by Renee Rose
That’s the thing about Italian family. They’re always up in your business. Have to know every fucking detail.
“It was Luigi. He showed up here with a box of cassette tapes.”
Paolo instantly understands. “No fucking way.”
“Yeah. And the one he played implicated both you and Junior. Nothing big, but who knows what else he has. Twenty years of them, he says. Says if anything happens to him, the lawyer will release them.”
“Wait, wait, wait. Back up. What did the testa di cazzo want?”
I blink my bleary eyes and look around for something else to drink.
Paolo hits my arm with the back of his hand. “To leave the girl alone?”
“Yeah. Exactly.”
“Why? You were good to her. Right? You didn’t fuck around on her?”
“Of course not.” I scrub a hand across my face and pad into the kitchen in my bare feet, looking for something alcoholic.
“Then why?” Paolo demands, trailing me into the kitchen.
I pick up an empty wine bottle and shake it. There’s only a swallow left. I tip it up to my mouth. Make that half a swallow.
Paolo grabs the bottle from my hand and gives me an expectant look.
“What? Oh.” I turn to look out the window at Lake Michigan. “Do you believe in fate, Paolo?”
My brother gives me a shove. “Shut the fuck up about fate. Just tell me what the hell happened.”
Okay. Skip the fate part. The recurring nightmare that warned me my girl was in danger before she was even my girl.
“I beat the shit out of a guy in Milano’s.”
Paolo whistles. “That’s too bad. What happened?”
“See, he had a gun to my girl’s head.”
Paolo nods like that was definitely enough said. “Surprised you didn’t kill him.”
I shrug. “I’ve changed. But not enough, I guess.”
“That’s bullshit. Seriously, man, that’s total bullshit.”
I look back out over the water of the lake, the waves as gray as the sky today. “Do you think my life was spared just so I would save hers, Paolo?”
“What?”
“And like, now I’ve served my purpose?”
Paolo, being the loving, supportive brother he’s always been, punches me in the gut again. When I straighten from being doubled over, he slaps my face. “Get in the fucking shower before I beat the shit out of you.”
“Nice,” I mutter, but I drag my ass to the bathroom. There’s no way I’d win a fight against my big brother right now. Even if I had any fight left in me, which I don’t. “Real fucking nice.”
I stand under the spray of water until it turns cold. Even then, I keep standing under it. I don’t wash my hair. I don’t soap up. I just stand there and let it drench me.
Hoping it will wash away all the shit I’ve done and said in my life. Every bad deed. Every act of violence. Everything it means to be a Tacone.
Too bad such a thing isn’t possible.
Chapter 16
Marissa
I’m working until close at Milano’s. No customers are in the place, but my nonno’s in back, doing inventory. It reminds me of the evening Gio first walked in. Maybe that’s why I’m half-expecting him to show up.
Or maybe it’s just wild, undying hope.
Like the hope that my mom will one day show up and apologize for missing my childhood.
Yeah, right.
But when I catch the deep tones of Gio’s voice coming from the back, my heart surges into my throat.
He’s here.
Talking to Nonno. Maybe fixing things.
That’s how stupid my mind is.
I go stand just outside the doorway to the storeroom just to be sure my fanciful thoughts are shit. And they are.
It’s not Gio, but it sounds a lot like him. “You don’t blackmail a Tacone and live to tell about it, old man.”
A Tacone. My heart starts racing.
Gio’s brother, then. Which one? Not Junior. Must be Paolo.
“You banked on my brother loving that granddaughter of yours too much to kill you, but me? No such qualms, il vecchio. I’m fucking ruthless. Especially when it comes to looking after my younger brother.”
“If you shoot me, the evidence goes to the police. Twenty years of tapes implicating everyone in your organization.”
I shove my knuckles in my mouth to keep from saying anything. My grandfather blackmailed them with old tapes?
Is this the real reason Gio broke up with me?
