by Alexa Hart
Once he was inside and so incredibly close to me, I couldn’t help but flashback to the passionate episode which had very recently taken place in this seat. A small shiver ran through my body, and I knew I was walking on dangerously thin ice right now.
If he touches me one time... just once...
“So, it’s probably best to just get it out there. I know Lucy came to see you last night,” he broke the silence with a calm, rational tone.
I whipped my head to look at him – alarmed – and feeling a completely irrational guilt, like I had somehow wronged him. “She just showed up, Max. She was upset, and I didn’t see any harm in hearing her out, you know?” I rambled off quickly, searching his face for a clue as to how he actually felt about Lucia’s “visit”.
“Nat - it’s fine. You’re both big girls. You can talk to whoever you want. So can she,” he assured me, and I could see that he was genuinely okay with it. “She came by super late. Apparently, she had a little solo after-party at the bar when she left your house.”
I tensed then, imagining the not-so-solo after-party they must have had themselves. My stomach was turning instantly and I felt my cheeks burning.
“We didn’t sleep together, Natalia. We broke it off – completely,” he said then, putting a finger to my chin and gently turning my face to his. “Completely.”
The relief mixed with the electric sensation his touch had sent flying through my body made me instantly light-headed. I felt foolish – like I’d been caught feeling things I wasn’t supposed to be feeling anyway. “It’s fine, Max. Even if you slept together. Like I haven’t had sex in the last six years? C’mon.” I was rambling again, and laughed nervously at my own words.
His finger dropped then, and I saw his eyes cloud over. He was looking into me so deeply that I felt my entire body beginning to vibrate.
“How many?” He asked finally – a flat, dead tone to his voice.
“Times?” I returned, now giggling like an insane person.
“Guys, Nat. How many guys?” He responded, looking so serious that my body began to freeze. I had never expected to have this conversation with Maximo Fanucci.
“Two – just two,” I blurted. “One was just a stupid college frat party thing – drunk – you know – just stupid. The other was more of a long-term thing, I guess. A doctor I met during internship.” I knew I was under no obligation to share this information, yet I felt a responsibility to honestly do so.
“A doctor?” Max let out a low whistle, as if to be funny – but the humor did not reach his eyes. They looked like actual hazel fires now. “Why’d ya let that one go?” He was trying so hard to be nonchalant. It was nearly comical considering his jaw was flexing repeatedly and he was breathing in short, audible spurts.
“He told me he loved me...” I answered him, looking away now, no longer wanting him to be able to read my face.
“And...?” Max pressed, wanting the ending of that sentence.
“And I couldn’t say it back, okay? I couldn’t say it back. It was just. It was just kind of naturally over after that,” I confessed, still not looking at him. I remembered how angry I had been at myself for being unable to feel what I had needed to feel at that point. Like I was a broken toy that would just never work for anyone ever again. I had blamed Maximo then, and I blamed him still.
“You wanted to though, didn’t you...” It wasn’t a question so much as a statement.
I turned back to him then, wanting to show my resentment, but instead feeling it dissipate immediately at the sorrowful expression on his handsome face. “We’re never going to get away from this are we? From us?” I said, sighing and feeling a fresh surge of the confliction I had harbored since first deciding to leave this place all those years ago.
“Do you want to get away from us? Do you really?” Max asked suddenly, adamantly searching me for the truth.
“No,” I said, without hesitation and completely unable to lie. “I never wanted to leave you.”
He was grabbing me then, our lips smashing into each other in a near violent collision. I knew there was something I had meant to talk to him about today, but I didn’t fucking care anymore.
“Come... home... with... me...” he panted, gripping my hair and pulling while pushing his mouth commandingly over mine again.
His lips tasted like heaven – and even more-so, like home. He kissed down my neck, up my neck, back to my lips and a small moan escaped my lips as heat filled my body.
“Okay.” I murmured, lustily biting his neck.
