by L. K. Shaw
Chapter 22
Giovanni
* * *
My gaze locks on Francesca. She’s half reclined in a white plastic lounge chair, the tops of her shoulders a faint pink, and I breathe in the scent of coconut sunscreen. Large sunglasses hide her eyes, but I sense they’re focused on me.
The swimsuit shows off her figure to perfection. Perfect breasts my hands itch to cup again. Long legs that seem to go on forever, and ones I imagine wrapped around my waist as I thrust deep inside her. Her cheeks pink to match the color of her skin where she’s gotten a bit too much sun like she can read my thoughts.
“I’m still waiting for an answer. Who made you angry?” Jacob asks again.
Brenna bites her lip and her gaze flashes to Francesca, almost as though she’s asking for permission. The latter sighs and rises from her seat. She closes the distance between us and reaches for my hand. “I overheard some things being said today at a luncheon, and they bothered me, so I left. That’s all it was.”
“What things?” I ask. If someone made a comment about her, I want to know.
She shakes her head. “Really, it’s unimportant.”
“Francesca,” I draw out her name in warning.
“Fine,” she huffs. “Some of my mother’s friends were talking about how Jacob’s men don’t trust you or your mother,” she finally spits out.
Beside me, my brother’s curse echoes his wife’s, while I remain silent. It’s not like their lack of trust is a big secret. Still, the fact the men are talking amongst themselves, and to their wives, stings a bit. I shrug it off. “It’s not unrealistic for them to have some reservations about me. They may not trust me now, but they will. Once they realize I’m completely loyal to the syndicate and to Jacob.”
“It’s not fair. Jacob and Pierce trust you. That should be enough,” Francesca fiercely declares.
I squeeze the hand I’m still holding and bring it to my lips, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “Thank you for defending me. As hard as it might be, though, next time ignore it. You can’t let it bother you.”
She opens her mouth, I’m sure to argue, but I lay my finger over it and shake my head. “Please.”
Francesca huffs, but slowly nods.
“Thank you.”
“Well, I’m with Brenna on this one. That is bullshit.” Caitlín’s declaration is loud and virulent. “Those catty Italian bitches better hope I never hear them talk about you or any of my other friends like that. They’ll get an earful of every Irish curse word I know. And believe me, there’s a lot of them.”
Brenna groans while Jacob chuckles. “Come on, runt, let’s get you out of the sun before your mother chews us out for letting you fry to a crisp,” he says.
She grumbles, but starts gathering her things. While the women pack up, I pull Jacob off to the side. Before I can get in a word, he speaks.
“I’m sorry there’s so much dissension coming from the men.” The words come haltingly— he’s not used to apologizing. “My father was a strong and fair leader. He was well-respected, and despite my long absence, he was firm in his words and actions that he trusted me implicitly. I think that made it easier for our men to then trust me.”
Jacob glances away uneasily and shifts his weight. I’ve never seen him this uncertain—this vulnerable—before. He turns my way again.
“You were right,” he says. “I should have officially declared you my brother and told the men that pledging their loyalty to me was the same as pledging it to you.”
Riotous emotions flow over me. It’s as though everything I’ve been working toward since I was fifteen years old is finally happening. Every sacrifice I made. It’s all within my grasp. I want to clutch it tighter, this feeling that I’ve made it. That I’m somebody. I clear my throat, a little overwhelmed. “Thanks for saying that. That means a lot.”
Jacob nods. “I’ll make my point at the next meeting we have.”
Without waiting for a response, he turns and joins Brenna, who’s standing in the shade by the door. Caitlín is nowhere to be found. They disappear into the building. A warm hand slides against mine, and I jerk.
“Are you okay? You have this stunned look on your face,” Francesca says.
I blink away the fog and disbelief and a slow smile creeps up. “Yeah.” I chuckle. “I think I am.”
“Good, I’m glad.”
