by Bethany-Kris
“That’s a shitty outlook.”
“Not really. I like where I am, so I don’t see it as a bad thing. I mean, being a made man used to be something I wanted. Then the deeper I got into this business, the more I figured out it wasn’t likely to happen.”
“You shouldn’t assume things. Everybody gets their say on nominations when the time comes. Capos get a voice on who they would like to give their in to the family, so to speak. Would you still want to be a made man, if the opportunity came up?”
Lou shrugged, and took a seat on the edge of the desk. “Back when I was a teenager, I used to glamorize the mafia in my head. All the Capos drove black cars, wore suits, and controlled the city.”
Tom chuckled. “That’s a pretty accurate description. You just didn’t think to consider the rest of the people who make up the organization, too.”
“Sure, but my idea was based on some crazy notion where I could be one of those guys, Tommaso. A wise guy, you know what I mean? I started running the streets because we were dirt fucking poor, and our water got shut off in February. A month later, they turned the power off, too. I had two little sisters, and a baby brother. My father had fucked off somewhere with his latest piece of ass, and my mother barely held shit together. So I went out, and I hustled. I did deliveries, or ran errands. I did some drug drops when I thought it was safe enough that I wouldn’t get caught.”
“You never told me about that stuff,” Tom said.
Sure, he had known that Lou’s life had been stricken with poverty and rough times, but he hadn’t quite realized just how much. He hadn’t known how much his friend had sacrificed and suffered to be where he was—still quite low on a totem pole that they called the Outfit.
So was the fucking way of this business.
Tom was lucky—privileged as fuck. He knew it; he never denied it. Sure, he’d worked hard all his life to be a made man, but he didn’t doubt for a second that Lou worked twice as hard just to survive and be sitting where he was.
Lou shrugged, and cleared his throat. “Before I went on the streets to work, I wanted to be a lawyer, or a doctor. Maybe a cop.”
“That’s a bad job to have in this city.”
His friend barked out a laugh. “Right? One of the most dangerous cities for the blue line.”
“A new cop is always coming up dirty on the news every other week, too.”
“Yeah, I know, but that was one of my dreams. I ended up here instead, and I just substituted one dream for another. One dream that I likely wouldn’t even achieve. How could I?” Lou asked, a bitterness coloring his words. “I was just some poor kid from the Heights with no dad, and a mother entertaining Johns on the weekend at the pay-by-the-hour motel down the block to make extra money that her two jobs didn’t provide.
“That’s what made me easy pickings to the guys on the crew that needed a young kid to deliver their drugs, or pick something up. Twenty bucks thrown at me went a long fucking way. It didn’t take much at all for them to convince me into this business, despite the fact I could see some of them were three times my age and still going nowhere. Maybe that’s why when I started doing this shit, I glamorized the idea of the mafia and made men in my head, and the dream changed to make it worth my while. Funny how that worked.”
Tom swallowed hard, and glanced down at his clenched hands. “Sorry, man.”
Lou waved a hand. “Nah, don’t do that. Don’t be sorry, or have pity. I fucking hate that shit, Tom.”
“Nobody’s victim, huh?”
“Nope. I made my choices.”
“And you’re still here doing this,” Tom noted.
Lou shrugged a single shoulder, and pushed off the desk. “I guess you could say the dream is still very much well and alive for me in some ways. Like maybe if I keep working at it, somebody will see me as something other than that poor kid from the Heights that needed money to have water and heat.”
Tom gave his friend a smile, but said nothing. Someone already did see Lou as more than that because Lou had seen someone else as more than a rich pretty boy.
Him, that was.
Tom was going to get his friend the button.
No matter what.
He’d do that for Lou.
Somehow.
The phone on the desk rang, interrupting their conversation from going any further. Another guy from the crew stepped into the office at the same time Tom picked up the call. He waved for Lou to handle the guy—as he was already going to do—while Tom turned his back to the two men exchanging cash in the office.
“Rossi here,” Tom said.
“Son, are you busy?”
Tom relaxed a bit at his father’s voice. “Not really. What do you need, Dad?”
“You should make your way over to the mansion as soon as you can. Someone’s waiting here to see you, Tommaso.”
He stiffened.
“Who?”
“Someone I think you want to see.”
Tom’s throat constricted, and his heart raced. He didn’t have any fucking reason to believe it was Camilla waiting for him. She still hadn’t called. It had been over a month since he last talked to her. He gave her space hoping that she would figure her shit out and contact him.
Yet, here he was.
Still very much alone.
“Who?” Tom asked again.
“You were right about her,” his father said. “What you told me about her the first time, I mean. She’s very … different. In a good way, mind you.”
Camilla.
“Don’t let that woman out of your sight.”
His father chuckled. “Right now, your mother is plying her with apple pie, and a promise to show her the library. Your sisters just got home from school, and are giving her the first degree. She’s not going anywhere.”
He heard his father’s unspoken words loud and clear.
Take your time if you need to.
