As the question leaves my lips, I think about what that would mean. I’m certainly not opposed to the idea, but I’m also very aware of how crazy that sounds. She can’t hide here forever. I may have my opinions about Tank DeLuca, but that’s all they are.
Opinions.
He is her dad and like him or not, he’s part of her life.
“No…yes…I don’t know,” she sighs frustratedly.
Sighing, I throw my legs over the edge of the bed and grab a pair of sweats from the floor. If we are going to have this conversation, it’s best one of us has some fucking clothes on. Pulling the pants up my legs, the elastic band slaps against my abs and I turn to face her.
“You’re freaking out for no reason.”
Her eyes bulge and I amend my sentence.
“Okay, you’re freaking out with good reason, but let’s take a step back and calm down, okay? I’ll take you over there to get what you need.”
“You really think that’s a good idea? You broke Hound’s nose. We won’t make it past the gates.”
That angered me.
Sure, I broke the bastard’s nose, but he deserved it and if Tank heard him say what he said, I think the guy would agree. That’s of course, if he was a levelheaded man who didn’t go to jail for assaulting cops.
She’s right.
We’re fucked.
I’m not about to tell that to Antonia, though.
“Look, your father has a problem with me. He’s cooked up this crazy theory in his head that I’m the enemy without knowing a damn thing about me other than my profession. I don’t like what he does, but he’s your father and instead of writing him off, I’ll give him the courtesy of getting to know me and see my intentions are pure, that I’m more than a badge and a pair of handcuffs.”
Her face softens, and the panic flees her features.
“If you think it’s better, I’ll stay in the car, outside the gates, fine. You just call me if you need me. And if you decide you want to hold off on going there today, we can go to the mall and get you something to wear tonight. Tomorrow, you won’t need any clothes.”
“Oh, yeah? Why is that?”
“You’ll be naked all day.”
“So much for pure intentions,” she laughs.
“I should’ve been more specific.”
* * *
“Surprise!”
Tig and Delia freeze in their tracks, their eyes moving from me to take in the rest of the room and all the familiar faces of their friends.
“What’s all this?” Tig asks, looking back at me.
Grinning at the bastard, I shrug my shoulders and raise my beer to him.
“Happy Anniversary,” Soraya says, rushing toward them. Graham is hot on her heels as she envelopes Delia in a hug.
“They look genuinely surprised,” Antonia says from beside me. Taking a pull of my beer, I turn to her. She decided to hold off on paying her father a visit to get some of her things and after a morning quickie, we hit Kings Plaza. I was never big on shopping, but that might be because I never got to sit in a dressing room while my girl slid into one sexy outfit after another. It’s a totally different experience.
Out of all the clothes she bought, she decided to wear a simple off the shoulder black dress that molded to every curve. It was cut mid-thigh, and she paired it with knee-high boots. Another new purchase I was sure was only made to drive me mad. I couldn’t wait to get her home. She could ditch the dress, but the boots were staying on.
Peeling her gaze away from Tig and Delia, she looks at me as I lower the bottle from my lips and stare at hers.
The red lipstick is new too.
I can’t wait to smear it.
“Aren’t we going to go say hello?”
“We should probably do that, right?”
She laughs and grabs my free hand.
“Introduce me to your cousins, Pirelli. Isn’t that why you brought me here?”
A week ago, bringing Antonia here to meet Tig seemed like the perfect excuse to get him and Delia here, but now I just want her here for me. Before I can tell her that, though, she drags me to the small huddle surrounding our guests of honor.
Graham notices me first.
“Pirelli, nice to see you finally decided to ease up on the hair gel,” he mocks. “How’s your jaw?”
“Bennett,” I reply. “Still got that stick shoved up your ass, huh? Must be painful when you take a shit.”
He chuckles and offers me his hand, which I take.
“Antonia, you’ve met Graham, right?”
“Yes,” she replies, flashing him a brilliant smile. “Nice to see you again.”
“Likewise, I hear all good things from Soraya,” he replies, eyeing her empty glass. “What are you drinking?”
She follows his gaze.
“Tequila on the rocks.”
“Looks like you can use a refill,” Graham says, reaching for her glass. He lifts his eyes to me. “You need another?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
He nods, and then Tig’s boisterous voice cuts through all the background noise.
“Is this the girl you keep gushing about? Delia, babe, get over here. She’s real!”
Antonia giggles as I refrain from elbowing him in the gut. Instead, I drape an arm around Antonia’s shoulders, bringing her closer. I should’ve gone for her waist, her silky skin under my fingertips is too tempting.
“Tig, Delia, this is Antonia. Antonia, this asshole is my cousin and the beauty on his arm is up for sainthood for marrying him.”
“Nice to meet you both. Happy Anniversary,” she says, offering her hand to Tig.
He looks at it and then laughs before pulling her out of my arms and into his.
“We hug around here.”
“I like hugs,” Antonia replies.
The three of them exchange pleasantries and a few laughs at my expense.
“You’re smiling so hard right now,” Soraya says as she snatches my beer from my hands and downs it herself. I peel my eyes away from Tig, Antonia, and Delia and look at her.