“Then they go. There is no organization left. The police aren’t going to go chasing people down on petty crimes that happened twenty years ago.”
“You don’t know that.” I hear a mixture of fear and defiance in my grandfather’s voice.
“You listen to me. We almost lost Gio last year. And when he came back? He was a ghost of his former self. But with Marissa, he came back to life. He was happy—maybe for the first time ever. And you just couldn’t fucking take that, could you? What did Gio ever do to you, huh? Your beef is with our old man, but you just can’t let it go. You had to get back at him by destroying something beautiful. Tell me, Luigi, does your granddaughter know what you did?”
I draw a deep breath and walk through the door. “Know what?”
Paolo’s leaning against a crate, a pistol held casually in his hand, resting on his thigh. My grandfather is squared off to him in the middle of the storeroom.
“Cazzo.” Paolo immediately stuffs the gun in the back of his pants like he doesn’t want me to see it.
“Know what?” I repeat.
Paolo lifts his chin at my grandfather. “Tell her.”
My palms sweat. My breath is shaky. “Tell me what, Nonno?” I’m already close to tears.
My grandfather’s chin juts out. “I told Gio to stay away from you or I’d go to the cops with evidence I’ve collected over the years.”
My lower lip starts to tremble, but it’s anger that fills my gut. “Why, Nonno?”
“Why? Because that man is trouble for you. He’s violent. You saw what he did to your old boss.”
“Gio protected me. He saved me from being molested by that boss by buying the restaurant and firing him. And then he saved my life when Arnie showed up here for revenge. Just like he saved our family when Mia needed her surgery. So, if you get that Gio’s anything but the hero in this story—in my story—then I don’t think you care about me at all.” Hot, angry tears course down my face.
Now I understand why Lori used that tone of accusation when she told my grandparents how heartbroken I was. They must all know what Nonno did.
How could they?
The sense of betrayal cleaves me in two.
Nonno spreads his hands. For the first time, he looks uncertain. “Marissa, of course I care about you.”
I rip off my apron. “I’m done. I work my ass off to take care of everyone in this family and when I finally find someone who wants to take care of me, this is what you do to him.” I throw the apron on the floor. “Well, I won’t have it. If you don’t destroy every bit of that evidence and make things right with the man I love, you’ll never see me again.”
It’s an insane thing to say. Especially for me—the person so terrified of being abandoned by the people she loves. For me to threaten the end of our relationship is nuts.
But I mean every word of it. I’m not going to let them keep me from the one shot I had at a decent, loving relationship.
“Where are you going?” Nonno calls to my back as I march out the door to the alleyway.
“To see Gio,” I mutter.
I’m halfway to the L stop when a gorgeous Porsche 911 pulls up beside me. “I’ll drive you, Marissa.” It’s Paolo.
No more Miss Independent. It’s time to accept help when it’s offered. Accept and appreciate. I climb in. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Listen…” He pauses like he’s not sure what to say.
My anger with my grandfather clears eno
ugh for me to realize he’s in danger.
“He won’t turn the evidence in, Paolo,” I say quickly. “I’m sure of it. If he really wanted to take anyone down, he would’ve done it years ago. It was insurance for a moment like this.”
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. It was a bluff. He’s got too much to lose.” Paolo shoots me a glance. “I was going to tell you not to worry about him. I would never harm the old man or anyone in your family. Okay?”
“Because Gio cares about me?”
“For sure because of that. But even if he didn’t, our families have history. Like you said, your grandfather could’ve turned those in years ago, but he didn’t. And you covered for us when the bratva wanted to kill us all. You tried to warn us. I’m not going to throw that away over an old man getting cantankerous.”
I let out a little puff of air. “Cantankerous. You’re a lot more forgiving than I’m feeling right now.” I look at his profile. He looks like Gio, only the energy is tougher. Meaner. He’s thicker through the shoulders, and the lines on his face make him appear more rugged. “Thank you for trying to fix this, Paolo.” I reel, thinking about how different my life might look if I’d never found out the truth. If I went through life thinking Gio threw me away. I never would’ve trusted in love again. I would’ve barricaded my heart up even tighter and never let someone in. Instead, right now my heart’s been rent in two, emotion gushing out on all sides.
