by Renee Rose
She yanks the bills against her chest. “No way.”
And that’s when the door opens.
My nonna actually gives a half-shriek, “O-oh-oh!” at seeing Gio.
Gio surges to his feet, ever the gentleman. He greets my grandparents in Italian, as was their custom. “Buon pomeriggio, Beatrice, Luigi.”
Nonno’s upper lip curls slightly as he looks from Gio to me. The betrayal is evident. I brought the enemy into our home. Still, he puts on his act. The one he always puts on for the Tacones when they’re in our shop. “Gio, buon pomeriggio. How are your brothers?”
Okay, so we’re doing chit-chat. Meanwhile, my stomach is a tight twisted ball smashed into my solar plexus.
“Good, good.” Gio squeezes my hand and Nonno’s eagle eye tracks the movement. “Well, I was just going to be on my way.” He turns to Mia. “It was very nice to meet you, young lady.” He holds out his hand and she shakes it with an especially vigorous shake to be silly.
I can hardly get my tongue to untangle to speak. I just stay frozen where I am, not even having the manners to walk Gio to the door. Grateful he didn’t try to stay longer.
He gives me a small lift of the hand before he shuts the door, and for some reason it breaks my heart. I don’t know; there was something stoic and sad about it. Like he was bearing his rejection, but it brought him down.
Dammit.
But I have no time to think about it, because Nonno turns on me immediately. “What was he doing here?”
My instinct is to make something up, to try to minimize this, but there’s no story that would fit or work. I just shrug. “He came with me to hang out with Mia.”
Nonna’s mouth drops open. Nonno’s white brows slam down. “What do you mean? Have you been… seeing this guy? Is he the one you’ve been out with?”
My grandparents have to work hard not to interfere in my dating life. They don’t want me disappearing like my mom did, so they don’t question me too much about where I’ve been spending my nights. You’re an adult, Nonna says out loud when I come home. I’m not going to ask. As if she really is dying to ask and has to say that out loud to keep herself from asking.
“Yes,” I say simply.
More shock and betrayal registers on both their faces, like they were hoping I’d offer some explanation that sat better with them.
“Marissa, after all I’ve told you about the Tacone men—” My grandfather breaks off when he sees me shoot a pointed look at Mia.
“Mia, time for your bath,” my grandmother says, hustling her out of the room. Mia’s eyes are wide, and I’m certain she’ll be straining her ears from the bathroom.
“Nonno, Gio’s not like that. He’s not his dad. Or his brother. Brothers. He’s a really great guy who plays piano and treats me like a princess.”
Nonno rolls his eyes. “For now he does. Just wait until you step out of line or he wants something more than you want to give. Then it will be threats. Violence, even.”
I can’t breathe. My chest feels too tight. My stomach too rock hard to make room for the expansion of my lungs. “No,” I say. “I don’t think that’s true.”
“Is it about the money?” Nonno says and I see the exact moment he realizes what I’ve done. He staggers back a little, face going pale. “Mio Dio. You didn’t… No.” He shakes his head in disbelief.
It’s like the shooting all over again, where time seems to slow. I can see the bad coming, but I’m powerless to stop it. “Mia?” His voice cracks.
All I can do is nod. Admit it.
“No… no. How much?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I try to make my voice come out strong and sure, but it wobbles.
“What was the bargain?” It’s barely more than a whisper. “For you?”
“No!” My eyes burn. Of course it seems like I whored myself out. Sold myself to the devil. This was the moment I was trying to avoid. This terrible, crushing feeling of shame. Doubt that I mean anything to him at all, other than as a possession. “No, I’m his personal chef. I deliver his meals once a week, that’s all. And that’s how I found out… I like him.”
“You like him? You like him? You don’t like a Tacone. You watch your back and hedge your bets and make very sure you never cross one. You need to end things with him right away.”
I lift my chin. “I’m not doing that, Nonno. He’s not what you think. And you’ll come to see that.”
