by Sam Mariano
“No, but I can’t…” She pauses, staring at the phone, as if considering. “We’ve been over this, Salvatore. I don’t want to get involved. I don’t want…” She hesitates now, glancing back at Mark.
Scowling at him, since apparently he’s keeping her from whatever she wants to say, I tell him, “Get back to work before you get fired on your first day.”
Although he looks a little bummed about it, Mark does head back inside the bakery and close the door behind him.
Francesca crosses her arms and gives me a glare like we’re already dating and I’ve made her really mad. “Stop trying to land me.”
“But I really want to,” I tell her.
“I’m not a casual hook-up person. I won’t casually have sex with you.”
“Well, you’ve held my interest up to this point. Maybe it doesn’t have to be casual. I’m not exactly thinking of anyone else. Let’s go out and see where it goes.”
She’s still resisting, and it’s still driving me crazy. “No,” she says, shaking her head.
“Why?”
She meets my gaze again. “You’re going to hurt me.”
God, the way this woman unapologetically looks into my eyes and nails me with these accusations is the worst. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want to get to know you.”
“But you will.”
“Tell me why you’re so sure of that.”
She opens her mouth like she wants to, then stops. Takes a subtle step back, looking down at the broken pavement. “I’ve done this before. Once. And it was bad. Really bad.”
“You’ve done this? I don’t know what this is? What does that mean? Dated someone from my family?”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “Not from your family, no, but…” She shakes her head again. “I don’t want to talk about it. Suffice it to say, I’m not eager to jump back in with even a guy who isn’t like you, but you… you’re literally the last person in the whole world, for a variety of reasons, that I want to get involved with.”
I sigh, dropping the charming demeanor and adopting solemnity. “All right,” I say.
Mostly just to see her reaction.
And like I expected, disappointment flashes across her features.
I grin, victorious.
She realizes I was lying and narrows her eyes at me.
I don’t call her on it. “Look, just let Mark stay. Your brother doesn’t keep as careful watch on this place, and Mark’ll be in the back. But this way if you ever need someone, you don’t have to wait on Adrian to show up.”
“Why take a risk like this with your own people?” she asks, shaking her head like she doesn’t get it.
“I want to know you’re safe. Even if you don’t want to go to a winery with me.”
Francesca considers this a moment, studying my face, like she’s looking for visible red flags to be waving in my eyes or something. After a minute, she says, “Fine. If you really want Mark to stay, he can stay. But if he’s found out…”
I nod. “I know, it won’t be good.” I hold the phone out to her again. “Take this.”
“I won’t be able to use it out in the open,” she tells me.
“Well, not when your brother’s around, no, but when you’re alone in your room?”
She’s already shaking her head, almost apologetically. “Not even then.”
“You’ll find a way,” I tell her.
“What’s the point?”
“I want to get to know you, I told you that,” I remind her.
“Do you always get everything you want?”
I act like I have to think about it, but I really don’t. “Pretty much, yeah.”
“If we ever have sons, we’re not getting them any toys. Not a single one, ever.”
My face must betray some kind of horror at that unexpected statement, and Francesca grins, incredibly pleased with herself.
“Still wanna take me home?” she teases.
Oh, she’s getting playful.
Grinning, I tell her, “Actually, yeah.”
“You must be crazy.”
I give her a wink. “Crazy for you.”
Francesca feigns a gag and I laugh, moving forward and impulsively catching her around the waist. Her breath catches, the amusement in her face dying. She doesn’t try to pull back as I tug her against me, our bodies brushing. I like this. She’s the perfect height—shorter than me, but not too short—so I can gaze down into her eyes.
“You’re gonna go out with me, Francesca Morelli. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m gonna get a yes out of you.”
Shaking her head, she sighs. Her hands move tentatively to my shoulders and she swallows nervously. I want to kiss her, but she looks so skittish I decide not to. Then, looking up into my eyes, she tells me, “If you keep showing up at this bakery, it just might be.”
