"Good to know," he says. "I'm down at Cobalt. Come have a drink with me. We'll chat."
"I would if I could," I reply. "I'm out of town."
"Yeah? Where you at?"
"Rome."
"Rome," he echoes. "That's a little more than out of town, Vitale. That's a whole different country. Something come up?"
"No, it's not business," I say. "It's personal."
He's quiet, so quiet I'd think he hung up if I couldn't hear the clatter of the club in the background. I wait him out, sitting in silence. It takes nearly a full minute before he speaks again. "You took the Rita girl to Italy?"
"I did."
He's quiet, again, but not as long this time. "The misses is having a dinner party next weekend. Saturday. I know you've been busy, but I'd like it if you found the time to come."
"I'll be there."
"Good," he says. "And bring the girl with you."
The line goes dead before I can conjure up a response to that. Sighing, I just sit there, reveling in the silence for a moment, taking a moment of peace for myself. I clutch the phone in both hands, my elbows resting on my legs, as I stare at nothing, trying to clear my head.
The glass door from the room slides open after a while. I glance that way as Karissa stalls in the doorway, wearing a sleeveless flowered dress that falls just above her knees.
"We just have to wait on the thingy to turn green," she says, holding a user's manual in her hand, her eyes scanning it. It's bigger than the one for the coffee machine I bought her, but she didn't hesitate to utilize this one.
"Waiting on the thingy," I repeat, "to turn green."
"Yep." She glances at me. "It shouldn't take too long, right?"
"Your guess is as good as mine."
Two hours later, the light on the charger is still yellow. Karissa runs around, fixing her hair, putting on makeup, changing shoes half a dozen times, all the while telling me how sorry she is for holding us up. I can only take it for so long before I step in the room and grasp ahold of her hips when she tries to walk past me, locking her in place. "Stop apologizing."
"But—"
As soon as she tries to speak, the light on the charger flickers, turning green. I motion toward it. "See? It's ready."
Ten minutes later, we're finally out the door, camera in her hand, the first shoes she tried on back on her feet. It's still early, barely ten o'clock in the morning as we set off through the streets.
"Where are we going?" she asks.
"Where do you want to go?"
"Anywhere," she says, shrugging.
"Huh."
"What?"
"For someone who dreamed of coming to Italy, you're awfully indecisive."
She rolls her eyes. "Okay, fine. The right answer would've been everywhere. I want to see everything, so I'll go anywhere, really, wherever you take me, because I want to do it all. Better?"
"Better."
We hit the usual tourist spots, museums and churches, taking in the Pantheon, the Piazza Navona, and the Spanish Steps. She snaps picture after picture excitedly, and I just watch her, admiring her enthusiasm. We grab a light lunch at a small café before making our way to the Colosseum. The lines are ridiculously long, but I see Karissa's expression light up as she eyes it, so there's no way we can skip it.
We get in the back of the line to wait. Karissa snaps a few pictures from the outside, taking in the scenery, the picture-perfect little tourist with the camera glued to her face. It's almost like I'm not even around, and that's okay for the moment, I think. Her guard's down, defenses lowered.
It's the whole point in coming here. If it means me being ignored, so be it.
As long as she's happy…
After nearly thirty minutes we're finally to the front. I buy two tickets and we make our way around the winding paths into the Colosseum. Her eyes light up as she takes it the sight of the interior, parts of the ancient amphitheater crumbling and withering away, but even I have to admit it's a magnificent beast of concrete and stone.
Karissa snaps more pictures as we walk around before she lowers the camera and approaches a free railing, giving her a better view all around.
"It's beautiful," she says quietly, staring down at the exposed underground tunnels. "I wish I could've been here back then and seen it all in tact."
I can't help myself. I laugh at the reverence in her voice. It's not mocking, although the look she casts me makes me think it sounds that way. "Yeah, that would be nice, I guess, if you like that sort of thing."
"What sort of thing?"
