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Cece swipes her tears from her face and takes both of my hands in hers in an effort to ground me.
“I’m so happy you’re happy about Micah,” she says. She smiles but the joy doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ve dreamed of us being a proper family all these years, but I’m afraid it’s not going to be as easy as that.”
“What do you mean?” I ask as an unwelcome image of Lombardi enters my mind. Is he going to try to cause us more trouble?
She brings my hands to her mouth and kisses them. There’s an aura of sadness about her as she brings them down to her lap. “My father disapproves of you,” she says. “He will never accept you as part of my life. He won’t even allow me to speak your name in his presence. He thinks you held me against my will in Naples, and that Micah is a result of you forcing yourself on me.”
I’m aghast at her revelation. “But that’s crazy!”
“I know! But he won’t hear it, Michael,” she cries. “You have to remember that I was missing for over two weeks, and I still don’t remember everything that happened. I don’t know who took me, I don’t know why, and I don’t know where you found me. Neither does Papa, so he has filled in the blanks himself, and that’s what he believes. As much as I would love to move in with you, I won’t be able to without my father’s blessing.”
“Cecelia DeMarco, I want you, and I want Micah, and I want us to live together as a proper family. I want to marry you one day, have more babies with you, live my life with you. Is that what you want too?” I release my hands and cup her beautiful face.
“I do, Michael, I do,” she says, more happy tears spilling onto her cheeks.
“Then I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to earn your father’s respect. He will give us his blessing; you have my word on that.”
She peppers my face with kisses before throwing her arms around me and holding me tightly. I wrap my arms around her waist and nestle my face into her neck, breathing in her unique Cecelia scent and feeling like the luckiest man alive. Yes, we have a challenge to face where her father’s concerned, but I meant every word: I will do whatever it takes to gain acceptance into her family, so that we can become one too.
“So,” I say, pulling back and gazing at her, “when can I meet my son?”
Thirteen
RAPHAEL
It’s been almost a week since I last saw Cecelia. The longest we’ve ever gone without seeing or speaking to each other since we first became friends at school. Well, that’s not strictly true as I can see her right now, but she can’t see me. She’s bending down to kiss Micah goodbye and handing him his superhero lunchbox before he goes into school, and the tight blue jeans she’s wearing show off her fine ass to perfection. I could just walk up to her right now and start talking—act normal, make her laugh—like I have done loads of times in the past whenever we’ve had a silly argument, but I’ve got a feeling talking’s not gonna cut it this time. I think back to the night in the hotel. Yeah, she was sniveling a bit, fighting against the effects of the drug at the start, but I know that if we’d had longer together, she would have admitted she wanted me, that she was just playing the part when she was tied up, despite what she said in the bar. Other girls have liked it. Lesser, skanky girls—some paid for when I’ve had spare cash—that I’ve had to make do with while I waited for the right time with Cece.
I can feel myself getting hard as I remember that tight black dress she was wearing, how it rode up her smooth, olive-skinned thighs revealing flashes of her black lace panties as she writhed and wriggled, pretending to be shocked and scandalized, when I could clearly see she was turned on. Her dilated pupils, her flushed neck and cheeks, and her erect nipples practically popping through the stretchy material of her dress gave her away. And the fact that she wore such a seductive dress with no bra in the first place meant she was secretly hoping for this to happen. Nobody wears something like that when they’re out with their ‘brother’! How I wish I’d had time to slide my hand between those long legs of hers, feel the dampness of her panties, expose those beautiful naked breasts, feel her nipples as I flicked them against my tongue, see the pleasure in her eyes as she finally gave in to her obvious desire. I would have given her the goddamn night of her life.
But fucking Michael Luciano stormed in and ruined everything! How did he even know we were there? Talk about a cock-block. I scowl as I recall the photos and video footage that I took that I could have enjoyed in the aftermath, and forevermore, but that gorilla of his—the guy from the bar—took my phone. Can’t erase the wank bank though, and I’ve got plenty to keep me going for a while.
As I sip my takeaway coffee, I watch Cecelia wave and laugh as Micah strides happily inside, as confident as ever. He’s such a cute kid. I remember meeting him just after he was born. Cece introduced me as Uncle Raph-Raph and I have never seen her look more beautiful than she did that day. The love was just shining out of her like a blazing sun in a cloudless sky. In contrast, I felt such dark envy, worried that she wouldn’t have time for me anymore, that the baby with the secret father would usurp me in her affections. But that didn’t happen. And as Micah grew, my own affection for him grew too and I began to harbor thoughts of him calling me Papa one day. Of us being a proper family. The Lombardis.
But now that I’ve seen Luciano up close and personal, I’m even more convinced that Micah is his son. Does he know? Did he take Cece somewhere after he scooped her up and out of the hotel and put another little Luciano inside her? Probably. I would have done, if I was him. Rage swells inside me as I think about him getting the benefit of that aphrodisiac rather than me. Christ, imagining everything I missed out makes me want to punch this wall I’m leaning against.
