by Frankie Love
We all sit in silence for a moment, but a question is burning the back of my throat, and I need to ask. “What happened to him?” My hands shiver in my lap as I wait for their answer. They’re all quiet for a long time, until I grow uneasy.
“He was shot,” Matteo says.
“But he got away,” my father adds.
“He might be dead,” Abbate tells me.
“But he might still be out there.” Matteo squeezes my hand reassuringly. “I won’t let you out of my sight, though. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you ever again.”
I nod slowly, even though I’m not sure I trust any of them. And I have more questions, mainly about the reason they’re all so friendly to each other – or at least civil. I ask, and I don’t expect the answers that start pouring from the three men’s lips.
It seems as if the hunt for me brought them all together. They seem so intent on protecting me, it makes me feel warm inside. It’s like I have a new family. And as I squeeze Matteo’s hand and he returns the motion with a wolfish smile, I know he wasn’t lying. He’s going to keep me safe from now on, and I have nothing to worry about.
Unless… Unless Antonio is still out there. But I can’t let myself think about that. Better to believe him dead, which he almost surely is. Better to move on.
But the nagging thought in the back of my mind remains.
14
Matteo
For the next few weeks, I stay by Bianca’s side. Our fathers do their best to convince me to leave, but I’m not having any of it. She slipped through my fingers once before, and I’m not about to let it happen one more time. I hold on to her as she sleeps, cradling her in my arms. I hold her hand when she goes out, always escorted by a bodyguard and me. I worry when she’s out of my sight for more than a second, and I know it’s driving her crazy. But as long as I can still make her giggle and forget about the uncomfortable situation for a moment or two, I’ll take it.
My father has returned home and grudgingly left me behind. To be fair, I was shocked, and still am, that he gave up on me so quickly. But not in the way he’s done it since I was a child, no. This time, it seems like he genuinely wants me to be happy. I have a feeling he realized I wouldn’t be satisfied until I could spend my days and nights with Bianca, and he’s finally letting me have what I want. For that, I am thankful.
Da Costa, however, has not been doing well.
I think Bianca’s too blind to notice, but I know he’s slowly fading away. Each day, he has more trouble moving, getting up. Each day, his belt is fastened a spot closer to his waist. He’s losing weight, and the housekeeper at Bianca’s house has told me in hushed tones Da Costa isn’t doing well. He may only have weeks left.
I don’t want to tell Bianca. I won’t want to be the one to have to open her eyes to the harsh reality. She just lost her brother – at my hands. It’s been difficult enough on her, and I don’t want her to spend the remaining days with her father in a haze, wondering whether every time she sees him is the last one.
So I do my best to distract her. I go on countless shopping trips. I watch her playing with her greyhounds. I hold her when she breaks down, remembering what happened to her in Antonio’s basement. She still won’t tell me what happened, but her wounds speak loudly enough.
When we got her back, a doctor declared she had two broken ribs and a severely bruised collarbone. She refused to wear a brace, but thankfully, everything’s healed well despite that. What worries me is the fact that she won’t speak to me about it. Not a single word since we spoke in her room the first time she woke up.
Da Costa has now moved into the house he’d bought for Sofia, and lives with Bianca. I know she liked being close to her father, but I also know the real reason he is here – it’s closer to the hospital, and he’s getting too tired to make the trek from his home to here daily. He’s fading away.
Bianca has been distant. Despite the smiles, the giggles, the long conversations… It’s like she’s playing a role. She won’t let me close. Not physically, not in any sense of the word. When I try to kiss her, she pushes me away. When I ask questions, she shuts up like a clam. She won’t let me in, and it’s fucking killing me. My beautiful, delicate girl, like a flower in full bloom. And she wants to wilt without me.
It’s been three weeks since the day I kidnapped Bianca Da Costa. Twenty days since she sucked my cock and let me touch her. Nineteen since the day she was changed forever.
When the phone rings in the middle of the night on the twenty-first day, I know what’s coming. The call is coming from inside the house, after all. The housekeeper is somber. She simply tells me to wake Bianca and come to her father’s room. It’s time to say goodbye.
