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Imelda looked behind her, went back to close the door, and turned. "Signor Banetti spoke to me this morning. He told me Nonna M. was getting too old to do all the cooking and definitely couldn’t do the cleaning, but that she was stubborn. He said youdidn't really need my help, but if he told Nonna M. I was there for her she would try and stab him with a carving knife."
Which made perfect sense. But why hadn't he told me that? It hurt that he would share with Imelda but not me. “Okay. I’m awake. Give me ten minutes for a shower and I’ll join you downstairs.”
Imelda beamed. “Nonna’s making Maritozzi,” she said in awe. “She told me if I woke you, I could have some.”
I groaned. Maritozzi was soft, sweet dough balls made with flour, oil, sugar, pine nuts, raisins, and candied peel, then stuffed with whipped cream. “You’d better warn Renaldo to bring me clothes in at least two bigger sizes,” I said. “Because I could put on ten pounds just by smelling them.” I headed into the bathroom after she left and congratulated myself. I’d managed not to demand information from Imelda such as if we were eating breakfast on our own. But I knew the likelihood of Dario still being here was less than zero. I could still miss the idea of him though, even if I didn’t miss what I knew was going to be my reality.
I walked into the bathroom naked, and when I couldn’t put it off any longer, I gazed at myself. I immediately zeroed in on the small red mark just above my left pec. Dario’s mark. I hadn’t objected last night so I could hardly be hypocritical about it now. I gazed at the rest of me dispassionately. My cock still seemed semi interested and I groaned, remembering whose hands had held it last night.
I hadn’t had the time or the inclination to even consider any boys at school growing up. I only knew I wasn’t interested in girls. My early teenage years were spent admiring the Banetti boys from afar, especially a certain one, then everything had changed.
What did I want now? I’d never even finished high school. Dario had agreed I was to have a role inla famiglia. He’dpromised I wouldn’t be spending my days like Elisabetta and Sofia. But what would I do?
I wasn’t a fool, but I doubted being a man would make much difference to the role I was expected to perform, or would it? I would rather eat nails than spend any time with Elisabetta and her cronies, or even worse, Sofia. Their idea of good works was attending a $5000 a head reception for whatever charity was in vogue. I also didn’t see myself running around with a gun any time soon either. Even though I'd probably need to learn how to use one.
I wanted more. I just didn’t know what. Should I get my GED? If kids came along somehow, what if I couldn’t do something simple like help them with their homework?
Sighing, I pulled on one of Dario’s tee shirts and some shorts. I didn’t even have a spare pair of briefs. My small case had simply contained some toiletries. I had no idea if I would get my things from Rocco’s and Renaldo had left me only one spare outfit for yesterday. Maybe Imelda could run to Target for me and grab something? I doubted if Renaldo’s styling meant shorts and tees. He probably meant suits for when I accompanied Dario, like yesterday.
Taking a deep breath, I decided the tee shirt and shorts covered enough, because it was either that or dress pants, and went downstairs. I greeted Nonna with a kiss to each cheek, practically inhaled my second cup of coffee and grabbed a stool at the island while I helped myself to too many Maritozzi.
Maybe if I became the size of a house, Dario would divorce me? I gazed out the window, listening to Imelda and Nonna chatter away. Or really, to Nonna chatting in rapid-fire Italian while Imelda just nodded at appropriate intervals because I doubted she understood it all. I certainly didn’t. I knew the basics. I spoke to my mom in Italian, but not for some time, andshe often insisted on switching to English to make sure I was good for school.
I looked at the gorgeous view. Could I be happy here? Maybe. If Dario kept his word. I heard the front door open and the deep voice of one of the guards. It was the second voice that made me freeze. The last time I’d heard it, I’d had a tray thrown at my head.
I barely had time to stand and turn as Sofia waltzed into the kitchen.
Dario
I’d struggled for an hour after Alessandro had passed out, knowing I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t help the sense of satisfaction I enjoyed. Two orgasms had wiped him out. I’d waited until he was dead to the world, then took a shower. I was so hard I hurt, and I had no idea why I hadn’t taken his hot little hole then and there.
Yeah, you do.
One, he was a virgin and would need prep, and two… Two, Alessandro was a business arrangement. In a lot of ways, he was payback.Means to an end.
I’d gazed at him for too long because I knew I might have to kill him. If there was any chance he was involved, he would have to die before this went too much farther. Uncle or no uncle. Iwould never admit to staring at him for any other reason, before silently leaving the room, and summoning my driver.
And, of course, by driver I meant Lucio. I knew he slept as little as I did. He didn’t comment on Alessandro, and I didn’t offer any information.
“Boss?” he asked finally when we drew up at the casino. At a little after four a.m. everything was still very much in full swing.
I considered his question.One word, but I knew what it meant. I would never answer to anyone else, and while I still didn’t have to answer to Lucio, he deserved one. “I need to know he’s not involved.”
Because there was a tiny part of me willing to hold back the monster. Willing to not make him regret the day we married. I didn’t know what else I wanted. I’d long ago accepted my life didn’t involve white picket fences.
“Boss,” The same word, but this time an acknowledgement.
“I need to meet with Gia.” Then we would summon Rocco, but I needed to know what Gianni had found out first.
“He’s waiting for you.”
I snapped my eyes to Lucio. At four a.m. when his lover finished work by one? He might have an apartment below mine, but we both knew he spent most nights with Jo. I didn’t ask why, or even how Lucio knew, just strode in, nodding to the guards and the night manager as I passed the entrance and headed to the elevators, producing the card for the one at the end. The only one that went to the penthouse, and I would still need a code even with the card.
We travelled up silently. It wasn’t unusual. Lucio had never been a man of many words when one would do. And right at that moment, I appreciated it.
Gia was lying on the couch when I walked in, and I carried on straight to the small bar and poured three double measures of the Macallan Lalique.
Gia took his while Lucio gazed at me. I nodded to the couch, answering his silent question. In a lot of ways Lucio was more like my brother than Gia.