“We need to get you out of the sun as well. You’re getting a little pink.” I drag my finger along the crest of her shoulder and stare deep into her golden brown eyes.
Her breath hitches. She doesn’t release it as I glide the tip across her coconut scented skin, tracing the line made by her collarbone. I draw a small circle in the space right below where the two bones separate, and Francesca lets out a shaky exhale. Her skin burns hotter than the sun shining down on us and matches the blazing inferno of arousal inside me. The two of us together could incinerate the world around us.
“Is this okay?” I ask her.
Her head bobs with another shuddering inhale that she releases on a breathy yes.
My caress travels downward and through the valley between her breasts. Francesca’s hardened nipples call to me, but as much as my focus is on her, I’m also aware of our surroundings. This isn’t the time or place. I etch one final invisible line along the sloped curves of her chest before taking a path upward, and behind her neck, where my hand disappears under the curtain of her hair. A shudder racks her small frame, and her eyes drift closed.
I press a soft kiss to her forehead, the tip of her nose, and against her mouth, wishing I could linger a bit longer. Francesca’s lids are still closed, but she lifts them drowsily, her gaze clouded by desire as she stares up at me.
“Would you like to grab some coffee?” I ask.
She licks her lips, the gesture an innocent one, and I nearly groan.
“I’d like that,” she whispers, her voice rough like after a long, hard night of sex. “I need to change back into my regular clothes first.”
My cock hardens even more—something I didn’t think possible—at the thought of stripping her swimsuit off. I imagine brown nipples that taste like a pinã colada, that mix of coconut and pineapple. My mouth waters. I have to clear my throat.
“We should probably get going then, so they don’t send a search party after us,” I joke.
I lead Francesca into the building and past the fitness center to the elevators. Moments later, I knock on the townhouse door. Brenna opens it, and a silly grin decorates her face.
“We thought maybe you guys left already,” she says, stepping back and letting us in.
Caitlín’s sitting on the couch, the television on the opposing wall turned on with the volume down, observing everything with a sharp-eyed gaze.
“I need to change back into my clothes,” Francesca tells her.
“Jacob’s in his office, but you’re welcome to get your stuff out of our room.”
“Thanks.” She turns to me. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“Take your time.”
My gaze follows her as she rushes up the stairs until she disappears from sight. I look away and run headlong into Brenna staring at me, that dopey smile still intact. I shake my head at her, but I can’t hold back my own grin.
“I’m so happy for you two,” she says, nearly gushing with excitement. “I knew from the beginning there was something special between you guys. You couldn’t take your eyes off her. And she always watched you when she didn’t think you were looking.”
Brenna isn’t wrong. But it hadn’t always been like that. It had nearly broken me every time Francesca flinched away from me at first.
“She’s everything I ever wanted,” I admit.
“What’s the deal with everyone around me falling in love?” Caitlín groans and collapses dramatically, like only a teenager can, against the back of the couch.
Her sister laughs. “Wasn’t it you, who only a few short months ago, dreamt about getting married? I’m pretty sure I
remember a conversation the day we went wedding dress shopping.”
The younger Donnelly’s expression turns mulish. “I’ve changed my mind since then. I’m allowed to do that. Boys suck. I have no plans on getting married. There are too many things I want to do and see. Having a husband will do nothing but hold me back.”
Brenna glances at me and smothers her grin. “Maybe you’ll change it back some day.”
“Doubtful,” Caitlín huffs and turns the volume back up on the television.
“Well, okay, then,” she says in a low tone.
Footsteps come from the stairs, and Francesca descends wearing a green pantsuit that fits her like a glove. Her sun-darkened skin glows.
“I draped your bathing suit over the towel rack. I hope that’s okay.” She glances at Brenna.
“That’s fine.” The two women hug. “I’m glad you came over.”
Francesca turns to me. “I’m ready.”