I grab my things and stomp out to take the L to Michelangelo's, even though I have an hour to spare.
I’m shaking all over, sick to my stomach. Totally unnerved.
I’ve never rocked the boat with my grandparents. I’m the overachiever. The one who steps in and takes the burdens. The one who never screws up or causes drama.
Right now I’m imploding. My need to be wanted, to be enough, for all to be right in the world is in conflict with my attraction to Gio.
No, it’s way more than an attraction. I can’t pretend we’re about good sex or even the arrangement I made to borrow that money.
Gio and I have something real.
My grandparents are just going to have to accept that.
Gio
The minute Marissa gets off work, she comes crashing into my arms.
Thank fuck.
But also… fuck. Because she’s upset and exhausted, and I’m not sure I know how to fix this. At least not yet. But I will.
I hold her, kissing her hair and rubbing her back.
“I’m sorry. That was super awkward at my grandparents’, and—”
“Shh.” I push her away enough to cup her face and lift it. I kiss her downturned mouth. “It’s all right for me. How was it for you?”
Her shoulders sag. “Awful. My nonno thinks I’m whoring myself out to you and that you’re dangerous.”
Anger rips through me, but I draw a deep breath to contain it. “You’re not my fucking whore. You’re my girlfriend. At least I want you to be. Did you tell him that?”
She blinks rapidly and drops her forehead against my chest. “You always say the right things, Gio.”
“Believe what I say, Marissa,” I stress, because I’m not sure she does. I lost her back there at her grandparents’ house. Even though she’s here, in my arms, that fissure of doubt I’ve been working so hard to close just became a giant chasm.
“What can I do for you, angel? I’d do anything.”
She sighs and pulls away and that’s when I know I’m right. “I just need to go home tonight.”
Fuck.
She doesn’t mean my home.
And she would have to ask for the one thing I don’t want to grant her.
Freedom.
“Yeah, okay,” I say, dropping my hand into my pocket to pull out my keys. “I’ll drive you.”
“Thanks.” Her shoulders slump as she shrugs on her jacket.
I splay my hand over her lower back and escort her out of the restaurant. “You’re tired, angel. Give it a good night’s sleep and things will seem better in the morning.”
She pokes me with her elbow. “That was the cheesiest line you’ve ever fed me.”
I chuckle. “You’re right. That was lame. But also probably true.”
She stops and tips her face up to mine. “Thanks for being so understanding.” She rises on her tiptoes and hooks a hand behind my neck to kiss me.
Cazzo.
I want her. I always want this girl, and when she kisses me like that, it’s hard to turn off the male aggression she produces in me. I walk her backward until her ass hits my car and press my body up against hers. Wedge one thigh between her legs.
“Don’t be so fucking sweet,” I growl, nipping down her neck. “I don’t want to have to take you back inside and fuck you until you can’t walk straight.”
She giggles, but I still feel the fatigue radiating off her, so I take mercy.
I give her ass a firm, possessive squeeze. “Next time I won’t be so lenient,” I warn, knowing she likes when I get punitive.
“Mmm,” she agrees and kisses me again.
And then it’s back on—her lips sliding over mine, her tongue sweeping into my mouth.
I bend my knees and grind my cock at the apex of her thighs until she moans and tugs at my hair.
“For tonight your punishment will be not getting fucked,” I tell her as I pull away and take in her flushed cheeks, the swollen lips.
She’s so fucking beautiful.
“Mean,” she murmurs, eyes locked on mine, somehow making the one syllable sound sexy and inviting.
“Yes,” I agree, unlocking the car and shifting my weight off her. I open her door and help her in.
I should be content. I’m taking her home, but she’s still giving herself to me. These kisses are honest. The intensity of her gaze is real. Everything between us seems normal. Close even.
Why then, do I have this mounting feeling of dread?
Chapter 14
Marissa
Saturday I go in to help at Milano’s. Everyone’s there—both my grandparents, Lori, Mia, me. They don’t really need me. Maybe I’m just there out of guilt— I don’t know. Trying to still be loved despite my disappointing choice in men. Despite my betrayal.