"Mass slaughtering."
Her eyes widen.
I laugh again.
So innocent.
"What did you think the Romans used this place for, Karissa?"
"I don't know," she says. "Plays, and shows, or sports, or like, festivals."
"Oh, they were festivals, all right," I say. "Just the kind that involved a lot of gore."
"I mean, I knew there were gladiators," she says as I step closer, pausing beside her at the railing. "I knew people watched them fight to the death sometimes. But they were warriors."
So naïve.
"Back then, they'd execute thousands of people in one day," I say. "And they certainly weren't humane about it. There would be so much blood they'd have to put down a layer of sand on the floor to soak it up. They'd unleash lions on unarmed men, and fifty thousand people would sit in this place and watch them be ripped apart, piece-by-piece. You wouldn't have lasted a minute in one of those seats, Karissa. You couldn't even watch the boxing match in Vegas without shielding your eyes when somebody got hit."
She looks torn between fascination and revulsion. "We just waited in line for half an hour to stand inside what's practically an execution chamber? Why?"
"Because, like you said, it's beautiful."
"Death?"
"I meant the Colosseum, but sure." I casually lean against the railing, eyeing her peculiarly. "Death can be. It's a part of life. Some of us are lucky to live longer than others, but everything that's born will eventually die. None of us are immortal."
"That's depressing," she says, looking around again. "Can we go somewhere else now… somewhere preferably where people weren't murdered for sport?"
"How about the Trevi Fountain?" I suggest. "You can throw a coin in and make a wish."
"Can I wish for immortality?"
"Sure," I say, "but I think you'd have better luck going to the Vatican for that. That's where miracles happen."
"Oh, can we go there?" she asks excitedly. "Can you, like, go to the Vatican?"
"Yes," I say with a laugh, unsure if she means me specifically. "I'm pretty sure I won't burst into flames. It's a far walk, though, and the lines will be long, so we might want to save it for another day."
"Okay," she says, smiling. "Trevi Fountain it is, then. Nobody died there, right?"
"Some guys probably died while building it, but otherwise, I don't think so."
She laughs, like I'm joking, but I'm not.
People die everywhere.
Every step you take—everywhere you stand—the ground beneath your feet is tainted by some kind of casualty. It's an inescapable fact. Nothing is untouched by death. Nothing.
The area around the fountain is packed. It's late afternoon, melding into early evening, the tourists out in droves. I fish a coin out of my pocket and hand it to Karissa as I stand back, watching as she squeezes in the crowd. She forces her way up front with ease, standing there for a moment before closing her eyes and tossing the coin in. She reopens her eyes then, staring down at the water for a few seconds, before slipping back out of the crowd to rejoin me.
"Did you wish for your immortality?"
She laughs. "Nope."
"What did you wish for?"
She shakes her head, her hair swishing back and forth. "Not telling."
"Why?"
"Because then it won't come true."
"Says who?"
"Says everyone. Those ar
e the rules."
"Ah, come on," I say, reaching for her, pulling her to me. "You can tell me. I'm an exception."
"What makes you so special?"
"Because I just am," I say, grinning when she rolls her eyes. I reach up, cupping her chin, brushing my thumb across her lips. "And because I'll make your every wish come true. So you can tell me, because I'll do it for you. Whatever it is. It's yours."
She stares at me in contemplation. "I'll think about it."
Leaning down, I kiss her softly. "That's a start."
She takes some more pictures before we stroll away, just walking through the streets with no real destination in mind. We stop inside a few shops and I buy her some gelato, watching with amusement as she takes the first bite. Her eyes roll in the back of her head as she sticks the spoon back in the small bowl, getting a scoop of the messy tan-colored gelato.
"Here," she says, holding the spoon out to me. "Try some."
Hesitating, I shake my head. Chocolate Hazelnut. "No thanks."
Shrugging, she takes another bite.
And another.
And another.
