by Seth Eden
I lifted Willow off the ground and kicked the door of the bedroom to get it open. The wood splintered and cracked as the door flew open and slammed into the wall. I dropped Willow on the bed and stepped away from her, only to get the rest of my clothes off. Willow did the same, quickly unlacing her bra from her torso before going to her jeans to unbutton them. I took over, reaching down, sliding the fabric down her legs, and throwing them away from us so hard I heard stuff knock over and fall off the vanity behind me.
Willow clawed up my arm, dragging me closer to her until she could pull us back into a kiss. I took hold of my excited length, and when I slipped myself inside, Willow bit down on my bottom lip, hard. Her fingernails dug into the flesh of my back, and her legs clasped behind me. The growls coming out of me weren’t noises I recognized. I had never made them before. Something heightened in me. Something snapped when I realized that Willow’s angry energy was all a result of her wanting to defend me. All I could think about was this. Getting inside of her. Squeezing her breasts in my hands so hard that bruises would be left behind. I wanted to claim her, to make her well and truly mine.
I pulled my lips from Willow’s, but only to find a place on her neck. I returned the bite she’d given my lips, sinking my teeth into her flesh and feeling the way she tightened around me below. I slammed into her at an animalistic pace—rough, hard, needing. Willow took my chin into one of her hands and squeezed. Wherever my mind had gone, hers had clearly come to join me. Neither of us was the person we normally were. We were the carnal versions of ourselves, thinking of nothing but sex. I rolled and brought Willow to straddle me, but the pace didn’t slow. If anything, it picked up. Willow rose and fell at lightning speed, filling the room with the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin.
Her fingers ground into the flesh of my stomach, and her eyes had a fire behind them. My hands nestled into her hips while I relinquished my body to her. She was a witch, and I was her more than willing sacrifice. Time bled together. Had minutes passed? Had hours? It didn’t matter. Willow had reached through me, torn a hole through me, coiled her hand around my heart, and forced it to think of nothing but her.
When a heat started to develop at the base of my stomach, I didn’t even have the words I needed to warn her. Instead, I let her keep going until I was letting out an amalgamated phrase of grunts, groans, and swear words. Willow let out a loud scream of her own, and when she finally stopped moving, it felt like the aftermath of a car accident—the sudden realization of what had just happened, the confusion of trying to figure out what to do next. We looked at each other for answers, but none came. The stillness was too much to bear. My heart pounded so hard that I was certain Willow could hear it. I smoothed my hands up her sides, and carefully, slowly, maneuvered her around to her back.
I kissed a trail from her lips down to her hips, stopping at every important place along the way.
“Sandro,” she moaned, and whether it was meant to stop me or keep me going, I didn’t know, and I didn’t care.
I pulled Willow’s legs over my shoulders and ducked between them. She was still a mess from the ring of hell we found ourselves in, but the sight of it, the smell of it, wrapped around me and dragged me in. Willow’s moans were music to my ears as I tasted her. I loved the way her fingers sewed into my curls and pushed, demanding more. She would get as much as she wanted. I had to repay her. I had to give her back at least a strand of the love she showed when she socked Molly across the face. The scene played back in my head and already had excitement shooting south. I danced my tongue over Willow, into Willow, until I thought the flavor was going to remain permanently on my taste buds.
“Baby,” she whimpered.
It was all I wanted, all I ever wanted. I fell in love with Willow when I was twelve, and all these years later, she was still the only thing that did my body good. I pulled my head up to kiss and bite the flesh of her thighs and then set off on a journey. I wanted there to be a trail of bruises up Willow’s skin. I wanted the memory of me to hang behind long after tonight. I wanted her to feel it even when I wasn’t there. When I made my way back to her lips, her arms wrapped around my neck and pulled my face to hers. She licked along my bottom lip, and I opened my mouth to let her tongue journey in. A hand left my neck just long enough to snake between us, grab my rehardened self, and pop me back inside. She moaned into me, and the heat returning made me dizzy.
I wrapped my arms around Willow’s back and held her as close as I could. My body wouldn’t hold out as much for a second time, but I didn’t care. We rolled against one another, writhing our bodies into each other until an additional orgasm took each of us. We were so entwined, so laced together, that I couldn’t think straight.
“I love you,” I huffed out, not thinking.
Willow nodded. “I love you, too.”
It gave me the kind of joy that only Willow gave me, but when I opened my eyes, she was crying. My heart broke. We’d made the same mistake we kept making. It was hurting her—I was hurting her. I dragged the fingers of one hand into her head and rubbed while the other hand caressed across the nape of her neck gently. I’d helped her fall asleep this way many times before, and I knew it would be successful again. Before long, she was taking deep breaths in and out in my arms.
I could have stayed that way forever, but I’d done enough damage. I untangled myself, ignoring the way every piece of my body begged to go back, and tucked her into the bed. I knelt down on the floor, set my head on the bed, and just watched her sleep. Before I could stop them, tears of my own were running down my cheeks. I loved her so much, so much more than I thought possible. Why couldn’t I just be the man she needed? Why did I insist on hurting her? When I finally dragged myself from the room, it was on the promise never to go back. If I couldn’t be who Willow needed, I didn’t deserve to touch her ever again.