“Your husband is on a drink run, should we flag him down?”
She hands me back the empty bottle.
“I like her, Marco.”
“Look at that, another thing we have in common.”
She flits her gaze to me.
“I don’t mean as an intern,” she clarifies. “I like her for you. Don’t fuck it up.”
“I don’t plan to,” I reply instantly, my eyes darting back to Antonia. I watch as she throws her head back and laughs at something Tig says. His eyes twinkle as he grins at her, a sure sign that she’s won him over too.
“We did good,” Soraya says. “They look happy.”
Delia joins Antonia and the two of them smack Tig playfully.
“Yeah, they do,” I agree.
It was definitely worth all the craziness to see them smile again, even if it's only for one night. Graham returns just as the tempo of the music changes and a classic free-style song starts to play.
“I love this song,” Soraya says, taking the drinks from Graham. She hands them to me and grabs him by the tie, dragging him onto the dance floor. Shaking my head at the crazy lovebirds, I make my way to Antonia.
“I pierced my tongue once,” Antonia says, and I nearly drop the drinks.
“What?” I croak.
Why couldn’t I have pulled her over during that stage in her life?
“I hated it,” she continues. “My tongue swelled, and I couldn’t talk. I wound up pulling it out.”
“I pierced Soraya’s tongue,” Delia tells her.
“Do you do tattoos too?”
“Nah, that’s all me,” Tig says, raising his beer. He points the neck of it towards her. “You got ink?”
“Not yet.”
Christ.
“I have something in mind, though,” she continues.
“Oh, yeah?” I ask, totally intrigued.
Her eyes sparkle with mischief as they
meet mine.
“Yep.”
“You going to share?”
She shakes her head and looks back at Tig.
“Can you fit me in this week?”
“I always have time for a blank canvas. How’s Tuesday?”
“I get out of work at five.”
“You’re in.”
“Wait a minute,” I say. “You still haven’t finished the piece on my back.”
“You did that?” Antonia questions. She finally takes the drink from my hand, but she doesn’t make eye contact with me. She’s too enthralled with Tig. If Delia wasn’t standing right there, and he didn’t have his hand on his wife’s ass, I might be jealous.
“Guilty.”
“I love it,” she says and my eyes snap back to her. I hadn’t even realized she noticed the damn thing. She must sense I’m staring because she finally turns to me. “I was admiring it this morning when you were in the shower.”
A guest of the party shouts for Tig and Delia to join him at the bar for shots and they excuse themselves, leaving us alone.
“I love them,” she says, once they’re out of earshot. I know I should probably ease her worries of being accepted by my family and tell her it’s obvious the feeling is mutual, but I’m stuck on the tattoo thing.
“Tell me more about this tattoo.”
“Nope, you’ll just have to stick around and see for yourself.”
It’s not even up for debate.
There is no place I would rather be.
No one else I would rather be with.
A fact that is only confirmed as the night goes on and Antonia is welcomed into the bunch. She tears up the dance floor with Soraya, does shots with Tig and Delia, and even pokes fun at Graham’s suit and she does it all with a smile on her face.
A smile that knocks me on my ass.
I’ve been the guy on the outside looking in, watching everyone find love and I never thought I was missing anything.
Until tonight.
Until Antonia.
We may be from two different worlds, but she fits in mine.
I just need to figure out how the hell I’m going to convince her I fit into hers.
Chapter Twenty
Marco
The sound of the smoke alarm wakes me, and I spring out of bed. I drag my naked ass into the kitchen where I find Antonia. My t-shirt barely covers her ass as she stands on her tiptoes, waving a dishtowel at the smoke alarm. Coming up behind her, I grab the towel with one hand and unscrew the alarm from the ceiling. The annoying beeping sound stops instantly.
“Thank God,” she exclaims, pushing her hair out of her face. “That thing was driving me insane.”
“What happened?” I ask, looking toward the stove and the charred frying pan. “Are those black things pancakes?”
“They’re a little well done.”
“I’ll say,” I mutter, tearing my eyes away from her attempt at breakfast.
She frowns.
“I can’t cook.”
“Noted,” I reply, trying not to laugh because she looks like she might burst into tears. Tossing the dishtowel on the counter, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her close. I bend my head and press my lips to hers. “Good morning.”
“It was until I ruined breakfast.”
“I’m naked in case you haven’t noticed, it’s still a great morning,” I tease, dipping my head to kiss her neck. You would think after the last few sleepovers she’d realize I’m content with having her for breakfast. I could probably sustain with having her for lunch and dinner too.
Lifting her in my arms, she winds her legs around my hips, and I carry her to the couch. I gently deposit her against the cool leather and drop to my knees. Spreading her legs, my hands travel up the inside of her thighs as I eye her sleek pussy.
She is always shamelessly wet and waiting for me.
“What about breakfast?”
“I’m about to have mine. We’ll get you something to nosh on later.”
A giggle spills from the back of her throat as I lift her legs onto my shoulders. I settle between her thighs and press my mouth to her sweet center. My tongue takes one languid stroke and flicks her clit.
“You spoil me,” she moans, threading her fingers through my hair.