“Will you cry at my funeral?”
Cocking her head to the side and considering, she finally says, “Mm… no. But I’ll definitely pull a sad face, like this,” she says, pulling her face into a ridiculously adorable pout. Oh, my god, those lips.
My cock stirs, imagining all the things I want those lips to do to my body.
“You have the most incredible lips.”
Now that I’ve complimented them, the pout is gone and she covers her mouth with one hand, like she wants to hide them. “I do not.”
“You do. Your whole face is… There’s a lot of incredible going on, but your lips. Jesus Christ.”
“Stop,” she says, covering her mouth with both hands now.
“When you get home later, you should send me a picture of you blowing me a kiss.”
“Oh, should I?” she asks, amused.
“It’d make my whole day.”
Since I’m still holding onto her around the waist, she indicates my hands with a feigned look like she’s offended. “And this isn’t? Greedy, greedy man.”
Smirking at her, I promise her, “You’ll see how greedy I am when I get between your legs.”
“Oh, will I?” she murmurs, glancing at my shoulder instead of my face.
“Oh yeah.” Since she’s still in my arms, not uncomfortable enough to pull away, I lean in to murmur in her ear. “I’m going to eat your pussy like it’s my favorite cupcake, Francesca. You just wait and see.”
She tries to laugh, but I can tell by the huskiness I’m turning her on. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, Salvatore.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re getting wet for me right now,” I tell her, tracing the curve of her ear with my lips. “I’m pretty sure you can feel my cock pressing against you, and you haven’t tried to move away.”
Francesca swallows, but she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t move, either.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I tell her, breathing in the sweet scent of her, then lightly catching her earlobe between my teeth.
“Tell me something about you,” she says, seriously.
“Like what?” I ask.
“Something that’ll make me feel better about this.”
Well, shit, that’s a tall order.
I take a minute to rack my brain, because I’m not entirely sure what will make her feel better about this—about me. I understand why I look like a bad deal to her. On top of the already insurmountable roadblock of my being her brother’s competition, I am the kind of guy you expect to break your heart. I’ve never been especially shy about my romantic escapades, and being a person of interest, it doesn’t surprise me she’s heard about them. I come off as a bit of an asshole—a womanizer. Clearly some asshole hurt her, and that already pisses me off to consider. Not because it’s making my life harder, but because he ingrained enough pain inside her that she can look me in the eyes and say the kind of shit she says to me, about how I’m going to hurt her, and she doesn’t look the least bit embarrassed to be saying it—she says it like it’s a fact, like the sky is blue, or the planet is round. That I’m going to hurt her isn’t just a possibility, it’s an accepted fact, and since s
he really doesn’t know me, I have to assume it’s the same of all guys. I’m not special. I’m not the only guy she’s convinced will hurt her—it’s any guy, because of that guy.
Suddenly I know what I wanna tell her.
“I have a little sister—more than one, but this one’s named Madeline. She’s the baby in our family. Not my youngest sister, ‘cause my dad’s a cheating asshole and he had an affair baby who’s a lot younger than Maddie, but… Maddie was the baby, and don’t tell my other sisters, but she’s always been my favorite.”
This makes Francesca crack a smile.
“Anyway, so she met this dipshit in college, Isaac. And he’s a real dipshit. A vape-smoking, scrawny, hipster-fuck—no idea how this happened, because my sister’s awesome, and she deserves an actual fucking prince. Like, I should fly over to Europe and find one for her.”
Now she laughs, and her eyes have warmed right up. I picked the right story.
