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“Just the Capos' wives and daughters, Don, as usual.” I nod in silent dismissal, and Luigia goes back down the stairs while I remain standing on the landing.
I should have seen this coming. Any remnant of the tranquility established by the receptivity shown by me at Francisca Corleone's wedding, weeks ago, went down the drainwith the photos published yesterday, even though today they are nothing more than shadows to be forgotten. I should have known my mother would be more of a problem to manage. There's just one thing that isn't making sense.
“Luigia,” I call, turning my body slightly when the housekeeper reaches the top step of the stairs.
“Yes, Don,” she responds, turning fully toward me.
“Did Gabriella really forget her bag?” Knowingbambina's resistance to using the accessory, the only reason for Gabriella to take a bag from one wing of the house to the other would be to have somewhere to store her cell phone, she would never leave it behind.
“No, Don Vittorio.”
***
Gabriella's chest stopped rising and falling at the same rate approximately ten minutes ago. She's pretending to be asleep and I'm letting her, because even after spending the last two hours watching her sleep, I still haven't decided what to do.
The girl never says no to me and yet she was able to find a way to challenge me, there is some merit in that. I admit to myself as I observe the small body, completely tangled up in the light sheets, complete opposites of mine. I don't like it.
It was the first time since the night of Massimo's birthday ball that I entered Gabriella's room and the changes the environment underwent were easy to notice. The first and most striking of these is the absence of a nest of sheets and pillows on the floor. The second are the drawings.
They are scattered everywhere. Attached to the walls and windows, on the dresser, on the desk and on every surface. The curious thing is that, for the most part, they are differentversions of the same image. As if she couldn't stop drawing the same thing until she achieved the result she wanted.
That wouldn't surprise me at all. Gabriella has a resilience that I have rarely seen. And that's why I didn't have to try hard to imagine what happened at that women's tea. Because as much as she is resilient, thebambinais resigned.
I spent the first few minutes in her room analyzing her peaceful, sleeping face, completely free of signs of crying. I know the worldview of the people under my command. I wouldn't be surprised if a foreigner, in Gabriella's condition, when thrown into the middle of a hungry group of femalefamigliamembers, cried. But she didn't cry. If she did, it wasn't enough to leave a trace.
I get up from the armchair and, now barefoot, walk over to her bed. I lie down next to her, with my back on the mattress and my stomach up, and, if before her breathing had lost regularity, now it is completely suspended.
“You've mastered the skill of not blushing while pretending to sleep, Gabriella, but stopping your breathing also gives you away,” I warn, just turning her face towards her and thebambina's eyes open. In three quick movements, I pull away the thin sheet that covered Gabriella, put my arm under her small body and pull her, positioning her on top of mine. “Ciao, Bellamia.” I kiss the tip of her nose, and Gabriella sighs.
The strap of her nightshirt slips off her shoulder, revealing more of her chest, and my mouth waters. That simple. All the girl needs to do to make me horny is exist.
“Good morning.”
“Why aren't you in my bed?” I tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“I didn't know I was supposed to sleep there even when you weren't home.” The hoarse voice, after hours without use, is as delightful to hear as on any occasion.
“So, let's establish here and now that no matter the circumstance, it's my bed you sleep in.” Maintaining her lead in our game of obedience, Gabriella nods, biting her lip, and then looks away from mine.
I stop the anxious smile from spreading across my face, because that's enough to tell me what I want to know.
“How was your day yesterday,bambina?” I ask, feeling generous. Her dark eyes keep evading mine when the mouth responds.
“Normal, I guess.”
“Normal,” I repeat the word slowly, letting it echo between us, and Gabriella insists on not looking at me until I reverse our positions and trap her body between my legs.
Her eyes widen as they focus on mine, and I place my lips on one side of her face. I intertwine our fingers and lift our arms above her head, onto the pillows.
I run my nose across her cheek, jaw, neck, infiltrate the tip through the strands of hair covering her collarbones, feeling the absence of my scent on her skin. The fragrance of my soap is in place, but my smell, that of our mixed sweat, is not.
“Normal,” I say again before nibbling Gabriella's lower lip. Her body already reacts to my touches, even if they are subtle.
Her limbs softened, her breathing began to show signs of uncontrollability and her pupils dilated. I drag my teeth down, scratching her chin and throat until I reach her chest where I leave small hickeys before licking the abused skin.
“Normal,” I say for the third time and sneak my tongue under the seam of Gabriella's shirt.
I force my face down, forcing the fabric to give until my mouth reaches a hard nipple, I circle it with my tongue and suck. Thebambinabreaks into a pleasant moan before gasping and moving her hips in reflex.