14
Willow
It was dark outside when my eyes slowly crawled open. I had no idea where my phone had ended up in Alessandro’s tirade, so I simply turned over and planned to fall asleep against him, but he wasn’t there. I sat up, saw that our clothes were still all over the room, and I noticed my jeans clinging onto the vanity by some force. Right. My phone was in my pocket. I climbed out of bed and walked over to it. I clicked the home button to see the time, ten-forty-five, but was more distracted by the picture of Alexis and me smiling from one of our trips to the park. The woman in that picture was not the woman who got so angry about Alessandro and punched Molly in the face. I didn’t know who that woman was, and I was deathly afraid of meeting her again.
Was that what my love for Alessandro made me capable of? I ducked into the master bathroom and flipped on the light. The brightness made me squint, but I wanted to take a quick assessment of the damage. I winced as I looked at myself in the mirror. I was covered head to toe in dark hickeys, and I even had a few red and welting scratch marks. All of the battle wounds I wore were from my night with Alessandro and not at all from my fight with Molly. I leaned in and took a closer look at my face, but as expected, it was scratch-free. Molly hadn’t laid a mark on me. I felt oddly proud. In a way, it was like I’d finally managed to show the entire house what I had in me. I didn’t care much what they thought about me, but they were clearly content to continue writing me off as only Alessandro’s wife. If one had to get dirty to prove they were worthy of the Varasso name, I would say requiring both Marco and Gabriel to drag me off of Molly was worthy of the title.
I shook my head. I didn’t want to be known as that kind of person, though. I’d fought incredibly hard not to be associated with the mud the Varasso name carried. I did myself a terrible disservice, letting Molly pull me down to her level, but I still couldn’t bring myself to regret it. I felt bad for accusing Molly of being delusional regarding her relationship with Luca when I knew that wasn’t true, and I might have expected that the rest of the family believed Alessandro had some mental health issues, but she had no right to weaponize it. I was glad I punched
her in her mouth, and if she talked poorly about Alessandro, I’d be happy to do it again.
I grabbed my robe off the bathroom door, wrapped it around my body, then clicked off the light and walked out. I walked out of the bedroom and into the living room, and though he was still totally naked, I found Alessandro asleep on the couch. I tiptoed as quietly as I could to the coffee table and sat down. I watched Alessandro sleeping for a few minutes. I recalled all the times in our years together that I’d done the same thing. Our history was long, and twisted, and filled with just as much love as there was pain, but I still never tired of watching him at his most peaceful. He had a cute curl to his upper lip when he slept, one that Alexis had, too. I reached out and brushed my fingers along his cheek, wishing I could stay with him forever.
I loved him so much that my stomach hurt. I ached with how much I wanted to be with him and wanted to not have this wall between us. I almost started to cry again, so I grabbed my computer off the coffee table and returned to the bedroom. I clicked through a few things, pretending that I might work, but I was uninspired. I picked up my phone and started to call Ricky, but he was probably already asleep. Taking care of the kids and Kelly as she got closer to popping, he was probably exhausted. Instead, I navigated to my friend Mira’s number. I typed her a quick text, asking if she was up, and my phone was ringing a second later—a video call.
I answered it, clicking the volume down even though Alessandro could sleep through a hurricane. Mira’s face, her brown eyes, and short brown hair appeared on my phone, and I smiled and let a few tears slip from my eyes at the same time.
“Baby,” she whined. “What’s wrong?”
I sniffled, my emotions spilling over. “Everything.”
“What’s going on?”
I told Mira the story of the past couple of days in one big, long, word vomit. I told her about yoga, and coming clean to Stacy, and Denise showing up, and the fight with Molly, and the sex with Alessandro. It wasn’t until everything was pouring out of me that I realized how much I had pent up. I kept thinking that I couldn’t afford to get emotional, to let myself get hysterical and out of control. Alessandro needed me, our family needed me, and I had to be strong, but the toxicity of holding everything in had turned my insides to sludge, sludge that I’d dumped all over Mira and was now anxiously waiting for her to help me clean up.
“I’m sorry,” I said after getting it all out.
“Don’t apologize, Fran.” Mira referred to me by my middle name, Francine, which I sometimes went by when I wanted to distance myself from my mom and the Varassos back in high school. “Geez, you’ve been going through all that, and you didn’t even text me? What have I told you about doing that?”
“I guess I just didn’t want to burden you, or anyone, for that matter.” I placed my head on my knee. “I’m having a hard time.”
“Okay, well, what are you doing now? You need a drink.”
The thought of leaving the house without Alessandro still made me uncomfortable, but the pull of being able to leave the Varasso life for a while was strong enough to trump it. “Yeah. Where?”
“Just text me your address. I’ll come get you.”
