“But you’re busy, Papa,” he excused, not seeming the least bit bothered by it. Because it was normal for me to be busy at his bedtime. For as long as he could remember, I was always too busy to tuck him into bed. Up until I caught Sheena hurting him, I had only tucked Ryan into bed a handful of times. Work kept me busy, yes, but mostly it was because I didn’t want to encounter my wife before she went to bed herself.
Maybe if I hadn’t been avoiding her for so long, I would have found out about the abuse long before Ryan became so traumatized by it. Maybe it never would have happened to begin with.
The guilt choked me, and I was still trying to find my voice when there was a tap on the bedroom door. Seconds later, the door cracked open, and it was Ciro who stuck his head inside. “Hey, kid,” he called to Ryan. “You got a visitor. You cool with that?”
I glanced back at my son to gauge his reaction. His eyes dimmed, his fingers tightening their death grip on the blankets, but he nodded his head eagerly. Maybe he wasn’t afraid of Anya, but he wasn’t nearly as confident as I imagined he was trying to tell himself he really was.
“Send her in, Ciro,” I commanded, standing.
My brother-in-law stepped back, and seconds later, Anya walked cautiously into the room, a stack of books in one hand and a travel mug of coffee in the other. Her gaze barely flitted across me, her lashes fluttering for half a second before going and sticking on Ryan.
“Already tucked into bed, I see,” she murmured in a soft, soothing tone of voice. She crossed the room and stood several feet from the end of the bed, as if she knew getting too close would send the little boy scrambling for safety. “Where shall I sit, Ryan?”
“There.” He pointed to the beanbag chair near his toy chest.
“Ah! Sweet.” She moved back to the chair and gracefully flopped down. Putting her mug at her feet, she lifted her stack of books, showing him the selection. “What will it be? I’ve got Harry Potter—”
“He’s a wizard, not a hero,” Ryan admonished, effectively cutting her off.
“Wizards can be heroes,” she corrected in that same gentle voice.
I wasn’t looking at my son, so I didn’t know how effective her tone was at calming him, but it was working a different kind of magic on me. Her hair was the same as it was five years before, long and glossy. She looked leaner, though, as if she’d lost a few pounds she didn’t need to lose. I always loved her curves. She was my little pocket Venus, so small but luscious in all the right places. When she was beneath me, I wasn’t scared I would break her.
Right then, I might as well not even have been in the room. Her complete and total focus on was Ryan. Not once did her eyes shift toward me.
“I also have Matilda.” Anya showed him the next book. “And Northern Lights. Both of which are about girls who are their own kind of heroes.”
“Wh-Which do you like best?” Ryan asked shyly. That he was talking to her was a huge deal to me. Scarlett had only been getting monosyllabic answers this past week when she spoke to him.
“They’re all my favorites. Theo used to love for me to read him the Harry Potter series. But of the three, Northern Lights is my favorite.”
“Can you read them all? Every night?”
“I can’t promise every night,” she cautioned, but something in his face had her continuing. “But most nights, sure. I’ll read a few chapters every time I come. Okay?”
Whatever she saw on his face must have been a good enough answer for her, because she opened the Northern Lights book and settled more comfortably into her small beanbag chair. “Ready?” she asked him as she glanced up from the first page.
I took that as my cue to go. Before I reached the door, I glanced back at her. “Anya, a word when you’re finished for the night.” My tone left no room for argument.
Her jaw clenched but she gave a nod, and I left the room. Leaving the door slightly cracked, I headed into my own room. Ryan seemed content enough when I left, but I wasn’t taking any chances. If he screamed or started crying, I would hear him better with both our bedroom doors open.
--
It was almost an hour later before the door was pulled open and Anya quietly backed out of the room. She had her travel mug tucked under her arm, but the books she’d brought with her were absent, telling me she meant to come back and read to Ryan again.
I stood outside the bedroom, leaning back against the wall, having been listening for the last twenty minutes as Anya read to my son, pausing from time to time to answer the questions he had. She was patient with him, never once raising her voice or getting aggravated at the many interruptions at times. She was great with children; I already knew that from how she’d been with Theo when we were together, and then with Allegra’s sister for the last few months of our relationship.
I knew all of that, but I was still surprised at how amazing she was with my son.
She was the miracle my son needed.
We both needed.
My eyes swept over her as she turned, tiredly pushing her hair back from her face as she shut the door, leaving it slightly ajar as I’d done earlier. Turning, she spotted me standing there, hands stuffed into the pockets of my suit pants. She didn’t gasp at finding me there. She probably knew I was there before she even opened the door. It was ingrained in her from the time she was little more than twelve years old to keep every sense on high alert. She knew where every person in a crowded room was at every moment she was present. The scent of my cologne alone would have given away my location to her before she even turned to face me.
“Anya—”
“No,” she cut me off, lifting a hand to quiet me. Her voice was still soft and calm, but there was a fire banked in her blue eyes that told me that was only for the sake of my son. “He’s sleeping. I will not have this conversation with you this close to him.”
“I don’t like to be too far from him when he’s sleeping,” I told her, opening the door to my own bedroom. “And I think we need to talk. Don’t you?”