It’s our busiest day, and I’m working the front counter. That’s why I don’t really notice when he comes in.
I take orders and ring people up and then suddenly, fucking Arnie is standing across the counter.
Holding a gun.
The room spins. Warps.
I have that freaky fishbowl feeling of nothing in focus but his giant face in front of me. Scratch that, the cold muzzle pointed between my eyeballs.
The cafe goes dead quiet.
The metal at my forehead trembles.
“You lost me my job, you little bitch.” He’s drunk. “You couldn’t give me any of that pussy, but you put out for him, huh? Had to go and spread your legs for the new owner? Did you suck his cock, too? Is that how you got me fired?”
A wild, raucous shaking starts in my knees and travels all the way up my skeleton until every bit of me shudders non-stop. My life is in danger, but what registers more is the humiliation.
He’s calling me a whore in front of my grandparents. My eight-year-old cousin.
My aunt.
That’s the part I want to stop.
Maybe because my brain can’t even contemplate the danger I’m in right now.
And then, it starts to.
The memory of six dead bodies on this floor floods my mind. How much blood there was. What it looks like to see brains splattered on the wall.
Paolo paid for cleaners to come and scrub the place last time.
Who will clean my blood?
Crazy thoughts. I’m having crazy thoughts.
“Huh?” Arnie shouts, spittle flying from his mouth. “Did you blow him real good to get me fired?”
The door opens silently. Somehow I know not to look in that direction. Not to take my eyes from the crazy man in front of me.
The guy who’s going to shoot me in front of my family.
And suddenly I want to sob over everything unfinished with Gio. How I haven’t really let him in yet. How I want to.
What would it have been like if I had? Would we have found happiness?
Slowly, very slowly, I raise my shaking palms in the air to show my surrender. “I’m sorry, Arnie,” I whisper. It’s a lie, but I’d say anything right now to keep him from hurting my family. To keep him from open firing in this cafe like Junior did. Gunning down more than just me.
In my periphery, I see the slow approach of a figure. I don’t look, but I register dark clothing.
Gio.
In his usual finely tailored Italian suit. Without moving my eyes, I try to track him. He moves ever-so-slowly. Reaches for his waistband in back, but comes up empty.
Because I made him stop carrying a gun.
The cafe is silent. No one else moves. Mia lets out a small whimper behind me.
“I’m sorry, Arnie,” I repeat, tears filling my eyes. “Can we talk about this? What would it take to make this right?”
I don’t even know how I’m able to form words. My breath is frozen in my throat.
And then in a lightning fast move, Gio grabs the gun from Arnie’s hand and smashes him over the head with it. Arnie’s knees buckle and he goes down fast, but Gio’s already swinging again, smacking his skull with the butt of the gun. Then he drops the gun and uses his fists, smashing Arnie’s face over and over again until blood spurts out and the sound of bone cracking bone turns my stomach.
“Make him stop,” Lori says. The urgency in her tone shakes me out of my shock.
Gio may have ditched the gun, but that doesn’t mean he won’t kill this guy. In fact, he’s already halfway there.
“Make him stop, Marissa,” Mia echoes, and it’s the terror in her voice more than anything that sends me hurtling around the counter.
I latch on to Gio’s arm. “That’s enough!”
He’s lost it, though. I don’t think he even hears me. Gio’s in attack mode. Or more likely, kill mode. It’s horrifying to see the man you love turn into a deadly weapon. He continues beating Arnie with his other arm, like he doesn’t even notice I’m trying to pull him off.
“Gio!” I scream at the top of my lungs.
Now he finally turns and what I see in his expression changes everything.
I see his terror. His eyes are wide and alert. He scans me for injuries as he climbs up, then wraps me up in his arms in a hug so tight I can’t breathe.
“Call 9-1-1,” Lori tells Nonna.