“Anyway, so this little weasel lucks out enough to get my baby sister, right?” She nods, and the way she’s looking at me makes it hard to concentrate on my sister. “They were together for a couple years, and so they finally started making these plans. She helped him buy a condo that they were supposed to move into together—he moved in first, but she didn’t even care, she trusted him. They went ring-shopping, and he stood there with her like a dumb-fuck while she tried them on—took fucking pictures with his phone. He was into it, right? Led her to believe things were heading in that direction. Which… I wasn’t excited about, because that little weasel for a brother-in-law? No thanks. But it was what Maddie wanted, so I’d just have to accept it. I just wanted her to be happy. Then Christmas rolled around. And she booked this vacation for them to go on. And he went on the fucking vacation with her. They came home the night before Christmas, because my ma’s real big into the family being together for the holiday. And so, on Christmas Eve, when this little asshole was supposed to propose, he broke my sister’s heart instead. Told her he’d met someone else. Didn’t know how to break it to her. Told her he just couldn’t see a future with her, no matter how hard he tried. It wasn’t in the stars. The motherfucking stars, this little prick…” I’m scowling now, shaking my head, but Francesca’s still gazing up at me with fondness all across her face. “Anyway, so, long story short, this little fucker’s number one on my hit-list as soon as I can get away with it. Gotta wait ‘til Maddie moves on first, so she doesn’t notice and get mad at me. And, I gotta tell you, this is not a short list, but do you know who number two is?”
She shakes her head. “Who?”
“Whoever hurt you.”
The amusement drains out of her face, even the slightly fawning look she had while I talked about my sister. For a split second, as her face completely blanks, I second guess myself.
And then Francesca Morelli lifts herself up on her tiptoes and brushes her incredible lips against mine. Just a soft, gentle kiss. I don’t try to deepen it, and I don’t even have to—somehow the most innocent kiss anyone’s ever given me sends adrenaline surging through my body and my heart drops clear down to my toes.
She lowers herself, then looks down shyly before looking up at me through those long, dark lashes of hers again.
I can’t explain the way this girl gets to me. Up until now, I’ve been obsessed with fucking her, plain and simple. But right now that feels crass. Cheap. Inadequate.
Fucking her isn’t enough.
I want to make her mine.
Chapter Four
I don’t hear from Francesca that night, but I have shit to do, so that works out.
Tuesday I get to thinking about her and I decide to call up a florist and send a bunch of hydrangeas to the bakery. Maybe I can’t go there, but a delivery person can.
Francesca finally texts me for the first time after she gets them. “How am I supposed to explain all these flowers?”
I shoot back, “Just explain how irresistible you are to anyone who asks.”
She doesn’t text back, but I can imagine her cute little disgruntled face. See her pretty little head shaking in my mind.
God, what has this girl done to my brain? It was just my cock when I first saw her, but it’s like she takes over more and more of me with every breath she takes—even when she’s nowhere near me. I don’t understand it.
But I guess I’ve never dated a girl like her before, either. Not ever. Vulnerable, sincere, sweet girls are not my type.
I like a girl who can play the game, generally speaking. Keep me on my toes. Keep me from getting bored.
I get bored easily. It’s not the greatest trait, but it is one I have. Not much holds my interest for more than a very short stretch of time, which is why I should feel a lot worse about pursuing Francesca. When she tells me I’m going to hurt her, I should believe her. My track record points to the same conclusion.
And yet, she excites me.
I mean… okay, physically, it isn’t a mystery. The girl is a knockout. If she wouldn’t have had the misfortune of being spawned by Matt Morelli, she’d damn sure be gracing the glossy pages of magazines.
It’s more than that, though. I feel bizarrely protective over her, and I’m really not that kind of guy in a relationship. Since I do like the girls who can hold their own and play the game, you have to allow for a certain amount of superficiality. A certain amount of distance. Maybe I pick up the tabs when we go out, but emotionally, they aren’t my responsibility. You don’t take care of that kind of girl—but I have this impulse to take care of Francesca, because I keep thinking of her like she’s mine. Like I’ve already marked that territory, when I’ve barely kissed her.
None of the girls I’ve been with have ever brought that out in me. I’ve always had a protective streak, sure, but only with family. Never girlfriends.