Tommas had known—even though Tom refused to talk to his father about it—that something was bothering his son. That something was wrong, and had been since he got back from New York the second time. Over and over again, his father pushed to know what it was. He asked him about Camilla. He questioned why Tom threw himself into work when he had barely got through the day before without wanting to blow someone’s head off. He even suspected his father made a phone call to Calisto Donati just in case he could get information there.
Still, Tom had kept his issues private.
“I don’t need time right now,” he told his father.
He’d spent a whole month waiting.
That was enough time.
“She’s not going anywhere, son,” Tommas repeated.
Her hair was a deep shade of brown mixed with gold and red highlights. A little past her shoulders, her hair sat in beachy waves.
Longer than the last time he had seen her, but not by much. For anyone else, Tom probably wouldn’t have noticed the half an inch difference in hair length, but this was Camilla.
He’d learned with her that even the slightest change was to be expected, and he needed to look for it.
The flowy, peach-colored dress was a good choice for the month of May. It fell just above her knees, and showed off the ankle boots with a four inch heel she wore.
Tom wasn’t really sure why he thought to take in the way she looked, and the things she wore. Maybe because doing so gave him a few more seconds to simply look at her while she entertained his sisters, and not bring attention to himself just yet.
What was he supposed to say?
How did he open this up now?
Tom didn’t know.
His brain decided to misfire like a fucker, and his mouth opened before he could stop it. “Cam.”
Camilla looked up from the photo album she was flipping through, and smiled at Tom. A shy smile, he thought, and not one of her usual bright, brilliant grins he was accustomed to. No, this was hesitant, like she wasn’t sure what his reaction would be when he looked at her, or something.
&
nbsp; It still made her brown eyes light up, though.
“Hey,” she said.
“Tommaso!” his two little sisters shouted in sync.
And just like that, his momentary daze was broken while his sisters leaped from the couch to get closer to him. He took a few minutes to calm Sara and Rebeka down—or the best he could—and all the while, tried not to look at Camilla for too long.
“Camilla came to visit,” Rebeka said.
“She lives in New York,” Sara said, stressing the state like it was a big deal.
Tom grinned. “I know. Hey, why don’t you two go find Ma, and let her know that we want something special for supper.”
“Ma’s having a dinner,” Sara said seriously.
“A dinner?”
Camilla spoke up, then. “She wanted to invite some people over.”
Tom cocked a brow, and then sighed. “Not surprised.”
“Do you want us to go, so you can be alone with Camilla?” Sara asked.
He looked to the oldest of his two sisters. She was a bright girl—looked like their mother, but acted like their father. Little got past Sara at the end of the day.
“A little bit, yeah,” Tom said, smiling.
Sara nodded as though she already knew his answer. “Okay, Tommaso.”
She grabbed Rebeka’s hand just as the younger of the two girls tried to dart back to the couch where Camilla was still sitting. She pulled her little sister along, and headed for the hallway.
“Come on, Rebeka,” Sara said, “let’s go get pie.”
“Yes! Pie!”
Tom waited until he could no longer hear the voices of his sisters before he turned to Camilla again. She was still sitting on the couch, but now her gaze was turned down to the photo album in her lap.
“Which album is that?” Tom asked. “My mother seems to make it her mission to document every single little thing about our lives.”
“Birthdays from last year,” Camilla said.
“Huh.”
Camilla peered up at him, and said, “I guess today’s your twenty-second birthday, Tom. May seventh, right?”
He blinked, unsure for a moment.
“Is today the seventh?”
Camilla’s smile turned sly. “You forgot your own birthday?”
“It’s just another day.”
“No, it’s your day, Tom, and I almost missed it.”
He didn’t miss the sadness in her tone, or the way her eyes dropped back down to the album.
“You have a huge family,” Camilla said after a moment.
“Yeah, it’s big.”
He didn’t know what else to say.
He didn’t know what to ask her.
Tom just … stared at her.
Finally, Camilla looked up from the album, and smiled at him. Brighter than before, and less hesitant. “Your dad is kind of imposing.”
Tom nodded. “For people who don’t know him, sure.”
“Your mom is really sweet, though.”
Tom laughed at that. “Yeah, until she’s pissed at you. I mean, then you might as well just get the hell out of the city. At least until the storm passes.”
Camilla laughed, too. “I can’t see it.”
“Well, no, you’re the woman her son loves, and this is the first time she’s ever met you. It’s not a huge surprise that she’s being especially nice to you.”
Her eyes widened.
Tom realized what he’d said instantly.
The silence stretched on between them long enough for him to clear his throat, and look away. “Love shouldn’t be a scary thing. Loving someone shouldn’t be hard to do, even if it’s hard to find. Love should be effortless.”
Easy.
Right.
“I know, Tom,” she whispered.
It was the humans who made love hard, he knew.
“It’s women like you who make the thought of being in love with you something to fear because no offense, Cam, but you’re kind of a fucking flight risk.”
Her laughter came out soft and light.
“Am I?” she asked.
“Just a little bit, babe.”
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
“I don’t mind taking that risk, though, Cam. I want to take it, but only if you do. I don’t mind the effort actually being something needs, but it’s a give and take. I cannot be the only person giving while you just take from me.”
