by Paula Cox
“What?” I say, and now I’m almost shouting. I take a deep breath. “What?” I repeat, calming myself. “I’m fine. I don’t know what you mean.”
“Come in, son,” Bruno says.
We sit in his office, Bruno tucking his beringed hands into his waistband. All I can think about when I look at the man’s hands, the gold rings, are the golds rings on that prick Dominic’s hands, the way those gold rings must’ve touched Livia’s hand. Fuck, I want to kill that man, I think, wondering if I’m being unreasonable. Maybe I am, but, damn, damn, damn…
“Aedan.”
“What.” The way I say it, it sounds like fuck.
“You’re going to break my chair.”
I realize I’m squeezing the arms so tight the wood’s creaking.
“Alright,” I mutter, and slowly uncurl my fists.
“You’re angry,” he comments.
“I have no reason to be angry.”
“You’re angry because my daughter left with that man. And I said you could court her. I misled you, or so it seems to you.”
“I hadn’t even thought about it like that,” I say honestly.
“Let me explain.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“It is never a good idea,” Bruno says, “to tell a don what he does and does not owe you. It is for him to decide that.”
I sigh, and he goes on: “My wife is a fierce woman, Aedan. A fierce, fierce woman, a proud Italian, and a woman who has lost one child already. It is only natural for her to want the best for her remaining child. Now, I have no opinion about Livia dating whoever she wants, but my wife does, and I love her. You see, I have to defer to her on matters of the heart. In that area, I am afraid, I am woefully underequipped. My wife called me and told me that Livia is to go on a date with Dominic Colombo, a ‘nice Italian boy,’ and when I asked Livia, she agreed. Though, I suspect, to make her mother happy…she agreed all the same. So what am I to do? I like you, Aedan, a lot, perhaps more than an Italian don should like an Irishman, but…well, you see my conundrum. If her mother pushes it, and she does not disagree, who am I to stand in the way?”
“I don’t blame you, sir,” I say.
“And yet you call me ‘sir’.”
Why do you care about me, old man? I can’t stand the way he’s looking at me, open and affectionate and all the damn things Dad has never given me. I saved his life, I think, and he’s grateful, that’s all. But I don’t think that’s it. And no matter how much I lie to myself, I can’t deny I’ve taken a shine to him.
“Bruno, then,” I say.
I stand up.
“We haven’t even talked business yet,” Bruno says, with a knowing grin.
“The only business I have today just walked down the hallway wearing the sexiest—sorry, most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. I’m gonna take a walk. See you later, Bruno.”
“Be safe, Aedan,” he says, “and don’t be a stranger. Good work on the Mexicans the other day, by the way.”
I nod; he’s referring to four colds left as a warning, throats slit, in an apartment in Hell’s Kitchen.
“It’s what I do,” I say, leaving the office.
I walk into the bar and Tony, the prick who did me with the hilt of his pistol, stands up from his stool, wobbling from side to side, a bottle of beer in one hand and a glass of whisky in the other. “Peter!” he cries, giggling. “Peter!”
Any other day, I’d let that slide. Today, I march right up to him, grab him by the front of his shirt, and bring my face close to his. At once, half a dozen Italians jump to their feet, pulling guns and knives. I ignore them and focus on Tony. He shakes and his lips tremble like a little bitch. “Call me Peter again,” I say, voice cold. “Go on, Tony.”
“You better let him go…”
“Or what?” I say. “Or what?” I roar, spitting in Tony’s face.
He stutters, eyes watery, lips quivering like a little kid who’s about to break into tears. “P-p-p…”
“Fucking pussy.” I toss him back onto the stool, glare down all the Italian fucks, and then pace from the bar.
I’m at the door when Bruno emerges. “What happened?” he asks, glancing around the room. Everybody shrinks from his gaze. It’s strange, ’cause he’s so friendly to me, to see how scared these men are of him. But, after all, he’s the don.
“That Irish son of a bitch grabbed me,” Tony says, voice slurring.
Bruno walks over to Tony. “Don’t you dare fucking cry in my bar.” And then he returns to his office.
I walk into the street, thinking of Livia, unable to stop thinking about her. I wonder if she’s laughing with that guy, if they’re flirting. Maybe they’re kissing. Maybe they skipped dinner and right now they’re in her bedroom and he’s sucking on her breasts like I should be doing and—and—
Stop it, I tell myself, walking blindly through the city, just stop it.
But I can’t. All I can think about is Livia, all the things she might be doing. Sure, maybe I don’t have any claim to her. Sure, maybe she’s free to do anything—and anybody—she wants. Sure, maybe I’m being unreasonable. Sure, sure, sure. But that doesn’t mean my anger is just going to disappear. Fuck, I think. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I wanted her—want her, still. I want those legs, those breasts. But I want that smile, too, and I want to hear her call me a dog and I want to have a joke and a laugh with her. I want to call her Princess and have her call me names back. I want the whole goddamn package but Dominic-fucking-fuckface has got her instead.
