There were so many new emotions and revelations boiling inside him, and there was only one person he wanted to share it with.
And that thought brought his mind to what Sofia had said about love. Was he in love with Francesca? He was definitely in like. Deep like. He wanted to be around her all the time. He wanted to argue with her, he wanted to laugh with her, he wanted her to meet his sisters. He really wanted to win the fight in Miami, make her proud, show her that she’d made the right decision by signing him. He constantly pushed her to tell him all her secrets and feelings, but what had he really told her about himself? He’d never even told her about his father or about the scar on his face. He avoided any conversations about his constant physical aches, about his fears of becoming a has-been as he got older and the new fighters got younger. When she asked, he changed the subject. Damn it, maybe Sofia had been right…about everything.
—
For hours Tony drove around town hoping to find Francesca. By midday, he was exhausted from lack of sleep and worry.
He went back to her house to check if she’d come home. When he found the place still empty, he left her a note and went to the gym. For an hour straight Tony pounded his fists into the punching bag. The next hour, he spent working on take-down techniques with Slade and Cain. Travis and Enzo came in a few hours later, and he sparred with them for a while.
“Looking good, brother.” Travis tapped Tony’s shoulder as he stepped out of the ring. “I haven’t seen you this focused before.”
Enzo rubbed his own shoulder. “And you defended yourself and didn’t let me take you down. Damn, you almost dislocated my shoulder with that one move.”
“Good job,” Slade said as the guys headed out.
By nightfall, Tony was seriously thinking he was going to lose his mind. He was ready to call the police and report his car stolen in order to find her. Her cell phone sat ominously on the table where she’d left it.
Other than her father, there was only one person he hadn’t called. One, because he was afraid she might actually be with him, and that would probably destroy him, and two, because he didn’t want to ask the son of a bitch who’d been trying to poach on his woman for help. But he didn’t care about his wounded pride at the moment.
“Hello?”
“Rodrigo? Tony.”
“Tony?”
“You’re lucky you’re not in town, motherfucker.” He’d meant to do this nicer, but clearly he’d failed miserably.
“Excuse me?”
“I hope you’re ready for me. I’m gonna kill you when we fight. You hear me? Fuck the rules. I’m going to annihilate you!”
The man didn’t say anything for some time and when Tony heard him again, all he heard was laughter. “Frankie told ya I asked her out, I see.”
“You’ve been texting my woman. That’s not cool.”
“Relax. We both had unresolved issues, and we sort of hashed it out at the press conference. I feel bad about the way I handled it, but I wasn’t hitting on her, man. Okay, maybe I was, a little, but now I really just want to talk to her and try to get some closure between us. She’s obviously into you, so I don’t know what you did to get her mad.”
“How do you know she’s mad?”
“You wouldn’t be calling if she wasn’t.”
Tony let out a grumble. “Mad’s not even the word.”
“Oh, she’s pissed off. I wouldn’t want to be you right now. An angry Francesca is a thing of beauty.”
Tony wasn’t going to say it out loud, especially to Rodrigo, of all people, but he was right. Angry Francesca was a thing of beauty, with her hazel eyes shining and her skin reddened. Her strength when she was riled up was what had made him chase her around like an idiot for months. But what Rodrigo didn’t know, what no one else knew, was that when she gave up control, when she allowed him to lead—that’s when she was the most beautiful. Right now, though, what Tony was afraid of was that she wasn’t mad; he feared that her spark was gone and that she was hurt physically or emotionally. What she had said about her depression, that someone had hurt her so badly that she hadn’t seen a way out of it, unnerved him. His woman was so strong, and she had pulled herself out of her darkness. And now she was the light in his life. She needed to know that. He needed her back.
“I know we’re supposed to hate each other. I mean, you’re sleeping with my ex-wife and we’re fighting in a major bout soon, but can I give you some advice?” When Tony didn’t reply, Rodrigo continued. “I screwed up eight years ago. I let her go. She was my wife and my best friend and I lost her. I should’ve fought for her. And now it’s too late. Don’t make the same mistake I did. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life. She likes to run away and to hide her emotions. When you find her, she’s going to shut down. That’s just the way she is.”
“I said some pretty hurtful things. I’m not sure she’ll take me back. Shit, I don’t even know where she is.”
“She’s not here, if that’s why you’re calling. Listen, she’s into you. She’ll hear what you have to say. And if not, go with knee pads.”
“Huh?”
“So you can get on your knees and beg.”
Tony laughed. “Thanks, man. Sorry about…you know…the threat.”
“I get it. Frankie’ll do that to a man.” With that, Rodrigo disconnected.
—
Francesca couldn’t hide out any longer. She needed her own clothes, her own shampoo, her own bed. The anger hadn’t at all subsided, and she was mad at herself for allowing him this power over her emotions.
She opened the front door to her dark house. She’d assumed that Tony had been looking for her; after all, she had his precious car. It hadn’t occurred to her that perhaps her nearly twenty-four-hour absence had gone unnoticed. She flipped on the nearest light, leaned into the wall with one hand, and slipped off her shoes. He was probably at a bar drinking and getting into a brawl.