It doesn’t make me anxious to think about Francesca being my girlfriend, either. I’m always exceedingly slow to label things, but I like the idea of calling her that. I like the ownership it implies—she’s mine. Go away, every other fuck who dares look at her.
She’s mine. I’m hers.
Usually when a woman approaches that point in the relationship, I feel restricted. They want to lock me down, and I’m suddenly aware of what else is out there. Every other woman I come into contact with is suddenly prettier, funnier, more interesting, maybe wilder in bed—better, in some way. Even if I really enjoy spending time with the girl, it’s always like that. I’m not quick to commit to people, and if I do, I usually feel like I got roped into it.
It’s not like I’m committed to Francesca, but I’m not looking at anyone else, either. I don’t even want to. Why look at some other girl when I could spend that same time looking at Francesca?
Well, except I can’t, because the damn girl won’t spend any time with me.
I’ve never liked a woman more than she liked me before. That’s kind of annoying. If this is what it feels like for women to date me, I owe a lot of people a lot of apologies.
Since I’m still thinking about her, I grab my phone and text her. “Why don’t you come over to my house after you get off work? We can have dinner here, no risk of being seen.”
I have some work of my own to do, so when she doesn’t text back after a few minutes, I put my phone away and go about my business.
It’s about an hour later when I finally pull it out again, and my heart about stops when I read, “Should I bring cupcakes?”
“Don’t play with my heart now, you little vixen,” I shoot back. “Are you really coming?”
A few minutes later, she answers, “Lol, I didn’t think you were going to respond. I’ll come if you still want me to.”
I’m so goddamn excited that I don’t even make the easy joke about her coming—holy shit.
Francesca Morelli finally said yes to me.
---
I actually had some unpleasant shit to do today, but I can’t help smiling like an idiot the whole time. The guy who’s getting his ass beat probably thinks I’m
psychotic, but that’s okay. Maybe he won’t be such a little ball sac next time if he thinks I get joy out of seeing him beat to shit. I really don’t; it’s just business. I much prefer to give off a vibe of controlled intimidation than sadistic joy in times like these, but Francesca’s bringing me cupcakes, so I’d smile through a scorching tour of Hell right now.
It occurs to me that I should get food on my way home. I don’t know what Francesca likes to eat. I hope she’s not a vegetarian or something. I buy steaks.
As I’m walking past the little floral nook at the grocery store, a bouquet of white roses and blue hydrangeas catches my eye. I grab those, too. Since it’s the only thing I know she likes, I’m gonna buy her hydrangeas all the time.
It crosses my mind a couple times, after texting her my home address without having once heard her voice today, that this could be a trap. That would be immensely disappointing. I imagine opening the door, expecting Francesca’s gorgeous face, and instead seeing the dead-eyed, scarred visage of Adrian Palmetto, there to rip me a new asshole.
Since we’re at peace right now, it wouldn’t be the end of the line for me, but it could make things between us tenser. Adrian wouldn’t kill me, but it would definitely mean the end with Francesca. He’d warn me off, start watching her better. I’d definitely have to pull Mark for his own safety if they started to suspect anything, because trying to seduce Francesca they’d probably forgive me for, but placing a spy in their midst? That they would not.
The bigger problem, to be honest, is my father. The peace between our family and Francesca’s was negotiated before my father came to power, and he never liked it even then, he just didn’t have enough power to call that particular shot. Then a few too many cheeseburgers finished off the last boss and my dad came into power. Ever since, he’s been looking for ways to cut Mateo out. Says Mateo’s only an underboss and he shouldn’t even have to deal with him. Says he has no respect for the way things are done.
It’s not that he’s wrong. It’s just that Mateo holds more power in this city than we do because he branched out into shit we don’t touch: ugly shit, legit shit—if it would bring him power, he started growing it. The money followed, and the power follows the money. Given all that, you either play ball with Mateo or fight him and his army—and anyone who’s tried in the past has been obliterated.