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Chapter Nine - Luca
Jimmy.
My eyes fly open, and his name is on my lips. Jimmy. I was about to call out for Jimmy in my dream. A dream so vivid I can still see it in front of me.
But this isn’t a dream. I’m living in reality, and in reality, he’s dead. He might as well have pulled the trigger himself. He knew he was betraying me and he did it anyway.
It wasn’t like that a few minutes ago, when I was sleeping. We were kids, playing on the grounds while our fathers held meetings in the study. My study, now. Back then, it was the last place either of us wanted to be—not that we were welcome, of course. We were still too young for either of our fathers to want us included in their business. Only once we got a little older were we brought into the fold.
We used to spend endless summer days out there. Climbing the trees, spying on the groundskeepers and the guards who patrolled. Sometimes when we were in a particularly mischievous mood, we’d drop twigs and acorns on their heads. It didn’t take long for word to get back to the old man, and he put a stop to that in no time. We were interfering in important work.
And when I made the mistake of disparaging what the groundskeepers did—they were only gardeners, pulling weeds and trimming the shrubs—I got a solid backhand across the face for my disrespect. There’s no such thing as useless work, he told me. Everybody’s job is important. It was a valuable lesson, if a painful one.
That’s where we were in my dream. In the trees, pretending to be spies. Sending messages in morse code over walkie talkies. Wondering if we’d be able to go in the pool after lunch, knowing Mom would warn us against swimming so soon after eating. Jesus, our entire lives revolved around shit like that. I can hardly imagine it now. It seemed so damn important.
I never would have believed it if somebody told me back then that by the time I turned thirty, I would be sleeping in the master suite. In the bed my parents shared, if not the same mattress. Certain things I had to update. But most of this room is the same, just like most of the house is, too.
It wasn’t supposed to happen this soon. We were supposed to have more time. And I’m supposed to have my best friend with me, the muscle to Jock’s strategic mind.
And I can’t go back. There’s no going back. I can’t change my mind, it’s too late, it’s over. Jimmy is gone. If only it didn’t feel like what was left of me went with him.
My pillow is damp from the sweat that rolled from my skin when I was asleep. I can’t stand lying here a second longer, so I sit up, then get out of bed to peel off my sweat-dampened tee and replace it with a clean one. It’s barely three o’clock, and I have to wonder whether I’ll be able to get back to sleep tonight. My brain is clicking, memories overlapping, jostling for attention.
And oh, God, the house is so empty. I open my bedroom door, nodding in acknowledgement of the guard standing opposite. “Everything alright, Mr. Bruno?” he asks.
“Fine, Scott. Everything in order?”
“Yes, Sir,” he murmurs. I nod again, then continue down the hall. Even my quiet, barefoot steps have a sound when everything is so deafeningly silent otherwise. I value peace and quiet, perhaps because I’ve had so little of it in my life. But there’s something to be said for a house full of people, too. Family, guests. That was one thing my parents always loved. Having guests in the house—friends, extended family, the more the merrier.
The house feels like a tomb now. Someday, it will be the way it was before. I need to get things in order, is all. I don’t know when the day will come or how I’ll know it for sure, but I have to believe it will. The day I can sit back with some degree of confidence and tell myself we’re secure. We’re settled.
I can’t help feeling that day should have come by now. More than a year into my reign as head of this family, I should be able to say we’re steady. But I can’t, and I have no idea when I’ll be able to.
I don’t know where I’m going until I’m there, standing outside the bedroom door. What led me here? Not the need for comfort, certainly. I know better than to look for that here. I know better than to look for it anywhere in my life. There’s no such thing.
Yet when my hand closes over the knob, I know it was the right choice. This is where I want to be, where I need to be. What’s the use of having an outlet if I don’t take advantage of it?
She doesn’t stir right away when I open the door, but then I’m not unpracticed at entering a room silently. Back in the day, there were many rooms. Many targets. Loose ends that needed tying up, loudmouths that needed silencing. I know there are people who’d like to believe I started at the top and stayed there, being the eldest son of Dominic Bruno, but that wasn’t the way my father did business. He refused to ask anyone to do a job he’d never had to do himself. That included murder.
That’s not what I’m here for now. Not when the sight of the exquisite creature in the bed stirs hunger I’ve ignored for too long. Women have been the last thing on my mind—our working girls notwithstanding. My right hand has gotten a workout in the shower on the regular, but even that hasn’t been as frequent as it used to be. I don’t think it’s a matter of age. I’m only thirty, not fifty or even forty. I still wake up with wood.
I haven’t had the bandwidth, is all. Too much on-the-job training, too much exhaustion. Some nights I don’t lay my head on the pillow until it’s almost dawn. I don’t think I could be blamed for forgetting there such a thing as women for awhile.
Now, there’s no forgetting. I draw closer to the bed, my eyes fixed on her. She left the drapes pulled back, and the moonlight flowing into the room gives me a clear view of her beautiful face relaxed in sleep. She has one hand up by her face, the other resting on her stomach. It rises and falls evenly with every breath.
She’s exquisite. Perfect. She may as well be on a platter, waiting for me to enjoy every last bite.
It isn’t until I lift a corner of the blanket that she stirs. I wait, watching intently as she comes to life. Her blue eyes meet mine, and for one moment I know she’s too confused and fuzzy to understand.
That doesn’t last long. She pushes herself halfway up before I can put a finger to my lips. “You don’t want to alert the guards,” I warn her, throwing back the blankets all at once.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, scooting across the bed as if that will help her get away from me.
“What does it look like?” I reach out and she tries to kick my hand away, but all that does is solidify my intentions. She thinks it will be that easy? All she’s doing is wasting time. “You’re going to start earning your keep. Or have you forgotten our arrangement?”
It’s incredible. That’s all it took for her to stop fighting. When I take hold of her ankle and pull her closer, she slides my way without protest. Her blue eyes are wide, her breath coming in short little gasps, but she’s succumbed.
And she’s all mine. Like a living, breathing toy built for my pleasure. My hunger stirs again, stronger this time, ready to consume me by the time my hands begin to consume the unbelievably smooth skin of her calves, her knees, her thighs. The oversized t-shirt passing for a nightgown slides up those thighs until it hovers around her hips.