“Okay?” He repeated, surprised and instantly insane with hunger.
“Drive.”
We were there quickly – Max’s new house wasn’t very far away from his old one. It was a rowhouse, like nearly all the neighborhood houses, his a soft shade of sky blue – but I didn’t have much time to take in the sight, because he was almost running and pulling me along by my hand, nearly laughing from sheer, simple happiness.
I flew blindly behind him, through a living room, a glimpse of a kitchen, down a short hall – to the left, into a bedroom and then he was pulling me on top of him on a giant, unmade bed.
It didn’t seem enough to take our clothes off or even strip them – we clawed like mad animals at each other's clothing. His sculpted, naked body was lain out like a map from God himself – the black ink weaving its way around rock hard miles of muscle. He was huge and ready – pulling me onto him while ramming inside of me so forcefully that we both moaned – and I remembered the absolute ecstasy of riding Mr. Maximo Fanucci. I worked my bare body up and down, up and down, squeezing tightly to his shaft and feeling each thrust demand to go deeper inside of me with absolutely no mercy – no pity. I arched my body back, and his hands pulled me down by my hips, digging fingers into my soft flesh and forcing me to move faster and faster while my breasts bounced freely – wildly before him.
That thirsty fire was beginning to blaze hot and sweet inside of me – my insides turning to quivers as I felt his throbs becoming larger and crazy with power. We were both screaming now – oh’s that escaped unhindered, laced in ecstasy and need. I was coming – furiously bursting with internal rapture – and he pumped, so swiftly now, erupting inside of me with his own euphoria and letting out an animal’s growl that echoed off the walls like a symphony.
I collapsed on him, soft breasts against that rock-hard chest, still feeling his last shaking quivers inside of me – like the happy aftershocks of a magnificent earthquake. Sweet streams of come – the mixture of our bodies’ insatiable desires, crept slowly down my thighs, making a steaming, beautiful mess of our lower halves.
I exhaled, feeling my heart trying to catch a regular rhythm again.
This. This is what we just could never get away from.
This is what I never want to get away from.
I smiled, satisfied and exhausted, and Max whispered in my ear, “Best run ever.”
The rest of that day and night went by like a dream. At some point I texted Dario and told him I wouldn’t be home. At another point Max called his mother and asked her kindly if she could keep Nic overnight. Everyone seemed more than pleased with the situation.
And when it came to pleasure, we were redefining the word.
Some carnal psychosis had possessed me, and I desperately needed to physically fuse – make love – be fucked in every position, in every room, repeatedly – ruthlessly. We were two fleshly parts of a powerful whole, and we had been separated for far too long. The erotic energy between us crackled like a wild electric current set completely free. Max was larger, harder, even more beautiful than I had remembered – and I needed him in me just as profoundly as he demanded to be in me. His hazel stare hypnotized me – making me embrace the love and passion I had hid from for so incredibly long.
When we finally began to fall into a deep sleep sometime as the sun started to rise, I realized, naked and bare in Max’s arms, that I could have been this incredibly happy for the last six years – and he could have been too.
I had stolen that from both of us.
When I woke, I had the hazy memory of Max leaving a while earlier. He had stood over me – half dressed, shirtless, chest and arms massive – but with the most gentle, happy expression on his face, saying quietly, “I’m going to go pick up Nic. You get some rest.” Then he had kissed me on the forehead and lips, and I had dozed back into oblivion.
I now heard their voices from somewhere in the house.
“He said his puppy is going to be in shows ‘cause his mom only raises show dogs, and I said that wasn’t very nice. Then I told him that poodles aren’t very exciting, and when I get a dog, he’s gonna be a big dog and he’s gonna protect me like real dogs do. That’s what real dogs do, right, Daddy?” Such a little voice, and so much to say. I smiled, listening.
Max was laughing, but very obviously trying to remain neutral and fair. “Nic, poodles are real dogs. You have to be nice to Mike about his puppy – he's probably really excited, just like you’ll be when you get your puppy,” he chided.