Her hands balled into tight fists, but she nodded and stepped through the door I held open. She walked into the middle of the room, her shoulders tense as she waited for me to close the door. Once it clicked into place, she rounded on me.
“What happened to your son, Cristiano?”
I raked a hand through my hair, having been dreading this part the most. But I knew it was coming. Knew she wouldn’t be satisfied with some bullshit answer. After seeing her reaction to the proof of the abuse Gio had doled out to Allegra over the years, I knew how she was going to react. Anya was an advocate for victims of child abuse, and my son was the poster boy for the aftereffects of just how violent a parent could become.
“Almost a year ago, I arrived home late. Late was a norm for me. I was always looking for a reason to avoid Sheena during the evenings. It’s a mistake that will follow me to my grave. Ryan’s nursery was between my room and his mother’s. I had to pass them both to reach my own, and I heard my son sobbing.” My stomach turned as I remembered opening that door to check in on him, thinking he was just having a bad dream.
“I found Sheena holding Ryan down by the throat. Crying was the only sound that could leave him. She was holding his throat so tight that he couldn’t scream for help, not that he would have. By that time, she’d already beaten the urge to ask for help from him.” Anya’s face was impassive, but she couldn’t hide the fury flashing in her eyes. “As I watched, she lifted a candle and touched the flame to his stomach. The red wax dripped onto his skin, mixing with the burns already there.”
“Fuck,” she whispered.
“Ryan whimpered and then went limp. I thought he was dead. I yelled his name and she jumped away from him, but there was an evilness in her eyes I’d never seen before. But it was the grin on her face, the pleasure I saw there, that tipped me over the edge. I didn’t think about what I was doing, I just reacted. I broke her neck.”
“You saved your son,” she murmured, watching me closely.
�
��I never should have put him in that position in the first place. We were going to get a divorce, but I was busy, and there wasn’t a reason to rush things.” I groaned and turned away from her, not wanting this woman, of all people, to see how much I’d really fucked up. “It’s my fault Ryan is terrified of his own shadow. I ignored him because I wanted nothing to do with his mother. I failed him.”
“Mothers are supposed to love and protect their children, Cristiano. Not hurt them. You didn’t know your son was in danger being with his own mother. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
A pained laugh left my throat. “Easier said than done, tesoro.”
The endearment flowed so effortlessly off my tongue with her, but she flinched at the word, her gaze turning guarded.
“Don’t.”
I ignored her command, turning the conversation back to Ryan. “How did you get him to trust you? Scarlett has been trying to get him to talk to her all week. He said more to you in the little time I was in the room than he has her the entire time we’ve been here. He even told me you ate lunch together. Did he actually eat?”
“Half a sandwich, most of his chips, a few bites of his salad, and both his cookie and mine,” she listed. “The poor little guy seemed hungry.”
“He hasn’t eaten that much in one meal in months, Anya. How did you get him to trust you?” I repeated. “What kind of magic do you have that you pulled this miracle out of thin air?”
“I don’t know. Kids tend to trust me. I didn’t push him. I didn’t corner him or box him in. I recognized his limits, and I let him keep them.” She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “He’s a smart kid. He understood I wouldn’t hurt him or make him do anything he didn’t want to.”
“Will you come back tomorrow?” She nodded. “Will you come back every night?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I already told him I can’t, Cristiano. I’m busy right now with work at the club. But I promised him I’ll come as often as I can.”
“Okay.” I would have to accept that; I was just glad she was coming back.
And it wasn’t just because I wanted her to read to my son. Having her here, being so close to her for the first time in years, was already making me crave more of her time. Fuck, I missed her, but right then, I realized just how much. For too long I’d deprived myself of the sight of her, the sound of her voice, the scent of her hair.
Now, having her inside my personal space, I was trying to soak up every moment I could.
“I have to go. I left work to come read to him, but I have to get back.” She was already at the door before I could stop her. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Anya.” She paused with her hand on the doorknob but didn’t turn it. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
“I’m not doing this for you,” she told me point-blank, glancing at me over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire. Ryan is an innocent little boy who doesn’t deserve my anger and condemnation.”
Chapter 6
Anya
To the naked eye, there wasn’t a thing wrong with my apartment the way it was. It was in perfect order, not a single item out of place. Realistically, nothing needed replacing.
But, when I closed my eyes?
I saw Cristiano everywhere. Lying on the couch in nothing but a pair of boxers watching some MMA fight while he devoured an entire box of pizza on his own. Afterward, once his guy won, he devoured me even more hungrily on that same couch.
In the kitchen, I could see him standing naked at the sink, waiting blindly for the coffee to finish brewing before pouring half the pot into the biggest mug I’d ever seen and swallowing it like it was life-giving water. Then he would turn and kiss me. Just a quick brush of his lips over mine, before asking me to fix him some breakfast.
My bedroom was the worst, though. All those memories that haunted me as soon as I stepped into the room. There wasn’t a single inch of the room that didn’t hold a memory of us together. Sex on the floor. On the dresser across the room. Against the damn wall. But the absolute cruelest memories?