After last night, I’m going to have to disagree. I’m the spoiled one, I was the envy of every man at the party. On top of winning over Tig and Delia and scoring us an invitation for dinner at their house next weekend, she rocked my world when we got home. If fucking was a sport, we were Olympians.
“Marco…” she cries, clawing my back.
I’m just getting started, and she’s already about to come. Like I said, gold medal champ over here.
“Marco the door!”
My mouth pauses and I lift my eyes to hers.
“What?”
“Someone’s at your door,” she pants.
Another knock sounds, but I don’t move from my position between her legs. In fact, I’m about to go down on her again and ignore whoever it is intruding at this ungodly hour when I hear my mother’s shrill voice.
“Marco Vincenzo Pirelli I know you’re in there!”
Kicking me away, Antonia sits up.
“Who is that?”
“Satan.”
Leaning back on my haunches, I roughly comb my fingers through my hair. The pounding on the door continues and I mutter a curse before turning back to Antonia. Anger flashes in her eyes and she gives me another nudge with her foot.
“A woman is banging on your door at eight o’clock on a Sunday while your head is between my legs. Care to explain?”
“Sure,” I say, rising to my feet. “Why don’t you go put on a pair of panties, so my mother doesn’t see how wet your pussy is when I open the door. Oh, and while you’re at it, do you mind grabbing me a pair of shorts? It’s been a while since my mother has seen my ‘peeschadiel’ as she likes to call it.”
Her eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets.
“Your mother is here!?” she shrieks, jumping to her feet.
“Marco, I know you’re in there! Don’t make me call the super.”
“Oh my God,” Antonia hisses. “Look at me.”
“Still naked over here,” I say, waving a hand down the length of me. “At least you got a shirt. Smart move. I get it now.”
“I can’t meet your mother.”
“Well, you can and you’re about to…so again, panties. Now.” I turn back to the door. “Coming!”
Or at least Antonia would’ve been if you hadn’t decided to show up.
I would have been next.
By some miracle of God, Antonia springs into action and scampers into my bedroom. A pair of basketball shorts come flying out of the room and I hurry to grab them. Shoving my legs through them, I make a dash for the door.
If only I paid attention during the religious instruction classes, she made me take for six years, I might be able to send a prayer up to the man upstairs. But instead of learning the Hail Mary, I was making googly eyes at the sixteen-year-old student teaching the class.
Maybe this is my penance for that.
Pulling open the door, I swipe my hand over my mouth.
You know that saying, ‘do you kiss your mother with that mouth?’
We’re about to find out.
“Mom, what a surprise!”
“Oh, cut the crap,” she says, smacking me in the head with her purse—a Louis Vuitton knock off she scored on Canal Street. Luckily, she completed the transaction before me, and Richie raided the place. Imagine having to arrest your mother for buying a fake handbag in the back room of a fruit market. Actually, that probably wouldn’t be the issue, that would come when I had to tag the bag as evidence. She’d kill me before she’d part with her Louie. Fake and all, that thing is her most prized possession.
She gives me another whack to the head, and I make a mental note to get a CAT scan. I’ve taken a couple of hits in the last two weeks it’s probably not
a bad idea.
“I got a call from Father Murphy this morning.”
“It’s eight o’clock. What time did he call you?”
“Never mind that,” she scolds. “He was crying.”
I’m having a hard time following this story, partly because Antonia is probably freaking out in my bedroom, but also because I’m trying to understand why a priest is calling my mother early on a Sunday morning, crying when he should be preparing for mass.
“Isn’t it a little too late for him to regret the vow of celibacy?”
“You broke the statue of Santa Rosalia!” she shouts before she switches to Italian and calls me everything from a disgrace to a stupid piece of donkey shit. At least I think it’s a donkey. My Italian is a little sketchy. She stops in the middle of her rant and sniffs me.
Uh oh.
“What the hell is that smell?” she asks.
I scratch my cheek.
“Well, Ma, you see, before you knocked so pleasantly on my door—"
She pushes past me, and I bang my head against the door.
Definitely gonna need that CAT scan.
“Oh my God! Your kitchen was on fire? Why didn’t you tell me your kitchen was on fire?” she shrieks, spinning around. Charging for me, she grabs my face. “Are you okay? You didn’t suffer any burns, did you? You’re too pretty.”
She forces my mouth open.
“Stick your tongue out and say ah.”
If only you knew where my tongue was you wouldn’t be asking me to do that.
A loud bang sounds from my bedroom, and my mother drops her hands.
Thank fuck.
“Did you hear that?”
Having enough of this circus, I swipe a hand over my face and call Antonia.
“Who?”
“Come out of the bedroom,” I shout. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
God help us both.
My mother’s eyes go as wide as saucers as the door to my bedroom slowly opens. Antonia creeps out of the room, fully dressed in a pair of yoga pants and the same t-shirt, her hair in a bun on top of her head. A very high bun that makes me do a double take. It looks like there’s a beehive on top of her head.
“Ma, this is Antonia. Antonia, my mother, Carmella.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Pirelli,” Antonia says, smiling sheepishly.
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