Nic sighed – a dramatic four-year-old huff of surrender. “Yeah, okay. I guess you’re right.”
“But... I promise you that we won’t get a poodle, okay? We’ll get a real dog,” he added, laughing again. Now I could hear Nic joining him, realizing his father’s viewpoint on the subject wasn’t that far off from his own.
I wasn’t sure when or if this was the right time, but I took my chances and walked quietly down the hall and into the kitchen, where the two of them turned as one and stared at me with identical sets of large, hazel eyes.
Nic was so beautiful, and looked so much like Max, that for a moment I was struck speechless. He gazed at me with open curiosity and an unabashed smile.
“I’ve seen pictures of you! My Nonni showed me! She said you were the most beautiful girl in the world and I think she was right!” He spilled all of this out with excitement, and I was sure my heart was actually, instantly melting inside of my chest.
Max was beaming across from him, staring at me with worshipful eyes – as though I had dropped straight from heaven itself. The combination of their adoration was over-powering, and I knew this was its own unique mixture of love and belonging – something that could never be replicated.
“Hi, Nic. I’m Natalia. It’s really great to meet you.”
After a rather conversational breakfast, Max and Nic had driven me home. Nic’s little voice in the backseat never really stopped, and I found it delightful – his energy and his innocence. He was genuinely interested in anything and everything. And Maximo’s face when he looked at Nic – it was something so priceless and endearing that it almost hurt my heart.
It was the same way Pop looked at me – a father’s love.
Max gave me a reasonably long kiss before I left them, and for a split second that woozy delirium crept back into my brain. We both recovered though, realizing a very inquisitive set of hazel eyes were fixed on us.
“Call you later,” I said sweetly, suddenly feeling like a teenager all over again. And Maximo’s returned smile spoke volumes. I knew what he felt – I was feeling it too.
I entered my home, the dear old Angelone house, with a new thought in my mind.
Maybe you CAN come home again...
Glimpses of my life in California flashed across my brain and I realized clearly for the first time that I was considering leaving all of that behind... for Max.
Dario didn’t seem to be home – he would have greeted me by now with his big stupid grin, asking questions immediately. I made my way quietly to Pop’s room, not wanting to wake him if he was sleeping.
He looked so peaceful, laying in his bed, eyes closed and hands relaxed at his sides.
He doesn’t look like he’s in that terrible pain when he’s like this.
The thought had barely warmed my mind when another thought followed it.
But he ALWAYS looks like he’s in pain these days.
I suddenly ran to the side of his bed, grabbing his wrist, checking for that reassuring thump against my fingers. It wasn’t there. My hand flew to his neck, searching, pressing, begging the pulse to meet me there.
It didn’t.
Pop was dead.
Chapter 12
Maximo
My mother was sobbing in the kitchen – harder, I thought briefly, than when her own husband had died. I was staring at my phone, trying to decide whether or not I should call Natalia again.
She hadn’t answered the first three times I had called two hours ago. She hadn’t called me back. I had just tried again – no answer. Of course, I knew she was now in her own personal hell of grief, but being shut out by Nat was a sensation I was all too familiar with. It caused an instant panic to rise up inside of me that I had never known how to control.
“I’m going over there for a minute, Ma. Just to check on them. I won’t be long,” I said, striding into the kitchen and putting a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at me with swollen eyes, unable – or unwilling – to stop crying.
“Yes, Maximo. Make sure they are okay. Tell them I will come by later when I – when I – ” Elena Fanucci could no longer speak, and I hugged her firmly.
“I’ll be back, Ma. Nic is still napping in his room. Try to hold it together as much as possible for him, please?” I was throwing my coat on and grabbing my keys, casting a last worried glance at my mother.
“Eso no tiene sentido, Maximo!” She now wailed at me. “Grief should not be hidden! Grief must be shared! It must breathe!”