“Marissa… Gio may not be in a fit state to talk when you get there.”
Alarm kicks through me. Of course Gio’s suffered, too. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, he was pretty broken up over losing you, doll. Just cut him some slack if he’s not presentable.”
My mind races over how I can contribute to Gio. What would make up for these horrible weeks of being apart.
“Um… can we… do you mind making a stop? I-I’d like to bring some groceries over.”
Paolo shoots me a dubious look.
“To make him dinner.”
“Ah. Right. I forgot you’re a chef. Sure.” He changes lanes and gets me to a grocery store. I don’t have my wallet with me, or my phone, since I stormed out without taking my purse, but I do have the tip money I made today in my pocket. It should be enough to buy some meat and vegetables. The rest I can improvise.
I just hope I can make things right.
Gio
While I was in the shower, Paolo threw out all the bottles and empty food cartons from my place and cracked some windows to air out the place.
The shower helped, but it still didn’t bring me back to the land of the living. I’ve been standing at the window, staring out at the water for God knows how long. Hours, maybe, judging by the way my feet hurt. Or maybe that’s just because they’re not used to me being upright.
I hear the tap at the door, but I don’t move.
It doesn’t quite register. Not as something that requires a response.
I turn when the door pushes open, though. Paolo must’ve left it unlocked when he left. I blink because I’m pretty sure what I see is a hallucination. Am I sober yet? I can’t remember when I finished that last bottle of Jack. This morning? Last night? Is this some kind of drunk dream? Because I see Marissa coming through my doorway, her whiskey-colored hair pulled up in a messy bun on the top of her head, a few pieces falling loose around her pretty face.
She has groceries in her arms, like this is her regular night, and she’s here to cook me dinner.
When I don’t say anything, she slips into the kitchen.
Oh, my fucking God, this is real. She’s actually here.
I scrub a hand over my unshaven face, grateful I’m at least clean. Relatively sober.
Wait… why is she here? I ended things. At least I thought I did. We can’t do this. Not without me bringing my entire family down in a shitstorm with the feds.
I make my way to the kitchen and then stop short.
Marissa’s stripped off her clothes and is wearing nothing but an apron as she pours olive oil in a frying pan.
I lean in the doorway to watch. That’s when I see the tears streaking her face.
“That’s pretty, angel,” I say softly. She turns and gives me the most vulnerable, adoring look over her shoulder.
It nearly knocks me to my ass.
I walk forward slowly, afraid if I move too fast, I’ll pounce. “It would be prettier without the tears, though.” I slide my arms around her waist from behind and kiss her neck.
She leans right back into my arms, swaying like she wants to dance.
My brain keeps shouting at me to stop touching her. Get her out of my place.
But I simply can’t handle breaking up with her twice. It’s too much to bear. I’d rather have this night and die tomorrow than reject one moment of this sweetness.
“Baby,” I murmur at the shell of her ear. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you, too,” she chokes, fresh tears streaking down her cheeks. The oil starts to smoke in the pan and she turns off the burner. “I heard what Nonno did,” she says.
Now I’m dizzy. “Cazzo, angel. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“No.” She turns around, suddenly fierce. “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m the one who’s sorry. I pushed you away at every turn, and all you wanted to do was give to me. Protect me.” The vulnerability flashes on her face again, but she swallows and says, “Love me?”
“Si, bambina.” I don’t know why it’s easier to say in Italian. But I man up and switch back to English. “I love you.”
“I want you, Gio.”
I don’t think she means just sexually. I think she means it in the entirety of having me, which she already has. But my cock reacts strongly to her words, and suddenly her ass is in my hands and I’m lifting her up to straddle my waist as I kiss the ever-loving fuck out of her. Her hips hit the counter and I grind my cock against the flap of apron fabric covering her bare pussy.