I wake her up gently, living for the moment when she cuddles closer to me. The seconds before she remembers what happened to her and changed her for life. Her soft breath against my chest right before she opens her eyes and her sweet smile is replaced by fear.
I would never hurt her. Probably couldn’t bring myself to do it, even if she begged me. But still, it seems like she’s scared of me the most.
We still share a bed. She curls up and moves closer once she’s asleep. But when she’s awake, she keeps her distance. Too afraid to even look at me. And it’s fucking tearing me up on the inside.
I try to forget all of that as I stir her from her sleep. I do relish the moment she leans closer to me, though… But once her eyes open sleepily, it’s over. She moves away in a second, protectively shielding her body by crossing her arms in front of it.
“What is it?” she asks, yawning.
“We need to go to your father’s bedroom,” I say gently. She looks at me over her shoulder, her eyes sharp.
“What? Why?”
I put a palm on her bare shoulder and she flinches. Fucking flinches, like I’m going to throw her across the room or something. I hold back my frustration and sigh instead. “Come on. I’m sure we’ll understand once we get there.”
I can see the tears already pooling in her eyes, but she won’t let me do a thing about it. She pushes me away and gets up from the bed, wrapping her already pajama-clad body in a thick, fluffy dressing gown with hearts on it. The image of innocence… And I don’t even dare to look at her twice for fear of scaring her off.
I offer her my hand, and she reluctantly takes it.
Walking through her house in the middle of the night feels like we’re two naughty children, up to no good. I almost feel like we’re about to play hide and seek, but once you’ve seen a real monster emerge from the shadows, you’re not so thrilled about the darkness any more.
I knock on her father’s suite door. We’ve set him up in the east wing, and he has every comfort that’s accessible to money and his status. Except for the cure. That isn’t an option, not even for one of the richest mobsters this side of the coast.
A nurse opens the door with a beaten-down expression. As soon as Bianca sees her face, her fingers tighten around mine. I can feel the tension in her body. The absolute, crippling fear that’s taking over her as I guide her inside the room.
Her father looks small and frail amidst the large stacks of pillows on the bed he’s lying in. He’s pale and yellow at the same time, a sign of his failing kidneys. Bianca gasps, tearing her hand out of mine and rushing towards her father’s deathbed.
It’s as if she’s noticing it for the first time. The loss of will, hair, appetite, everything. The slow decay of his body. The man whom I’ve grown to admire and respect barely manages a smile as his only daughter kneels in front of his bed. He tries to raise his hand to touch her hair, but he is too weak.
Bianca starts sobbing. Soft, heaving motions of her breasts. I feel choked up myself, and I’ve no idea what to do with myself. I’ve felt like an intruder since the day we rescued her, and I don’t feel much more welcome now.
But her father’s tired eyes float up until they reach mine, and he motions for me to come closer. I walk there on wobbly feet, gulping the lump in my throat.
So this is really it. He’s about to say goodbye for the last time.
Once I reach Da Costa’s bed, I see a figure sitting in a shadowed part of the room. My eyes widen as I recognize the other man in the room.
It’s my father.
He sees me looking, slowly lifting a finger to his lips and motioning for me to stay quiet. I nod. My father has tears in his eyes, but I don’t ask why. I understand. There is something there, an age-old friendship, a forgotten grudge.
I step to Da Costa’s bed, standing behind Bianca. I hate how she tenses in my presence.
Bianca’s praying in Italian, holding her father’s hand. I feel utterly useless as I listen to her feverish prayers, wishing I could be of more help. Alas, it seems like I can’t do much for this broken family. I can only stand by and offer a shoulder to cry on.
“Bianca,” Da Costa says in a deep, but tired voice.
“Yes, daddy.” Tears are streaming down her face. She’s even beautiful when she cries, my princess. “Tell me what it is, please. Daddy, don’t go…”
“It’s alright, cara,” her father mumbles. He’s leaving, slowly, but surely. We don’t have a lot of time left. Instinctively, my hand lands on Bianca’s shoulder and I squeeze it gently, letting her know I’m there for her.