“I’m sorry, Ma. It’s gonna be okay,” I conceded, nodding and knowing she was, on some level, quite correct.
“He was a very good man, Maximo,” she said, for about the billionth time sense Pop Angelone had been diagnosed, putting her silk handkerchief to her eyes.
“I know, Ma. I know.”
The short drive over gave me a second to process Pop’s death myself. When Dario had called, Nic had been right beside me, and I hadn’t wanted to lose it in front of him. He knew Pop, too, and it would be a delicate situation to guide him through. I had spent most of the afternoon trying to reach Natalia, consoling my mother, and trying not to think about the fact that Pop was actually dead.
Dead.
He was as close to a father as I had known, since my own passed away when I was thirteen. While my actual father had shown me, as a small child, that many things were awaiting me “when you become a man”, it was Pop who had actually been there to guide me through those things at the appropriate times.
Now they were both gone. Johnny withstanding (and he was a rather frail support at this point in his life, if he was anything at all), the “elder generation” were done – retired, or simply dead. Gone.
I sucked in a deep breath, feeling my own grief hit at the same moment as the terror of truly being in charge of the business took over. I thought I might vomit for a second, and quickly pulled over. But all that came out was a maddening rush of tears and agony.
I needed Pop. We all did. I loved Pop.
We. All. Did.
The added realization that it was still possible to lose Natalia on top of Pop being gone and my freedom being completely over actually did make me vomit now. Door cracked, head hanging out like a drunk, I felt like – for the first time ever – I was losing control of every aspect of my life all in one day. I threw up again.
It was a solid fifteen minutes later before I made the rest of the two-minute drive to the Angelone’s. I could see a few random cars parked along the street that were most definitely here for mourning purposes. It happened so fast in the neighborhood, and it always went the same. The ambulance came and then everyone, everyone knew within the following half hour.
I spotted Dario standing around the side of the house – the side away from the front door. He was smoking a cigarette – something I hadn’t seen him do in years. It seemed an odd choice now, as Pop had just passed from lung cancer that was most certainly brought on by years of chain smoking; but I figured Dario could give a fuck
right now. Let him have the damn smoke.
I walked through the snow-covered yard to him, holding up a hand in greeting. We had barely spoke when he called, as he then had so many calls to make. But those were either over or he was giving himself a mandatory break.
He looked at me with wide, alert eyes. I couldn’t tell if the chaos had sparked some natural adrenaline-like response in him or if he was in actual shock. “Nat won’t come out of her room. They took Pop away, and she just walked up to her room, shut the door – she won’t come out. She told me to go away once. Now she won’t even respond. But I can hear her in there, Max. She’s crying into her pillow. She’s always thought that covered up her crying – since we were little kids. It never did. I can hear her. I’ve always heard her.”
He was speaking very rapidly, moving back and forth from one foot to the other, taking occasional quick drags, and all the while seeming to never blink.
“Dar, I’m so sorry, man. I loved Pop - we all did,” I spoke slowly and cautiously, unsure as to what might set him over the edge at this point. Or maybe he needed to go over the edge – I couldn’t tell which would be better. I could only see clearly that he was not himself. He was not okay.
“Yeah. Everybody loved Pop. Nicest mafia boss in history, I’d bet,” he joked, laughing absurdly loud and nodding his head in agreeance with himself.
“Dar...”
“There’s people inside – paying their respects, I guess. To what, I’m not sure. He’s at the morgue by now. Can’t they at least wait for the wake? The funeral? It’s like fucking vultures, man. Sad, depressed vultures that all say the exact same fucking thing and not one of them – not one of them makes you feel even a tiny bit better. Worse. They make it worse, I think,” Dario rambled off, still bobbing his head in authority. “Maybe I’ll walk in there and tell them all to fuckin’ leave. Or I could just hide in my bedroom and lock the door. Works for Nat, right? I should be able to run away too, right?”