It’s almost a relief when my cell rings, just for the distraction.
“Aedan,” Dad says, and his voice is icy as usual.
“Dad—”
“Are you an idiot? What if this phone’s tapped?”
I sigh, leaning against the wall of an electronics store as pedestrians stroll by. “Boss,” I say.
“That’s better. I’m just checking in.”
“Alright.”
“How’s it going?”
“Fine.”
“Any updates?”
“No, business as usual.”
“Good. Just keep going. That work on the Mexicans was clever; now the Italians will trust us even more. Everything’s falling into place, Aedan. Soon, we’ll rule this city and everyone in it, The Italians, the Mexicans, no one will have a chance.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“We’ll talk, after that,” Dad says.
“Talk?”
“Talk about us,” he goes on, and I’m sure there’s a glimmer of something in his voice, something genuine.
“Okay,” I say, nodding. “Alright, Boss.”
“You’re a good boy, Aedan,” he says. “Your mother would be proud.”
“Thanks—”
He hangs up, and now my head is spinning like crazy. Livia, Bruno, Bruno, Livia…I kill Bruno, I make Dad proud, but not only do I kill a man I like, I also steal Livia’s dad away from her.
But what do I owe her, anyway? I ask myself, but I know the question is horseshit. I don’t hate her. I could never hate her.
A woman walks past, short skirt, low-cut top, big hooped earrings, high heels, maybe on her way to an early party. Her face is plastered with makeup, eyes caked in eyeliner, but even so I know the look she’s giving me, the I’ll-fuck-if-you’re-down look.
Nothing’s stopping me, I think. Definitely not Livia.
Even so, I find myself pushing off the wall and heading in the opposite direction.
After a few minutes, I realize my feet are taking me to Livia’s apartment.
Chapter Thirteen
Livia
We sit in a high-class restaurant, talking, and all the time I’m looking at Dominic I’m thinking about Aedan. I tell myself to stop it, to focus on the words which are coming out of Dominic’s mouth, but it’s like Aedan is standing beside the table, watching.
“Of course, you can’t do it every day. For one thing, it’d be expensive. For another, it’d lose its thrill. But, Livia, skydiving is incr
edible. You have to try it.”
This is one of Mom’s picks, not like the Italians at the bar at all, but a nice, clean, non-mob Italian. I know that Mom would be happy if I called her after this date and announced me and Dominic have decided to get married. She wouldn’t think there was anything strange about it in the least. I bet she’s already got the wedding invitations sketched out, just with a space on the date section, all ready for shipping.
“But skiing is the best. There’s no better feeling than rushing down those slopes, wind in your face.”
He’s trying to make himself sound dangerous, I think, which is pretty stupid when you think about it. Aedan, now there’s a dangerous man. His face when he saw Dominic…Maybe it makes me twisted to get off on that, but he looked at me like he owned me, looked at me like I was his and the idea of me being with another man revolted him. He looked so angry, fists clenched, face fire-red, jaw clenched so his beard shifted. He looked like a real dangerous hitman. This man, sitting in front of me, draped in gold and in a pristine suit, clean-shaven, as prim and maintained as this high-class restaurant…not so much.
I wonder, as Dominic talks nonstop about all the dangerous things he does, if Aedan is still angry, if he’s stewing on it. I imagine him in the gym, shirtless, muscles straining, smashing a punching bag so hard it flies off the hinges. It’s just my imagination, and yet it’s infinitely more interesting that this date. I feel a pang of guilt when I sink into myself and watch Aedan, sweat dripping down his massive muscles, punch and grunt. Mom would be disappointed. But this man is boring and clean and slick, and Aedan is a man.
“Racket ball…”
“Have you been bungee jumping…”
“Snowboarding is okay…”
The date whirs by and pretty soon we’re standing in the street next to his car. He stands close to me, long and thin and spiky and unmanly in the extreme. “So,” he says, and the way he says it turns me off. He says it nervously, like he’s scared, like I intimidate him. If there’s one thing I never want in a man, it’s for him to be intimated by me. Nervous like a little boy who’s never been with a woman.
He pauses, and then says: “I’m not even tired.”
I yawn. “I am,” I lie.
“Oh.”
He stares at me for a few moments.
I can’t choose a man like this over Aedan, I think. Look at him. If Aedan is a bear, this man is a little stick insect.
“I’m going to get a cab,” I say.
“At least let me give you a ride home—”
But I’m already walking down the street toward a row of cabs which wait outside the restaurants. I feel Dominic’s eyes on me, but it’s like if Aedan was staring at me. There’s no desire to wiggle my bum, to get him hot, to return to him. When I climb into the back of the cab, I’m just glad the date is over. I need a man, not a boy, I think.
As the cab drives me through New York, I look out the window, telling myself I’m just watching the pedestrians and the little snippets of life but really searching for Aedan. It’s ridiculous, I know, but it’s early and I’m sober and the date was a total loss. I should’ve gone out with Aedan instead. And I know it’s true, it’s what I want, it’s how I feel. Mom may hate me for it, my upbringing may make it difficult to act on my desires, but when you get right down to it, it’s what I want.