We walk for a while longer as the day wears on and end up at the Villa Borghese, a large park in the center of the city. We head down a path, near the lake. Karissa's footsteps slow then, her eyes darting around, before she nudges me. "Can we sit down for a bit?"
I motion toward her. "Whatever you want. I'm following you."
She veers off the path right away, tromping through the lush grass. She plops right down beneath the shade of an old tree, away from everyone else, and I join her, sitting down carefully nearby. Her shoes are kicked off swiftly as she lounges back in the cool grass. "Uh, that's so much better."
"I bet."
"So how does it feel?" she asks, propped up on her elbows to look at me.
"How does what feel?"
"To be one of us regular folk," she says. "You went all day with no special treatment… had to wait for a table to open up, had to stand in line, weren't catered to or shuttled around wherever you wanted to go. Must've been torture for you, you know, being treated normal."
I stretch my legs out as I shake my head. "I like the anonymity. It's nice not having to worry about whose eyes are watching and whose hands are in my food, if a gun's pointed at me or if there's an ambush waiting around the next corner. Back in New York, I live with a target on my back. Sure, they treat me well when I'm in front of them, but when I turn around, well, there's no telling what they're planning. It's different here, though. Nobody's out to get me here."
"What about me?" she asks. "You're not worried about what I might do to you?"
"Not at all."
She seems genuinely surprised, like she expects me to perceive her as a threat. If it weren't so ridiculous, I'd laugh again.
"You have it all twisted, Jailbird," I say. "You seem to think I was upset because you drugged me, but that's not the case… I was upset that you put yourself in danger. I'm still upset about that. You put me out of commission and then ran off in the middle of the night where I couldn't protect you."
"I was fine."
"And thank God you were, but you might not have been. I'm not the only dangerous thing out there, you know. I'm not even the most dangerous."
Karissa's quiet for a moment, her eyes everywhere except for on me, as she absently plucks the grass around her. Eventually, she lets out a sigh, her voice low when she finally speaks. "It's weird, isn't it?"
"What?"
"My mother was so afraid of you, but never once did she mention you. She never showed me a picture, never even uttered your name."
"I wouldn't call that weird. It's easy to justify your fears when they're out in the open. Even Ray's visible—everybody knows his name. But it's different with me. I think your mother thought it was more dangerous to acknowledge me, to put my name in your head. Besides, we used to be friends, your mother and I, and as much as she worried about me coming for revenge, I don't think she ever really believed you were in danger. She didn't think I'd kill an innocent." Sighing, I reach for her legs, grabbing and tugging on them. She yelps, laughing, as I pull her feet into my lap. "She thought me a better man than that."
I start rubbing her feet as she lets out a low rumble, curling her toes. "Oh God, you are," she says, relaxing back in the grass with a smile. "You're a great man."
I pause what I'm doing and look at her incredulously.
"Oh, no, no, don't stop," she says, peeking an eye open at me. Shaking my head, I focus back on her feet as she lets out a laugh. "And really, don't look at me that way. I've seen a side of you today that I've never seen before. You're patient, and genuinely nice."
"And what, I wasn't nice before? I wasn't patient?" I ask. "I distinctly remember eating cheap, bland noodles in the smallest, messiest room I've ever stepped foot into. I think I deserve at least a little credit for that."
"You do," she agrees. "But it's just… I don't know. It's strange. I'm never sure what to make of you, what to think anymore, especially when you look at me. You get this expression on your face sometimes, and I'm not sure whether you want to kiss me or kill me."
"That's probably because I'm not sure either."
Once more, she opens her eyes to peek at me. I offer her a smile and she tentatively returns it, holding my stare for a moment. "You're a peculiar one, Ignazio Michele Vitale."
She does it again, pronounces my middle name like my mother's feminine version. I run a single finger lightly down her sole and she laughs, squirming, trying to kick away from me but I hold her foot there, tickling.
