for him to breathe, just to make sure he’s still alive. Whatever he’s doing each day, it’s keeping him exhausted. But then, he always was a sound sleeper. I slide out of the bed quietly, pull on his robe out of habit, then head downstairs.

I pause by the open door of Luca D’Amato’s study. He’s kept the chessboard mid-play, where we left it last time. A standing game. I go in and move my remaining knight back to protect my king.

“Sure you want to do that?” asks a voice from the door.

I turn to see Finch, dressed in a silk robe and lounging pants, his pink hair damp and combed back from his high-cheekboned face. “Do you play?” I ask, as he enters the room to look over the board.

There’s only a hint of a smile on his face when he glances back up at me. “I taught my husband.”

“I should go,” I say, though I don’t move. “Dami wants to spend an hour on self-defense each morning.”

He looks me up and down. “Yeah. We’re aware, Cal. And can I give you some advice?”

I smile. “Please.”

“Don’t take that show on the road. For example, to dinner on Saturday night? Rossi and Alessi won’t be impressed by it.”

“I’m sorry if the performance wasn’t to your liking.”

He laughs. “Pretty sure our entertainment wasn’t the point.”

I look down at the chessboard, at the remaining white knight riding close to his king. Finch seems to have worked out my play pretty easily. Dami knows what I want, too. I told him straight out in the shower. He keeps acting like he has no right to give it to me.

And I get it. I do. But I need him dangerous again if I’m going to have any chance of reviving the Family.

Mostly, if I’m honest, it’s about me. Us. I hate watching him want me and then punish himself for it. He’ll follow my orders, protect me, help me find answers. But apparently believing he’s still allowed to have me is asking too fucking much.

I raise my head and ask Finch, “Any more advice for the game?”

All amusement dies from his face. “Get ready to prove yourself with Sal and Joe. They’re not going to be happy about a revived Clemenza Family.”

I take it in, nod, and then leave him there. When I return to the bedroom, Dami is awake, sitting on the side of the bed, and the look of relief on his face when he sees me makes my heart squeeze.

But I don’t show it. Sometimes Dami needs me on my knees, and sometimes he needs to be on his. I’m starting to see that now. We will never be equals. We’ll always have that push-pull between us. And right now, I’m the one with the upper hand.

“At last,” I say coolly. “I thought you’d never wake up. I thought you wanted me to take the self-defense lessons seriously, Dami?”

He looks me up and down, still blinking away sleep. “Oh, I do,” he growls at last. “Let’s get moving.”

But when we’re down there on the mats again, he resists all my advances. He really does want to teach me to defend myself, so I find myself repeating and repeating hold-breaks until—according to Dami—the muscle memory will kick in.

“And then what?” I ask at last, tired and aching.