“Bianca…” Da Costa chokes on his words, clearing his throat weakly. “Find him.”
“Who, daddy?” Bianca asks through heaving sobs.
“Your brother.” Da Costa looks right at me. “The little boy Abbate told us about. Find him, and take care of him, darling. He is your brother.”
After the final word leaves his mouth, he looks completely down-trodden, as if the small speech took the last of his efforts. Bianca weeps, nodding and promising to do exactly as he asks. My father approaches the bed slowly, laying a hand on Da Costa’s shoulder. The old man’s eyes drink us all in, and his lips curl upward. Not exactly a smile. More of a smirk.
He breathes a long, heavy breath of relief, his mouth set in that signature Da Costa grin. And then I feel him leaving the room, feel him leaving his body.
Bianca feels it too, and she sobs louder, sobs racking her body. She crumples to the floor, but I’m faster, and I gather her in my arms. I hold her close, and it feels as if I’m the only one holding the pieces that make her Bianca together.
A nurse approaches and silently places a white sheet over Bianca’s father’s body. The next time I turn around, my father is gone, as if he were never even there. But I know what I saw.
Bianca lets go. Her body goes slack, her legs giving out. She’s not sobbing anymore. She’s just a shell of the girl she used to be now. But I’m going to fix it all, if it’s the last fucking thing I do.
I take her in my arms and she curls up against my chest. I can feel her heart beating against mine, fast, but regular beats. I kiss her forehead tenderly and carry her out of the room. And for the first time in weeks, she lets me touch her, hold her, love her. She melts into my embrace, and I melt into her. Even when she’s not mine, I’ll always belong to her.
My beautiful girl.
15
Bianca
Daddy’s gone. I knew this day was coming, of course. I tried to fool myself until the very last moment, until I saw daddy deathly pale in his bed and knew the reaper was coming for him. I tried to push everyone away – Matteo, daddy, everyone. I tried to make it work on my own, pretend I was okay. Pretend I wasn’t shattered to pieces by what I’ve gone through.
But now I want to open myself up to him. Matteo. I let him see the ugly, and the broken, and I let him glue together the pieces. I let him carry me to my room and make quiet arrangements about my father’s funeral. I am too weak to do anything else.
I haven’t been paying attention to many things these past few weeks. I’ve been too busy shutting my eyes from reality, pretending none of the bad stuff was actually happening. But I know the gist of it.
I am daddy’s only heir, apart from the mystery boy we’ve yet to find. But I don’t have to marry that man anymore. After I was rescued, daddy promised me I wouldn’t have to. He took one look at Matteo, and he knew, even when I wouldn’t let myself believe it was true.
Settled in my princess bed, I wait for my dark prince. I wait for him to say the final words to the assistant in hushed tones. The woman gives me a sympathetic look. She’s the very one who warned me to be careful a month ago now. I wish I had listened.
Matteo says goodbye, and shuts the door. He stands in front of the closed exit from the room with tense shoulders. He exhales slowly, and I watch the tension roll away from his body in waves. Then, he turns around.
And I let myself feel it all. The way I missed him. The way I ached for him as I pushed him away. The way I love his patience, and regret the fact he didn’t make me obey and bend to his will at the same time.
He walks to the bed slowly. He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, and I stare at his strong, muscular arms. He fell asleep clothed again, lying next to me. He hasn’t let me out of his sight in weeks.
“Bianca,” he says. His voice is dark coffee and taboo. “Are you alright?”
I don’t answer. He comes closer. Once he’s a few steps away, I crawl out of bed, sitting on the edge of it and looking up at him. “Hold me,” I ask him.
“What?” He seems confused.
“Please… Hold me tonight.”
He stares at me for a long moment before nodding. “You know I’ll do whatever you want.”