"Naz!" She sits up, trying to yank her leg away as she shoves me, laughing wildly. "Stop!"
"Stop," I mimic, stilling my hand, but I don't let go of her leg. "What happened to 'don't stop'?"
"I changed my mind."
"Sounds like you."
She shoves me again, removing her feet from my reach when I finally loosen my hold. Instead of moving away, she shifts around so her head is on my lap. I stare down at her, running my fingers through her hair as it fans out. Her eyes drift closed as I do it, a smile playing on her lips.
We don't talk much.
What else is there to say?
I laid it all out for her, and she took it in stride.
Maybe there's a chance for us, after all.
"Come on," I say after a while. "It'll be getting dark soon."
Sighing, she climbs to her feet. "How far away is the hotel?"
"About a mile."
"Ugh." She grimaces, grabbing her shoes from the grass. "That's too far."
Turning around, I pat my back. "Hop on. I'll carry you."
Her eyes widen. "A piggyback ride?"
"Yes, why?"
"I'm way too big for that."
"You weigh, what, ninety pounds? A hundred?"
She laughs with disbelief as she puts on her shoes. Instead of climbing on my back, she slips her hand into mine, linking our fingers before tugging on my arm. "You just proved it again, Naz."
"Proved what?"
"There's good in you, after all."
"Do you wanna play around?"
I speak quietly, the words low and gruff as I force them from my lips. My conscience tells me not to ask, to not push her tonight, but my cock is hard and my heart is wide open, and I want every bit of this woman I can get.
Karissa is gazing out the balcony door, hands pressed against the glass. She turns her head at the sound of my question, regarding me warily.
I think she might say no.
Fuck, please don't say no…
After a moment, she turns around to face me, relaxing back against the cool glass. Her lips part, and I wait for the rejection, wait for her to shoot me down, but instead she whispers, "yeah."
"Yes?"
She nods, saying it again a little louder. "Yeah."
I regard her for a moment before casually strolling toward her, my hands in my pockets. It takes everything in me not to snatch a hold of her, shove he
r dress up, bend her over the closest surface and fuck the daylights out of her.
All night.
Until morning.
Fuck her until she can't stand anymore.
But I've taken enough from her, and I'll continue to take until death does us part. Tonight is about her, though, about making her remember how much she once loved me. She's under my skin and I want to make myself at home inside of her body.
Because I need her to get something out of this also, something that makes her feel good. I need her to know that she's special to me, that it's about more than just her blood.
My eyes rake down her body.
She's beautiful in that dress.
She'll look even better out of it.
"Tell me," I say, pausing right in front of her. "What's your biggest fantasy?"
Her eyes widen. "What?"
"Your fantasy," I say again, the back of my hand lightly skimming down her arm, barely touching her, but the contact makes her shiver. "It doesn't matter what it is. No matter how small or strange it may seem."
"I, uh... I don't know."
"Come on, we all have our kinks," I say, going toe-to-toe with her, putting no space between our bodies. I have her pressed back against the glass, my cheek resting against hers as I whisper in her ear. "I want to know what turns you on, what you think about when you're all alone, touching yourself."
She inhales sharply as I run a hand up her body between us, caressing her stomach and fondling her breasts in that dress. My tongue runs along the shell of her ear as I give her a moment to think about an answer.
"I, uh..." Her voice shakes. "I'm not sure."
She's nervous.
I want to put her at ease, but another part of me would rather shove her over the edge, pull out of her everything she buries deep. But I need her to open up willingly, and she's not volunteering that part of her.
Stubborn woman.
Fucking beautiful, stubborn ass woman.
She's going to be the end of me.
"You want me to tell you a secret?" I ask when she comes up with nothing. "Want to know what turns me on?"
She nods.
"There's nothing sexier than hearing you sigh," I confess. "Especially that first thrust... your breath hitches, and you gasp, like you can't believe how good it feels to have my cock inside of you."
Torture to Her Soul Page 20