We hung up the call, and I did just that. I texted Mira the address to the Varasso estate, and then I quickly got dressed. I picked a simple t-shirt and the jeans I’d had on earlier and skipped underwear of any kind. I grabbed a jacket, slipped on a pair of sandals, and then shoved my phone charger into my purse, as my phone was only about a third charged. I quietly left the bedroom and the suite and made my way down toward the front door.
I slipped through the doors after checking in with one of Marco’s security detail stationed there and walked out into the crisp air.
“Headed out?” I looked over, and Gabriel was sitting on the front step. I winced at the dark bruise just below his left eye.
“Just gonna go grab a drink with my friend, Mira.” I stammered over my words in search of an apology. “I’m sorry for…” I pointed at where his bruise would be on my own face. “That.”
He laughed. “It’s fine. The guys have tried to teach me how to duck for years. I just can’t seem to get it.”
“Well, you should learn how to duck, but you shouldn’t have had to. It had nothing to do with you.”
“It had everything to do with me,” Gabriel replied simply. “It’s family.”
There was that same core-tenet, the concept that ruled the Varasso’s world. One that drove Alessandro and me apart after high school, again right before I found out I was pregnant, and again right before I got kidnapped. It was all about family. Blood ran thick with the Varassos. They believed that each individual burden was meant to be worn by the collective. I just hadn’t been raised that way. When my father willingly protected the Varassos over staying with his own family, I took on an every-man-for-himself mentality that I never quite shook off. Even though I eventually forgave my dad and knew that he did what he did because he wanted what was best for us, I still couldn’t bring myself to be that devoted to anything—until I had Alexis and married Alessandro.
“I’m sorry for causing problems, then,” I muttered. “I know you guys must hate me.”
Gabriel shook his head with an indignant laugh. “For someone who opened up a fresh can of whoop-ass on Molly, you sure lack confidence.” I gasped, but he continued. “Why would we hate you? Because you’re smart enough to have wanted to stay out of this shit? Because you defended your husband? Willow, your devotion to what you believe in is what our family is built on. We feel bad that you got sucked in. Even Luca and Molly, even if they’re huge assholes right now.”
I didn’t have a response to that, so I just stayed silent until my phone rang. “Mira’s here.”
“Go. Have fun. Don’t think about this for a while.”
“Yeah. Sorry again.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Gabriel replied with a wink.
I didn’t hang around. I smiled at him before heading down the path, past the ring of cars, and down the long driveway to the front gate, where Mira was waiting. She drove us to a bar not far from the estate, and it was oddly comforting walking into the cigarette smoke and alcohol-drenched dive. It was the real world, the one outside the Varasso’s manufactured one. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until I was in it again. Mira ordered a whole tray of drinks and brought it over to the table we’d picked.
“You’re not driving, so drink up, girl. You need it,” Mira said. She didn’t have to tell me twice. I knocked back one of the shots, chased it with a second, and then grabbed one of the martinis to work on. “Oh. Okay. Cool. I didn’t realize you’d listen immediately.”
“You’re right, I did need this.”
Mira rested her head on her hands. “I didn’t realize things had gotten so bad. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. I tried being too strong.”
“What!” Mira said loudly and dramatically. “You? Willow Varasso, trying to be too strong? Well, I just don’t think that I’ve ever heard of that before.”
“Your sarcasm is noted and unappreciated,” I replied.
Mira took another one of the martinis from the tray and started to nurse it. “You do this a lot. You try and take the whole world on yourself, even though you’re surrounded by all these people who want to help you bear the burden.”
“You are not the first person, even this hour, who has said something similar to me.” I sighed. “I guess I’m just so used to taking care of things on my own that I struggle to let people help me. I’ll try and get better.”
“So, this Denise woman?” Mira asked. “Have you done any sort of public records search or anything?”
“Not yet.”
“Well.” Mira pulled out her phone. “Let’s see what we can find.”
Mira and I delved into even more research into Denise. Most of our searches came up empty again, and nothing in the way of Denise Binachi or Denise Carducci came up in our search for public records in Phil
ly or in Chicago. Fortunately for me, Mira was a researcher by trade. For every tactic that I had tried, Mira had two more, and finally, something broke free.
“Who’s Illiana Costa?” Mira asked.
I was onto my second martini already, but my brain was still clear enough to know that I’d never heard that name before. “No idea.”
Mira typed the name into Google, and we learned that she was another mob boss in Chicago. It was hard to tell if she was an ally or rival of Anthony Carducci’s, as some of the articles we read had them in cahoots while others had them going head to head.
“Oh!” Mira yelped. “Here! Look! Illiana Costa’s legacy is upheld by her five children, Carmine, Sid, Cherri, Denise, and Bennet!”
I nearly dropped my glass. “Wait. What?” Denise wasn’t a Binachi or a Carducci? “Google Denise Costa.”
Mira did, and I actually did drop my glass. Her face appeared on the screen, the same woman who was mixed up with my family, but in every single one of the pictures, she had different eye colors and different hair colors.
“She’s a con woman,” I said slowly.
“I don’t understand,” Mira said. “Didn’t you say her stories about growing up with the Binachis sounded really genuine?”