After the school bell rings to signal the start of the school day, Cece stays at the school gates to exchange pleasantries with a couple of the other mothers, but another eyes me warily as she passes by me on this side of the street, and I’m reminded again about the state of my face. A broken nose, two black eyes and an almighty lump on my forehead. I was out for the count after that punch and headbutt in the hotel, yet somehow ended up at home, which means they know where I live. Another reason for my decision to lay low for a while, until I figure out how to fix all this. Get things with Cece and I back on track.
It still makes me laugh remembering my father’s shocked face when I regained consciousness in the garden the following morning, out by the pool house. I didn’t think I could disappoint him and my mother any more than I already do, but that disapproving look said otherwise. No sympathy for his battered son though. Maybe he was annoyed he hadn’t done it himself; makes a change for someone else to be smacking me about. My mother took me to the hospital to get seen to, firing questions at me the whole way there, but I just laid my head against the window and zoned her out, feeling sorry for myself and thinking about my missed night with Cece.
Since then, I’ve tried to get back in Cece’s good graces. And Connie’s, because if there’s one thing I know for sure it’s that if I’ve upset one sister, I’ve upset the other too. They don’t keep secrets, never have. I’ve sent gifts of flowers and chocolates with notes—some serious, some more light-hearted and jokey as is our usual three amicis shorthand—but no forgiveness has been forthcoming as yet. I haven’t got my phone though, so if either one of them has messaged or called, I wouldn’t know. I need to sort a new one. Cece’s probably just making me sweat. And if there’s one useful thing my father has taught me over the years, it’s to give a woman space if she’s mad at you. It’s one of the rules he lives by and puts into practice often. So, I’m biding my time with Cecelia too.
I tail her home, enjoying the view of her sweet ass wiggling and her long hair swaying in between ducking behind walls and posts and cars, making sure she doesn’t see me. I’m quite practiced in the art of surveillance now, given that I track her most days. As I follow her, hating Luciano more with every step, I think again about how I might approach the situation from a different direction. How I might win her back. And then I remember something Rocco said once, and I realize I might already have an alternative avenue to pursue. I smirk to myself as I think it through, the idea coming into view like a developing Polaroid. Reluctantly, I gaze at Cece one last time, throw my empty coffee cup on the ground then head off towards town instead.
As soon as I buy a replacement phone, I call Rocco. His is the only number I know off by heart apart from Cece’s, and I ask him to send me Bruno’s number. Rocco says he’s the go-to guy for locked-down information about anyone or anything. I hope he’s right.
One to mind his own business, Rocco doesn’t ask any questions and the number comes through almost instantaneously. I then text Bruno what I need and smile. The wheels are in motion. Cecelia DeMarco will be mine.
After dark, I head down to Ballaro after the street market has packed up, to meet Bruno, as arranged. The colorfully tented stalls have all gone and the tall buildings either side of the market seem imposing in the shadows, their facades dirty and crumbling and their windows like empty black eyes keeping watch. There’s a lingering smell of seafood in the air and small piles of squashed fruit and litter on the ground. A homeless man is settling down for the night in one of the boarded-up doorways and I wonder if I’m going to end up there one day, if I can’t get my life back on track. I scour the square anxiously and tap my foot impatiently as I wait.
“What’s up?” Bruno says a few minutes later, raising his chin towards me as I slide in the passenger bucket seat of his sleek black Maserati. His large features dominate his slim face, and he has acne along his stubbled jawline. Two thick gold chains hang around his neck. He leaves the purring engine idling and doesn’t make eye contact in favor of glancing about around us, his thumb hooking his chin and his index finger across his top lip. Ballaro is simultaneously a meeting place and a crime scene, and it pays to be on your guard.
“What you got for me?” I ask, staring out the windshield myself.
He clucks his tongue and rubs his closely shaved head with one hand while holding out his other hand and rubbing his fingers together. I press the folded wad of money I stole from my father’s office into his palm. I feel no guilt; my father really should start getting some new hiding places if he doesn’t want me finding his stashes.
Bruno unfolds it, counts it, and then slides it into his pocket before reeling off a few short facts in a disinterested tone. From what I’ve heard from Rocco, Bruno always delivers news efficiently. He delivers other things efficiently too, apparently, if you get on his bad side. He’s younger than me but clearly well-established judging by the car, his clothes and jewelry, and his obvious air of confidence.
“Luciano shot Anthony ‘Rooster’ Ricci dead, five years ago. Dockside shoot out. Naples. Got sent down. Served time in Secondigliano prison. Early release for good behavior a couple of months back. Heads up a new outfit here in Sicily now.”