When the cab stops and I climb out, I spot Aedan, leaning against the wall to my apartment building. The sun falls almost horizontally, shining directly into my eyes and for a moment framing him in bright yellow. I squint, and he comes into focus. His expression is twisted, like he’s trying to fight rage which bubbles up inside of him, and his hands open and close at his sides. He glances over my shoulder, at the cab.
“Checking if I’m alone?” I say, and even now, I enjoy twisting the knife. There’s truly something sadistic in me, I think. His t-shirt is damp with sweat, pressed close to his muscles; his pectorals are perfectly outlined by the fabric. He’s hot, I think, looking at that chest, how hard it is, the power of him.
“No,” he says, but he looks relieved when the cab pulls away and nobody else climbs out.
“It’s not your job to check up on me,” I say.
“I’m not,” he replies. “I don’t give a damn.”
“Then why are you here?”
I go to the door of the apartment building, reaching into my handbag for my keycard, but Aedan blocks my way. I could snap at him, tell him to move, but I want to speak with him. I like looking at his arms, all tight and tensed at the thought of me being with another man. I like the lust in his dark eyes. I like how intense he looks.
“Just went for a stroll,” he says.
“Right.” I lean against the wall. “Look, Aedan. I’m alone.”
“Where is he?” Aedan asks.
“Why do you care?”
“I never said I did.” He leans against the wall next to me, propping his arm on it and looking down at me. Shielding me, I think, and a shiver runs up my legs, in between my legs, and all at once the dance starts again, buzzing and tingling all over my panties. I cross my legs and Aedan looks down with a small grin. He knows exactly what he’s doing, I think.
“You came to check on me. Of course you care.”
“I didn’t,” he says. “I was just taking a walk, is all.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course.”
“I can’t believe you went on a date with that guy.” Aedan laughs.
The lust I was feeling hiccups, stops for a moment. “Why is that funny?” I demand. I shift away from him; he closes the distance, still looming over me. I shift again, and so does he, until we’re almost at the corner of the building. “I can date whoever I want.”
“And you wanted to date him, did you?” he asks. “Is that the truth? Or is it that your mom hates anyone who isn’t Italian and she’d marry you off to a goddamn hippo as long as the hippo had Italian blood. Is that it? Goddamn, Livia.”
“Don’t talk to me like that!” I snap. “Don’t forget you’re just a hired dog, Aedan. I’m the daughter of the don; you’re just a dog.”
“Do you do everything your mom tells you to? Why is it all about her? Why is it your mission in life to make her happy?”
“I don’t do everything she says,” I whisper, but he’s hitting way too close to home for my liking. It’s time for a counter-offensive. “What about you?” I push away from the wall, wheeling on him. “What about your parents? Where are they, huh? Do you even know them? Do you do everything they want, or don’t you even know who they are?”
“Don’t talk about my parents!” he roars, lurching at me. He grabs me by the shoulders, spins me, and pushes me against the wall. I blow hair from my face and stare up at him, my whole body on fire, knowing I should hate the way he’s grabbing me but unable to. His hands are so hot on my bare arms, his body huge with muscles, his beard looking wilder and manlier than ever. He smells of sweat, sweat mixed with his cologne, and when he shouts, his voice gets super low and chesty.
“Or what?” I shoot back, pussy burning at the excitement of this moment, his hands digging hard into me, leaving handprints on my skin. “What are you going to do?”
I know if Mom saw the way this Irish hitman was handling me, she’d order his death. She wouldn’t think twice about it. I know this is a situation I shouldn’t be in. I know this is wrong. I know this is bad. But the way he’s looking at me is just too much, too hot, too impossible to resist. It’s like all the lust he’s ever felt is scorching through his body, making his skin hot to the touch.
“Or what?” he says, leaning down, bringing his face so close to mine I can see how dilated and crazed his pupils are. “Or what?”
He’s shaking, now, shaking all over. No, that’s me…no, it’s both of us. Both of us are shaking like crazy. I part my lips and uncross my legs. My panties are drenched, completely soaked through. I feel a bead of wetness dripping down my thigh.
“I’m done waiting for you, Livia,” he says. “I f
ucking need you.”
I swallow, thinking about how I’ve never been in a situation this intimate, this close, this fiery, thinking about Mom and Luca, thinking about all the reasons I shouldn’t do this. And then I say: “Don’t wait anymore, then, baby.”
Baby, fuck me. Baby, take me. Fuck it, screw the consequences. Fuck—
Aedan grabs my legs and hauls me off my feet. Like it’s a dance we choreographed beforehand, I wrap my legs around his hips and my arms around his shoulders, pulling myself close to him. His beard tickles my lips, my chin, but after a second of kissing, I barely feel his beard at all. I feel the heat between us, and then our tongues as nerves sizzle up and down and around our mouths, the tips of our tongues clashing and then rebounding, his hands on my ass, moving up my legs, right there in the street for everybody to see.