AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Liam held a tumbler of bourbon in one hand while the other was gripping the armrest of the jet’s seat since take off. A little over two hours in, and he had yet to utter a word. His jaw was tense, clenching in rhythmic pulses as something rummaged around his brain that clearly had him tipping into the shadows that lurked in his mind.
I was sure it was related to the reason Matt had called on him to be back in New York ASAP. Was it related to the Mafia? I was almost sure since Liam had dodged every question or conversation about it.
My finger worked in circles on the back of his hand, adopting a calm and soothing rhythm that still did nothing to pull him from the darkness. I watched as the direness etched in his features grew as we got closer to home. Shades of murk clouding his otherwise perfect face.
I had demons lurking in the corner of my mind, too. The uncertainty of what this would look like once we were back to our lives was eating at me inside, still holding on for dear life to the hope that when our little happy bubble burst, it wouldn’t be as bloody as I somehow felt it was going to be.
I’d only had Liam to myself for a couple days, and I was greedy for more. I didn’t want to share him with his life, his business, or even with AD. I wanted more of the dreamy reality we had in LA. Just the two of us, away from everyone and everything that could somehow break this.
I looked up at Liam again, his brows furrowed into a knot of worry that twisted my gut and shattered my heart. Scurrying through last night’s conversation, I tried my best to find a light topic that could maybe distract him from whatever wrinkled his perfect complexion. So I set my tone to candy-sweet as I plastered a smile on my face before pulling him out of his trance.
“Mr. Battaglia,” I called, waiting for him to look at me. He seemed to have enjoyed hearing me call him that last night, even though right now my tone wasn’t drenched in covet as it had been the night before. “Can I ask you another one of my intruding questions?”
“Of course,” Liam replied, a light chuckle escaping his chest and immediately changing his semblance.
I fixed myself on the seat before asking, the movement granting me another smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “From what my books imply, Italians have a strong sense of pride in their legacy. Why don’t you or your brother and sister have more Italian-based names?”
“Is Matteo not Italian enough for you?”
“Well, okay, maybe it is. But Liam isn’t, and definitely not Alison, either.”
“Like I told you yesterday, my father nurtures a special hate for all things Mafia-related. Starting with anything my Grandfather could hold dear. When Matt was born, the big and famous Adrian Dornier was still making a name for himself, mostly traveling around the world, and he was hardly ever around. Let’s just say that my mother won round one and managed to stamp her heritage on my brother, from his name all the way down to his DNA. Matt breathes this stuff as if it were the oxygen in his lungs. But when it came to me and Alison, my father was adamant about drawing a different path for our lives, even choosing our names himself. Liam and Alison, French-influenced, of course.” He paused, taking a sip from the third refill of bourbon in his hand. “Didn’t do him much good, though. I was still brought up and raised as a mafioso. It seems like he wasn’t around as much as he thought he was. Even so, he still managed to rub off on our interests in some way. Both Alison and I still followed in his footsteps, although I do think Alison did it to please him more than herself. Matt, though? He was already a lost cause to Dad.”
There were hints of heavy issues in his words. Still, my intention wasn’t to drench him further into the darkness but to bring him back to the light.
“Thus Matt being in charge.”
“Partly. It’s in his blood. Matt doesn’t exist without the Mafia side, they don’t dissociate. It’s who he is. He just loves the whole thing.”
“What about you?” I bit my tongue as soon as the words left my mouth, and the tension that returned to Liam’s face told me I had stepped exactly where I didn't mean to.
He downed the whole content of the glass before inhaling deeply to reply. “I used to.” It was an admission that I saw cut deep. Liam watched my face, wary of any negative reactions, but I was free of judgment in this conversation. All I wanted was to know him, understand him, love him as he was.
“What changed?” I dared to ask.
Liam’s green irises bored into me in silence for a while as he chose his words carefully. Suddenly I felt stupid to be picking at a scab that seemed to be better off left alone.
“Something happened about a week before I met you. It changed me.” I wanted to pry further, but if Liam felt the need to leave it hanging in the air between us, it was because it wasn’t the right time for him to tell me. It bothered him deeply, that much was clear.
His fingers were back to digging into the leather seat while he gestured to the flight attendant for a refill. Maybe someday he’ll trust me enough to tell me about it.
“Does Alison also work with you and Matt?” I found myself changing the subject, eager to fill a silence that was far from comfortable.
“No. We try as hard as we can to leave her out of it. Just as I tried to stay away from you.”
“What? Why?”
“This life comes with hazard attached to the leg like a fucking leach, Jamie. Those books of yours? They romanticize what they shouldn’t. You shouldn’t want me. You weren’t supposed to come back after I told you what I was.”
“Is that what you want?” My voice was broken, suddenly feeling that Liam was pushing away again.
“Fuck, no. But that just makes me even more of a selfish son of a bitch. I want you so bad that it fucking hurts. The criminal in me doesn’t give a damn about consequences, but the part of me that bleeds for you? That part is petrified of the day that this life will bring you harm.”
Liam
“How was LA?” Matt asked from behind the curtain of smoke he had just puffed into the air. His expression was heavy, his eyes shaded by a darkness that told me whatever business he needed me for wasn’t going to be of my liking.
More so, he was sitting on one of the brown leather couches in his office at Dea Tacita, waiting for me. Not behind his desk, on the couch. That detail alone told me that more than business, this was personal.