She needed her rest so she could talk to Tony and break things off in the morning. She had her hand on the doorknob when an arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back. The hallway leading toward the bedrooms was pitch-black, and she couldn’t see a thing. Her instincts kicked in, and she was about to elbow the intruder’s jaw when the grip tightened, as if to rein her in, and she smelled Tony’s enticing cologne.
“I’m sorry, mi amor.” His warm breath by her ear felt like a sensual caress she wanted to melt into, except she was still mad. He had been a complete asshole, and no matter how much she wanted to submit to the strong arms holding her, she also wanted to smack him in the head with the shoe in her left hand. “You’re so strong, I sometimes forget how fragile you can be. I’m so sorry,” he whispered again.
They stood in the hall, still. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do just yet. “I was a jerk.” He kissed her shoulder. “I was worried. I missed you. I messed up.” He continued to kiss her shoulder and neck as he whispered how sorry he was.
She didn’t move because she wasn’t sure how to react. On the one hand, she wanted to cling to that anger, but on the other, she wanted to listen to him, forgive him, love him. Her eyes welled; they’d been doing that a lot lately. It was as if she had a backlog of tears that were trying to spill out from so many years of holding them in.
When anyone angered her, she wanted to fight back. It was her normal response, but with Tony, she just couldn’t fight. It was as if by letting him take the lead, the weight of her problems dissolved. She wanted to put aside her pride and forgive. In the dark, he unhooked her fingers from her shoe and it thumped onto the floor. “Do you forgive me?” he whispered into her ear. She felt him reach for her shirt and pull it over her head, then he pulled off her shorts and kicked them aside. He swooped down, picked her up, and carried her to the bedroom. “I didn’t mean any of those things I said to you. You know that, right?”
He laid her down as if she were made of glass. The only noise was of him undressing before he climbed on top of her, his weight on his forearms
. Apprehensively, she reached out and traced his scar with her index finger. He didn’t normally like people touching his very prominent scar. He knew it was impossible to ignore, even though he wished people didn’t notice. He hated it. “You are the only person who’s never asked me about my scar.”
The skin where she had touched left a lingering tingle from her contact. She must have noticed his trepidation and backtracked. “Sorry.” She closed her eyes and covered them with her hand. “Sorry. That was…not nice. I shouldn’t have done that.”
He swallowed. “No. No. It’s fine. Just caught me off guard. Most people feel uncomfortable. I mean, really, how could anyone not notice? It’s revolting.”
“It’s perfect,” she said quickly. She sensed that her reply had caught him completely off guard. “I never asked before because I forget it’s there.” She reached forward again. “Can I touch it?”
When he didn’t answer, she caressed it with the back of her hand but slower this time, seeking his silent approval. He didn’t move. She again traced it, and he closed his eyes and leaned into her palm. All of a sudden she realized that the silence, the intensity she felt, and the intimacy of what she was doing had changed something between them. The world had tilted on its axis. “Can I tell you why I love this scar?” He didn’t answer, so she went on. “The thing is, Tony, you’re flawed.” He looked at her in confusion. “You’re this devastatingly good-looking guy. Your body is perfect. Women would give their soul to the devil to have your hair.” She reached for his hair and ran her fingers through it. “Black, thick, soft. Even that dumb curl.” She pulled gently on the curl that sometimes fell on his forehead and let it go; it bounced back. “It looks perfect on you. Like it belongs there. There’s nothing wrong with you physically. Even that ridiculous beard. You look like a bear, but it’s sexy as hell. And you’re a charmer. You open your mouth, and the poor girls never stand a chance. You’re the most self-confident person I’ve ever met. But then you have this scar. It makes you human. It shows me that something went wrong somewhere, and somehow that makes it perfect. Because who wants perfect? Real perfection is flawed somehow, otherwise it isn’t real. And this scar, it makes you real.”
“Trust me, mi amor. That scar isn’t the only flaw I have. Far from it. You probably think it was from fighting.” She didn’t respond. “That’s what everyone assumes. Tony, the punk who gets into bar fights.” He reached down and twirled a chunk of her hair between his fingers. “That’s what the media say. Scarface Marino got into it at a club or some shit while he was drunk. But that’s not true.” He paused and kissed her forehead. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever told this story to anyone. Only my family knows.”
“You don’t have to tell me, Tony.”
“I want to. Maybe you’ll understand why I’m an asshole sometimes. I don’t mean to be, especially not with you. It’s just…I get so jealous I can’t control my temper.” He leaned back. “My dad…he loved women and booze. Loved them. Cheated on my mom all the time. Never brought any money home because he was either drinking or screwing. When he was home, all he wanted to do was train me. He was a boxer himself. The only memories I have of him sober is when we’d go down to the local YMCA and hit the punching bags. They were good memories, those times. He pushed me into kickboxing, and when I won my first professional fight, God, he was so happy and proud. But he was still a drunk and everyone in town knew it.
“I’m the youngest. My four sisters were always working to help my mother around the house. The kids in school would tease me all the time. Everyone knew about my dad. I didn’t want to believe he was cheating on my mom or that he was a drunk, so I got into a lot fights. My poor mother, I don’t know how she survived my high school years. I was always in trouble. Always angry. We were so broke those days. Scrambling to make rent. Living day to day.