She let out a quiet exhale, and closed the album in her hands. Tom waited her out, and didn’t move an inch when she got up from the couch and came closer to him. He stayed still even when she was close enough to touch, and she reached up to cup his jaw with her warm palm.
“I’m here, Tom.”
He nodded. “I can see that, Cam. A call might have been nice.”
“It’s been a rough month.”
“Oh?”
“Really rough,” she admitted. “But I am here … with a little help from Cross, but don’t tell him that because then he’ll want to be thanked. I like to keep him honest.”
Tom chuckled. “So, what does being here actually mean for you?”
“I guess it means what you did for me, I’m trying to do for you. I’m here. Who are you, Tommaso Rossi? Care to show me your world?”
“Anything you want.”
Anything to keep her.
At least for now …
Camilla’s hand slid from his jaw to behind his neck, and she pulled him closer. She had to stand all the way on the tips of her toes to reach up and press her lips to his. It was only once her mouth touched his that he wrapped an arm around her waist, and crushed her to him.
Her body.
Her mouth.
All of her.
Her fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck, and tugged hard enough to sting. He answered that back by biting her bottom lip, and then kissing the same spot. Her breathless laugh whispered along the seam of his lips before he hushed her with another kiss—harder and deeper than hers had been. She didn’t seem to mind. Her lips parted to let his tongue snake into her mouth.
There, he found a familiar taste. A sweet heat. Their kiss was now a familiar dance that could make him ache and burn all at the same time. It was a damn shame that now his cock was hard, but he was going to have to wait to do something about it.
The whole dinner thing, and all.
Yes, Tom had most certainly missed Camilla. He wondered if that feeling was mutual. Her hands that wouldn’t let him go, and her lips still on his, said it probably was.
“So, Camilla, what brings you all the way to Chicago?”
Tom shot Adriano a look. His uncle, and his aunt Alessa sitting right beside the man at the table, only grinned right back at him.
“Thought I would like the city, actually,” Camilla said.
“Not someone, then?” Eve, Theo’s wife, asked.
“Someone, too, sure.” Camilla gave Tom a smile. “I mean, Tom’s okay.”
“Ouch,” Tom muttered.
Camilla flashed her teeth in a wicked grin, and that sent laughter echoing down the table.
So was the way of his life.
When he wasn’t getting shit from people on the streets, his family picked up the slack. Of course, Tom didn’t mind this so much. He could handle his family.
“What are you studying in school?” Damian asked. “Last I heard from your father, you had gone into nursing.”
Camilla nodded. “Still am. I have a few more years to get where I want to be, I think. Or, with all the programs I want to take, it’ll make it easier to get on a NICU ward without all the seniority that usually clogs up time.”
“NICU,” Tom’s mother said. “Why a NICU nurse?”
“I was premature, and so was my brother.”
“Oh.” Abriella frowned, and her gaze darted to Tom as though she were trying to see if she had crossed some invisible line. “I’m sorry.”
Camilla waved a hand. “It’s okay. I went back to tour the hospital where I had been
born. I was about fifteen or so, and the nurses actually remembered me because a lot of them were still there working.”
“Is that common?”
“I think it depends on the nurse, and how working NICU affects him or her over time,” Camilla replied, smiling softly. “I guess a lot of preemies that were born as early as me don’t get to go back—fifty-fifty chance of survival. My dad told me once that for every baby that got to leave the NICU during my stay, another one never did. It was a big deal for the nurses to see me again, and that’s what did it for me.”
Under the table, Tom squeezed Camilla’s thigh gently. She hadn’t needed to share that kind of personal information with his family—people she barely knew—but he was grateful that she had. He’d only known some of the reason why she had chosen a nursing career, and her explanation certainly filled in any blanks he might have had left.
“You’ve still got a while to go yet with school, then,” Abriella said.
“A little while, yeah,” Camilla agreed with a laugh. “I don’t mind. I work hard because I want to. I have a goal, and I intend to reach it.”
“A good mindset to have,” Tom’s father said. “And just how long are you staying in Chicago, Camilla? Seems you have something to get back to.”
That, Tom wanted an answer to as well.
Camilla stuck her fork into the pasta dish she had half finished, and said, “We’ll see, I guess. I don’t like leaving things unfinished.”
Again, Tom squeezed Camilla’s thigh.
He appreciated her willingness to indulge his family and their questions because she didn’t have to do any of that at all. He was sure her intentions when coming to see him had very little to do with his family, and yet, here she was.
A screech from Sara took attention away from Camilla and Tom for a moment.
“Rebeka!”
“Oh, it was just a mistake,” Abriella said, pushing her chair away from the table to stand up.
“Yeah, a mistake, Sara,” Rebeka said, huffing at her sister.
A large red splash of sauce covered the front of Sara’s pink dress. If there was anything his sister hated, it was someone ruining her clothes.
“Go to the kitchen,” Abriella told Sara, “and I’ll be in to clean it off.”
Sara gave Rebeka her meanest glare before heading for the kitchen like she had been told to. Tommas shook his head as he too stood from the table.