We head out the door, into the elevator, and finally through the lobby. I think of the meeting we just left and the impending war that’s about to begin with the Armenians, and by extension, the Polish. A massive surge of possessiveness courses through me as I glance at Francesca walking beside me. This woman is finally mine. I won’t let anyone take her away from me. Nor take me away from her. I will destroy anyone who dares try.
Chapter 23
Francesca
* * *
Days have passed since I walked out of the luncheon, and my mother still hasn’t shown up or called to rail at me. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. It’s definitely not good for my nerves. My stomach remains in knots waiting for the tirade. Maybe that’s her plan. Torture me with anxiety while I wait for the storm to hit. I wouldn’t put it past her. No, I’m trying to be a better—different—person. An optimistic person.
I stand in front of the full-length mirror and turn from side to side, checking to make sure this top and pants look all right on me. Anya helped me pick it out, and she said the color and style were flattering. And they are. I think. I’m just not used to wearing something like this, so it’s going to take a bit of getting used to and feeling confident.
Giovanni is on his way over, and we’re heading to the Brooklyn Museum for one of their latest exhibits I’ve been dying to see. You look fine. Stop worrying. I give myself a final once over before shutting the closet door and heading out to the living room. Gio’s rose has long since wilted. Petals have fallen off, and it’s next to dead, but I keep resisting throwing it away. I’ll have to soon, though. It makes me a little sad.
The doorbell rings and the giddy anticipation hits. I nearly skip to the door and throw it open, only to deflate. The ache in my belly begins instead.
“Mother, what are you doing here?” I ask, trying to keep the wariness and disappointment out of my voice.
“I wanted to check on you, since you ran out of the luncheon before it even began.” She swoops past me and the entryway toward the living room.
I glance around outside, but there’s no sight of Gio. With a sigh, I close the door and follow her.
“I’m fine, Mother. Now isn’t really a great time, though. Giovanni is on his way to pick me up.”
She turns to face me. For a second, I could swear there’s a flash of rage in her expression, but it’s gone so fast I could have imagined it. “For a date?”
“Yes. We’re heading to the museum for the afternoon,” I say, lifting my chin as though daring her to say something condescending. It’s a reflex mechanism I’ve developed over the years to shield myself from her barbed tongue.
“I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.”
I stare at her, because she didn’t even sound sarcastic. That eternal flame of hope wars with the tiny seed of cynicism that I’ve managed not to nurture and let grow. I desperately want to believe that something has changed within my mother over the last couple weeks, but I’m cautious.
“Would you like to come with us?” I ask before I can stop myself. My mother’s tinkling laughter fills the room, only the slightest bit mocking. Or maybe I’m imaging it. “Heavens no. I wouldn’t want to intrude on your date. Although I appreciate the invitation.”
She looks me over. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
I glance down at myself and back to her, braced for her criticism. “Yes. Is there something wrong with it?”
My mother waves her hand dismissively. “Not at all. It’s perfectly lovely. I’ve just never seen it before. You don’t usually wear something that style. I suppose it’s flattering enough on you. Although, I will say it looks as though you’re filling it out rather well.”
I take that to mean it’s too tight. Any confidence I had before she’d arrived starts to wither. Don’t let her shake you. Anya said it looked good, and I believe her. The doorbell rings, and I’m thankful for the interruption.
“Excuse me,” I say and head to open it.
Gio stands on the other side, his hair damp and curly the way I love, with yet another rose. The butterflies swarm in my stomach. I hope I always feel this way when he comes by.
“You look beautiful,” he greets me with heat in his gaze. It makes me feel better instantly.
“Thank you.”
He hands me the flower, and I clutch it excitedly, inhaling its fragrance. I can’t wait to put it in the vase in the windowsill. “My mother is here,” I whisper.
“Thanks for the warning,” he says with a grin.
I’m glad he’s not intimidated, but I’m not sure he’s ever met my mother. I hope she doesn’t embarrass me by being rude. “Let me put this in some water.”