“Well, on my eighteenth birthday an older friend of mine took me to a local bar for a drink to celebrate. We walked in and sat at the bar, and the bartender—a pretty girl with a crush on my friend—started giving us shots. Then a familiar voice yelled from behind me that the next round was on him, for the entire bar. He was celebrating something. I don’t know what. But when I turned around it was my father. He had a woman on his lap and a drink in his hand. I was so mad. He hadn’t even seen me. Hell, he hadn’t even been home that day to wish me a happy birthday.”
Tony stopped for a moment, lost in his thoughts. She waited patiently for what she already knew would not be a good story. “So anyway, we were barely making rent, and this motherfucker was buying the entire bar shots. Plus he was cheating on my mother. In front of the entire town. I stood up, and when he saw me, instead of being embarrassed, he was cool about it. Introduced me to his mistress. His mistress! I lost it and I started yelling at him, and he started yelling at me, calling me stupid and an ingrate. He said that had he not taught me to fight, I’d have been on the street, since I was too stupid to do anything else. I threw the first punch and he fell back. But you have to understand, my dad was a boxer. Even though he was older, the man was in shape. He stood up and punched me right back, broke my nose. One thing led to another, and soon we were in a full-out fight on the floor of the bar. The scuffle ended when he reached for a beer bottle that had somehow broken and used it to get me off him.”
“He cut you with the broken bottle?” She seemed genuinely hurt by the realization.
“He hit me with it.” He took a deep breath. “He died a few years ago. Cancer. He served a month in jail for assaulting me, but he never apologized. My mother divorced him soon after. But the fucker died of cancer. Alone. The only thing that made him happy was when I fought. I was angry for fighting, for being good at it. Yet I kept doing it for some sick need to get his approval. How fucked up is that?”
She reached up and touched his face. “I’m sorry for what your father did to you. It’s fucked up only because he was wrong for doing that to you. Your need to please him…that’s not fucked up. You were just a kid. And…I’m sorry too. About our fight.” There, she’d said it. “I shouldn’t have walked out. Leaving was the cowardly thing to do.”
He reached between her legs, pushed her panties to the side, and slowly entered her. No urgency, just slow and sensual.
“Francesca.” His voice was so pained and so low, she wanted to weep. “I’ve never done this with someone who mattered. Never,” he whispered. “I love you, mi amor.” He moved his body achingly slow inside her. The words tore at something deep within her—something so new and wonderful and oh so scary. The last time she’d opened her heart, it had been ripped to shreds. She wanted to tell him all of this, but she just couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come out of her mouth. He continued to rock in and out of her, all his weight on her. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes. It was such a tender moment, and the fact she couldn’t say the words back killed her.
“Don’t say anything,” he said, as if he could sense her struggle. “I love you, and I’m going to fix me, baby. Then I’m going to fix you, my love. I’ll make you whole again. You’re going to see yourself the same way I see you,” he promised as he pushed inside her and caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. “Because I need you and me to be an us.”
He kissed her, stroked her face, and whispered loving things until they both reached their peak and he collapsed on her.
When they caught their breath, Francesca finally spoke up, tears in her eyes. “I’m so scared of getting hurt that I’m not capable of loving someone.” A sob escaped her lips, shocking both of them. “But you have to know that if I could love, it would be you who I’d want to love.”
“My beautiful girl, you are capable of loving. That unfamiliar feeling in the pit of your stomach, that’s love. I was stupid and slow not to notice it sooner, or maybe it’s such a new thing I couldn’t recognize it. But it’s love. You love me, and I don’t need you to say it to know. I would tell you that I’m going to make you fall in love with me, but you already have. I’ll get you to say it, though
. You’ll see.”
She didn’t say anything; she simply wrapped herself in his arms, breathed him in, and fell asleep feeling all the love he had to give.
Chapter 10
“What did that pepper ever do to you?” It was early the next morning, and Francesca was standing in the kitchen with a green pepper and a knife in her hand. She wore a long T-shirt, her glasses, and a messy knot on her head. She was belting out a song that played from her phone. She was completely out of tune, but it made Tony fall for her a little harder. It was when her walls were down and she seemed almost carefree, when she thought no one was noticing—those were the moments he loved most.
“I thought I’d make breakfast for once.”
He kissed her before reaching for the knife. “I got this. Go make coffee or something. I’ve never seen someone butcher a vegetable quite like this before.”
“Ha ha.”
“So, we okay?”
She kissed his cheek and walked over to the coffeemaker. “Yeah, we’re okay. I want to try. I want to make this work.” She looked into her mug as if she were talking to the coffee instead of him. “Just…please don’t break my heart.”
There was so much vulnerability in her words, he felt like holding her and never letting go. “I promise, I will not break your heart.” He kissed her temple as she continued to look down at the mug. She was slowly cracking; he felt it, and it made him feel invincible. The strongest woman he knew was finally letting him in—at least a little. He grabbed some more ingredients and started to cook.
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