I push the duvet off me and pull my shirt off with one fluid motion. It joins my dressing gown on the floor. Matteo looks uncomfortable as I get up and wiggle out of my pajamas as well. I don’t stop until I’m standing in front of him completely naked.
“Bianca…” he says. It’s a warning as much as it is a promise. Get dressed now or I won’t be responsible for my actions any longer.
“NO!” I cut him off sharply. “Now. Need you now.”
“Bianca, this isn’t the time,” he says tiredly, rubbing his eyes.
Furiously, I get off the bed and march over to him. I make him look at me, wrapping my arms around his neck and jumping up. He’s startled, but he still catches me and grabs my ass. My legs wrap around his waist and instantly, I feel his hardness pressing against me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying hard not to cry. “I’m sorry I pushed you away.”
“Princess…”
“No,” I tell him, shaking my head fervently. “I shouldn’t have. I… I need to be yours now. Now that it’s all over, I need to know I belong to you.”
“You’ve always been mine,” he growls in response. His cock is throbbing, and I know he wants to be inside me badly. I press my center closer to him and he groans. “Don’t do that.”
“Make me whole again, Matteo,” I beg him. “I need you to fix me.”
He’s hesitating, but his grip on my ass and thighs doesn’t loosen. “You don’t really want this,” he says softly. “It’s not the right time. Your father…”
“Was a wonderful man.” I really am crying now.
“Bianca, please. Not today.”
He starts to let go of me and I slip to the floor, my feet landing on the thick carpet. I feel furious now, and I shriek, attacking him with my fists. Matteo lets me do it, my small hands pounding against his rock hard chest. He doesn’t stop my attack, he only watches me as I unleash my fury on him.
I’m crying by the third punch. Big, fat, ugly black tears, the leftovers of my mascara making them run black down my cheeks. “Love me,” I scream at him. “You need to. Someone needs to. Someone has to take care of me now.”
Finally, fucking finally, he grabs my wrists. He leans in closer and looks at me with dark eyes. “I won’t go easy,” he warns me, just like he did once before.
“Good,” I tell him, and his grip on my wrists tightens.
“Are you sure Are you on birth control, baby?”
I remember the awkward visit I made to my GP with my bodyguard in tow. I’m sure my father was in
formed of my decision to go on birth control, but he knew I was too closely watched to do anything he wouldn’t approve of.
“Yes,” I breathe. “I am. For a year now.”
“You want this?” Matteo asks. Even as he’s saying it, I grind my hips against his. Needing him to make things right.
“Fuck yes, please…” My words are barely above a whisper, and as soon as they’re out of my mouth, he grabs me by the waist and half-pulls, half-carries me to the wall.
My back presses against the hard surface and I breathe deep, labored breaths. “Please,” I beg him. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry I’ve been so cold. I just need to feel you, please.”
His hands are roaming my body, and it makes me moan louder. “Why now?” he whispers into my ear. “I feel… wrong.”
I grab his face with both hands and look into his eyes. “Because he wanted you to be there. He wanted you to protect me. And I think he was right.”
He groans and pulls on my long mane, exposing my neck to his mouth. He latches onto my skin, sucking, biting, making me beg for more. I’m so far gone now, everything else has disappeared. It’s only Matteo and me, the heat of our skin, the beat of our hearts. I need to feel him inside me.
He seems to know what I’m thinking every time, and he picks me up again, carrying me to my bed. He lays me down gently, and I’m once again realizing how vulnerable I feel when he’s fully clothed and I’m stark naked.
“Take my clothes off,” he orders me. Eagerly, I kneel in front of him. I unbutton his shirt, several buttons flying off as I do. I pull it off, admiring his body. A long tattoo stretches across his chest, along with several scars. My fingers trace them all, and then move on to his jeans. I’m shaking, trembling so hard, but I still undo his zipper and pull down his jeans along with the boxers he’s wearing.
His hand goes to the base of his cock and he strokes it in deliciously slow motions. I get up on my knees until I’m closer to his mouth, needing him so much closer. “Kiss me,” I beg him. “Need to feel you, please.”