It wasn’t the amazing sex that haunted me the most. It wasn’t how crazy the man could drive me, or how high he could make me fall from the most amazing orgasms of my fucking life. No. Those memories were nothing compared to the pain of remembering how good it felt to wake up beside him in the mornings. His arms wrapped around me like he wasn’t ever going to let me go. How he would hold me after making love all night, his fingers running through the ends of my hair as we both tried to catch our breaths.
That was how I fell in love with Cristiano Vitucci. It wasn’t the sex or his ability to make me laugh when nothing else could. It was how I felt when I was just lying beside him. How he made me feel like I was the only person in the world who mattered. In those moments, I saw the man underneath all the power that seemed to surround him like an aura and drew people’s gazes the moment he entered a room.
I fell for the man—not the power, not the beautifully masculine good looks and the body that screamed to fuck and be fucked.
Just him. I wouldn’t have cared less if he were the poorest man on earth. His being a Vitucci hadn’t mattered to me. All I wanted was to be with him.
And all he wanted was more power, more money.
He chose that life over me, and all I was left with were memories.
The contractor walked with me through the apartment along with the interior designer I’d hired. They came as a package deal, which only made this easier. Everything, every room, was getting a makeover. Especially my damn bedroom.
“New paint in every room. New carpet,” I said. “I want new cabinets in the kitchen, new appliances, and a new kitchen table. Bedroom, all that furniture has to go. Everything. No exceptions. Bathroom, I want an entirely new shower. Something spa-worthy. Stained glass, stone, and colored glass walls. Change the tile as well. Something earthier, warm. I want samples of everything to choose from by the end of the week.”
“This place looks amazing as it is,” the contractor commented as he paused to take measurements with an app on his phone. “You sure you want it gutted and redone?”
I glanced down at the clock on my phone screen. I needed to leave soon if I was going to make it on time to the Vitucci compound. “I’m sure,” I told him without hesitation. “The guest rooms will also need an overhaul. Something light and fresh in the first one. Neutral tones in the second.” The interior designer nodded as I shot off more instructions.
“We’ll have several mockups of each room for you to choose from,” the contractor assured me. “We can have a working dinner Friday to discuss.”
“No,” I said point-blank, knowing by the way his gaze swept over me that his idea of a working dinner would end up being breakfast as well. Yeah, no thanks. The man was good-looking enough, in the “I spend all day in the sun. Do you like my golden tan? I have killer abs and muscles. Do you like my scruff?” narcissistic kind of way, but I had no desire to play with him. If getting off was the game, I didn’t need another person to accomplish that. Sex was emotionally messy. Human touch, snuggling afterward? That shit was addictive, and I’d already kicked the habit once. I wasn’t going down that road again. “I want everything on my desk to review by Friday afternoon. I’ll call you with what I decide.”
I ushered them to the elevator, uncaring if I’d just hurt the contractor’s manly pride. Whether I had or not, the interior designer was highly amused, hiding her grin by keeping her eyes on her notebook as she continued to jot down instructions and preferences even as she got into the elevator. “I’ll be in touch with color palettes,” she told me with a wink as the doors began to shut.
Once the elevator was gone, I hurriedly took a shower and grabbed fresh clothes, pulling on boots as I headed out the door. It was nearly Ryan’s bedtime, and I was already going to be late.
I was so busy with getting the club up and running again, having everything in order for the big reopening of Iron Hand, that I didn’t have
time to waste. Yet no matter what was on my plate, I went back.
Every night this week, I’d read to him until he fell asleep. Even though I told myself I wouldn’t go every night, even though I told Ryan I wasn’t sure if I could make it the next night or not. I showed up. I read to him. And afterward, once he was sleeping so sweetly, I just sat there in that uncomfortable as hell beanbag chair watching him sleep, my heart breaking a little more with each soft sigh that left his adorable little mouth.
That little boy, his father’s clone, had already wormed his way into my heart. I ached to wrap my arms around him, to love him, to show him that not all mothers were monsters like his was.
Instead, I stayed in that beanbag chair, where he requested I remain, and read to him. Showing him that I respected his boundaries. Letting him build up his trust in me. Letting him lead the way. He had full control with me. I wouldn’t push. I wouldn’t do anything that would scare him. Ever. That was what he really needed, and that was all that mattered.
It was cold outside, making me wish I’d taken the time to dry my hair before leaving. Groaning, I pulled the hood of my coat up over my head and cranked up the heat as soon as I was in the car. By the time I got to the compound, I was starting to feel warm again.
The guard at the door let me in without hesitation. I bypassed the family room, too tired and chilled to try to converse with Scarlett tonight. Upstairs, I went straight to Ryan’s room and knocked twice before opening the door.
As usual, Cristiano sat on the edge of the bed, tucking his son under the covers. Identical heads turned to greet me as I stepped into the room. Cristiano stood as I closed the door behind me, his eyes narrowed as he moved away from the bed.
“We didn’t think you were coming tonight.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to get warm. “I had a meeting that ran over.”
“Anya, were you out in the cold with your hair wet?” Cristiano was beside me before I realized what was going on, his fingers touching a damp lock of hair. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”
Her Mafioso King (The Vitucci Mafiosos Book 4) Page 6