“I already called,” one of the customers says. “Police are on their way.”
Gio won’t let me go. I need him to set me free. To handle this situation.
“You,” Nonno accuses. I don’t have to see to know he’s talking to Gio. But I’m shocked to hear he’s lost his usual amiable, respectful tone when speaking to a Tacone. The venom in his voice is evident this time. “You caused this.” His voice shakes with emotion. I’ve never heard him so upset. “Violence follows you everywhere you go. Why can’t you just leave us alone? Leave us out of it? We don’t want you here. My granddaughter doesn’t want you in her life.”
I stiffen and so does Gio.
His embrace eases slowly until it’s nothing. I’m standing there alone.
“That right, Marissa?” His voice sounds hollow.
I look around. Arnie’s on the floor in a puddle of blood. Mia’s sobbing, staring at him. She’ll be scarred for life by what she just witnessed.
“Luigi, he just saved your granddaughter,” one of the regulars says.
“Yeah,” and “That’s right,” a few others agree.
I want to step back into the circle of those strong arms and let him go on saving me. But my Nonno thinks this is Gio’s fault. And Mia’s still crying, traumatized by what she saw.
And I’m possibly in shock and unable to make a rational decision.
“Maybe you’d better go,” I murmur, not managing to meet his eyes.
The air drops like a bowling ball between us. Heavier than lead. Or maybe that’s my heart—I don’t know.
“Yeah,” Gio says. “Okay. I’m goin’.” And just like that, he walks out.
And that’s when I realize even practically-speaking I just made a huge mistake. The cops will want to talk to him about what happened.
But that’s not why I feel like the walking dead.
It’s because when Gio walked out that door, he took my entire heart with him.
Gio
I’m just finishing washing the blood off my hands and face when the cops show up at my door. They throw their weight around pretty hard, trying to intimidate me. Trying to make this thing with Arnie into something mafia-related. But I’ve been a Tacone too long to even answer their questions without a lawyer present, and since they clearly don’t have anything to even justify taking me in, they leave.
There’s nothing mobster about this situation, even if
I was involved.
But that doesn’t change how everyone sees it. Luigi was so sure it was my fucking fault.
Maybe it was, I don’t know. I didn’t mean to beat the shit out of the guy… aw, who am I kidding? I totally meant to beat the shit out of him. He had a fucking gun to Marissa’s head. I consider myself extremely merciful for not taking the safety off his gun—yeah, the idiot didn’t even know how to use the thing which is why I risked grabbing it from his hand—and shooting him in the head. Or giving him a few more blows with the butt of the pistol and busting his skull open. Or…
No. Planning the guy’s death isn’t the direction I should be going.
I’m pretty sure I broke some bones in his face and ribs. That will have to do. I’ll make sure to visit him in the hospital to let him know if he ever comes near Marissa or her family again, he’s a dead man.
Not just that, I’ll kill his whole fucking family.
Because you do not threaten what belongs to a Tacone.
And Marissa belongs to me.
At least I thought she did.
But things have changed.
I let her see the violent side of me. The son Don Tacone raised came out today. A brutish, violent man. The kind who has killed with his bare hands.
And what they saw can’t be unseen. The little girl—fuck.
That’s the part that makes me want to sink myself in Lake Michigan with a set of cement shoes. I fucking adored that little girl—Marissa’s cousin. And she saw something she never should have seen.
Beatrice, too. And Lori. And all those customers. The innocent should never have to witness such a thing.
If I’d had my head together, if I hadn’t just had the most terrifying sight in my life unfold before my eyes, I would’ve pulled his ass out of there and beat him to a pulp in the alleyway.
Why the fuck didn’t I?
Idiot. Stupid fucking idiot.
I may have just saved my girl only to lose her anyway.
God’s got a pretty fucking shitty sense of humor, doesn’t he?
I pour myself a glass of scotch and gulp half of it down at once.
And that’s when the doorman buzzes. “Luigi Milano here to see you.”