After a deep breath, we move into the living room. She smiles blandly at our arrival.
“Mrs. De Luca,” Gio nods respectfully.
“Giovanni,” she returns. I can’t read her tone.
I hesitate to leave my mother alone with him even for a minute, but unless I want to drag him into the kitchen with me, then I have no choice.
“I’ll be right back.” Pivoting, I dash into the other room and reluctantly toss the dying flower into the trash before dumping the water, adding fresh water, and dropping the new rose into it.
Mumbled voices reach me, so I quickly put the vase back and rush into the living room before my mother can do any real damage.
“—photography,” Gio turns at my entrance. “I was just telling your mother how excited I was for you and the class you’re taking.”
Warm feelings flood me.
“Yes, it’s a lovely little hobby,” my mother says, nearly taking all the warmth with her. There is nothing on her face or in her body language to suggest it, but it’s like she’s being condescending all the same. Her constant use of the word ‘lovely’ makes me think she means the exact opposite. And I hate that I feel that way.
“Oh, I don’t know. I think if she wanted to, Francesca could probably sell her pictures to a gallery. Or maybe even to magazines. They’re that good,” Gio says with confidence, not taking his eyes off me.
My throat clogs and my eyes burn. Aside from Pierce, no one has ever believed in me like Giovanni. And he’s never even seen my photographs. They could be complete crap for all he knows. Maybe they are. But the fact that, sight unseen, he has complete faith in my abilities hits me.
“I’m sure they are,” my mother says. Was there sarcasm in her tone?
I don’t try to decipher it, because a new, giant feeling erupts inside my chest. It’s bright and shiny, and it just pours out. I’m almost overwhelmed by it. So much so that my breath catches, and then in seconds, it eases out and utter calm replaces it. My god, I love him.
“Are you okay?” Giovanni asks, taking a step closer and cupping my cheek.
No doubt my smile is too big. Too giddy. Too everything. Except I can’t stop. “Yeah,” I say trying to shake myself out of it. “I’m good. Really good.”
His dimples show up as deep as canyons. “If you’re sure.”
I nod, covering his hand with mine. “Posi
tive.”
A throat clears. “I’ll be leaving now. Enjoy your trip.”
I swing my gaze from Gio and it lands on my mother. Whom I’d completely forgotten about. I clear my throat.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” I almost stutter.
My mother holds up her hand with a small sniff. “No need. I know the way.”
Leaving Gio and me standing there, she strides past without glancing at either of us and walks out the door.
“Do you think I offended her?” he asks with only a hint of amusement.
I giggle. “I’m sure we both did. Being ignored is one thing my mother can’t stand. It used to drive her insane when I was a mouthy teenager.”
Giovanni draws back in shock. “You? A mouthy teenager? I don’t see it.”
My chuckles turn into full-blown laughter. “You have no idea. I was terrible. We’d get into these huge fights. I’d be screaming, as would she. Then, I discovered just how much she hates being ignored.”
The smile slowly fades from my face as memories rise of the last screaming argument we’d had.
“Hey, where’d you go?” Gio’s face appears in front of me, and I blink it into focus. His expression is concerned.
“Sorry.” I shakily try to bring the expression back, but I can’t force it. Instead a cold chill almost takes over. “Just remembering our last real fight. I stormed out of the house and went to the club with my girl friends. It was the worst night of my life.”
As though sensing my emotions, he steps closer and pulls me into his embrace. The warmth of his hold is enough to chase the cold away, and I snuggle deeper into it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring the mood down.”
“You didn’t,” Giovanni reassures me over my head.
Not quite ready for him to let go, I stay still, breathing in that faint citrus scent of his. I love the clean smell. It’s soothing. He keeps his arms wrapped tightly around me. I feel safe and protected. With one final inhale, I loosen my grip on his waist. Gio does the same, and I take a couple small steps back widening the distance between us. The heat from his body still keeps the chill away.