“I only want you,” I tell her between fierce kisses. Between teeth knocking teeth and tangled tongues. Bruising kisses meant to claim. Punish. Reward.
She gives it back for all she’s worth. Her palms grip my face and she moves her lips frantically across mine, twisting and tasting, consuming.
Needing her somewhere I can pound into her without leaving bruises, I carry her out of the kitchen, into my bedroom, where we tear off each other’s clothes. Well, I tear off her apron, and she tears off my clothes. I may like to be the guy in charge normally, but her enthusiasm—her desperation—throw me into ecstasy before I even get her pinned to the bed.
And when I do?
Fucking homecoming.
I do a piss-poor job of foreplay, but it doesn’t matter. She’s wet for me. Which is good, because I’m shoving into her before my brain even registers the command.
I pin her wrists down and surge inside her. She alternates between closing her eyes and getting lost in lust and snapping them open and staring intently into mine. Like she’s afraid of losing me.
Like she thinks I’d ever walk away from her again.
“This is it,” I tell her, dipping deep, working a circular thrusting motion that I never want to stop. “No more running away from me.”
She shakes her head. “No more running,” she agrees. “I’m sorry, Gio.”
“No. Don’t be sorry,” I say between thrusts. “I’m not scolding. I’m telling you I’m not letting you go again. This time you stay. Forever.”
She does that getting teary thing, so I kiss the fuck out of her again, and then I roll her over and bang her from behind.
It feels so good to be inside her again. So right. I hold her shoulder and disrespect the hell out of her body, and all the while, she makes these desperate moans and uh-ah-uhs that make my dick even harder for her.
And I’m not going to last much longer.
“Are you close, angel? Push up so I can pinch those nipples.”
She lifts her chest from the bed, and I tweak and roll one taut nippl
e between my fingers. “I’m not close,” she pants.
Fuck. I try to dial it back.
“I’m ready.”
And there I go. I’m already spurting before I even go deep. I thrust a few times, then bury myself to the hilt and undulate my hips so I stroke inside her while staying firmly inside.
I watch all the muscles of her back tighten as her cunt squeezes tight. Her ass and thighs go rigid, legs wide, and I’m already sorry it’s over because I want to fuck her again.
She’s so damn beautiful.
I keep the slow internal stroking until we both stop coming. Even then I don’t want to stop. And that’s when I realize I forgot a condom.
I’d be a liar if I said I was sorry. I never wanted kids before and I may be forty, but I would give everything to make a family with Marissa. But of course it should’ve been discussed.
I ease out and drop to my side. “I went in bareback, angel. I’m sorry, I lost my head. I promise I’m clean.”
“I know,” she murmurs, turning her face toward me.
I stroke down her spine, admiring the gentle curve. I settle my palm on her ass and cup it. “It doesn’t matter because I’m keeping you,” I declare, although I watch her face closely as I go in for a kiss.
She’s happy. I don’t know how I can tell, but I can. She never wanted me to give her up, despite all her pushing away.
“I’m sorry I didn’t fight to keep you, angel. I just couldn’t go up against someone you love. Someone who cares about you and wants the best for you.”
Her jaw sets and she shakes her head. “If he cared about me he wouldn’t have hurt me this way.”
I tug the scrunchie holding her mussed hair in the loose bun on top of her head and watch the honey-colored locks tumble down to her shoulders. “How did you find out?”
“Paolo came over to have a discussion with him.”
A jolt of alarm runs through me. I sit up. “Oh shit.”
“No, no, no.” She grabs my arm, also sitting up. My brain stutters at the sight of her small breasts, but I jerk my attention back to the problem at hand. Namely—my brother. “It’s all right. He told me he would never hurt him.” Tears fill her eyes. “He actually gave my grandfather quite a speech about how…” She swallows.