by Chelle Bliss
“It’s fine,” she said, pouting.
“And mashed potatoes.” A shrug this time and now she didn’t bother to look at me. “Do you think maybe you’re still a little irritated about Uncle…”
“Grandpa?”
“Patrick?” She looked at me, her expression set hard, but she didn’t respond. “Whatever he may have told you about your father, you have to know, it was only his opinion.” Betta fiddled with a butter knife, rubbing the tip against the tablecloth. “If Johnny had known about you, he would have been there.”
“Then you should have told him,” she said, her voice sharp. When I tilted my head, understanding the attitude but not appreciating the tone, she deflated. “Why didn’t you?”
“It…wasn’t—” The knock on the door interrupted me, and we both bolted from the table. The sound transformed Betta’s attitude, and she instantly straightened, pulling down her dress, adjusting the collar. I shot a glance at her, hoping the smile I gave her relaxed her before I squeezed her hand and headed for the door. “It’s okay,” I whispered to her, winking before I opened it.
“Bella,” Johnny greeted, stepping into the apartment, his hands loaded down with gift bags. One look at his roaming gaze and the fracture in his cool demeanor told me he was nervous. He kissed my cheek, squeezing me tightly before he released me to turn, walking farther in to face our daughter.
“Johnny,” I said, motioning to Betta. “This is Elizabetta.” I twisted a hand when she cringed, hurrying to amend, “Who only likes being called Betta.”
He nodded, looking away from me, that gaze lingering like he needed a little support before he approached her. “My mama,” he told her, “was also Elizabetta. I think your mother named you for her.” When our daughter frowned, glancing at me for clarification, Johnny hurried to continue. “And for her mama as well, Roseline.” He leaned closer, taking a box from one of the bags and handing me the others. His smile was nervous but sure when he offered her the small box. “This is for you. I know you have one already, but maybe you can add this…”
Betta was a nine-year-old girl. She liked dragons, unicorns, and books that made her laugh. But she also loved dresses, flowers, and things that made her feel pretty. The patchwork baby doll dress she wore today, one of four outfits she’d tried on, was proof enough of that. Johnny giving her this small, dainty box, a box that held a new locket big enough for three pictures, was perfect. It was platinum, and the pendant was a large oval that opened into three sections. On the surface was intricate filigree and elegant scrollwork that wrapped around a large “C.”
“You’ve got space enough for the pictures of your mama and your nonna Ava, and if you want, I’ve put my mama, your nonna Theresa Elizabetta in there too. She was beautiful and very kind. Like your mama…like you too, piccolo bellezza.”
Betta looked up at him, her eyebrows bunching together at the endearment. I froze, remembering why it stood out to her. I tensed, ready to intercede, but our daughter looked back down at the locket, fingering the picture. “My uncle…” She paused, seeming to silently correct herself before she continued. “Father Patrick used to call me that. ‘Little beauty,’ he said it meant.”
“It does,” Johnny answered, kneeling beside her, not touching her, not doing anything but getting to her level, his gaze devouring her face like he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life. “But if you don’t want me to call you that, I won’t.”
She looked at him, their faces close together. From this angle, the similarities were striking. The same nose. Same wide, full mouth. The same cheekbones. It was remarkable.
“Are you really my father?” she asked Johnny, moving her eyes up and down, gaze taking in his features as quickly as he had done.
“’Fraid you got my mouth, little one. My nose too. We get it from my papa. It’s the Carelli side.”
Betta nodded, looking back down at the locket, tracing the ‘C’ with her fingertip as Johnny glanced at me, his expression a little lost. All I could do was offer him a smile, hoping that was encouragement enough to keep him talking to her.
“Why did you stay away so long?” she asked, not looking at him, as though she didn’t want to see him cringe, as though she was scared there was a lie he had prepared and she didn’t want to see what that would look like.
But Johnny had promised me a new start. He’d promised me the dream, and he wanted it to begin for us right now. He covered Betta’s hand with his own, making her look up at him. My girl focused on his face, her expression surprised, her mouth open. She didn’t seem ready for him to tell her the truth, and it showed.
“There are a lot of bad people in this world, la mia bellissima bambina. And those people want to hurt me and my family. Your mama and…Father Patrick, they wanted to keep you away from those people. They’d do anything to protect you because that’s what family does. Family is loyal. Family is forever. And if that means breaking the hearts of the people you love most, then sometimes, that’s what you have to do.” Johnny touched her face, his thumb moving along her cheekbone, and I couldn’t stop the tears that clouded my vision as he watched her. He was amazed. He was awed, and I knew he always would be when he stared at her. “Your mama did the right thing. She did her best.”
Our daughter’s nod came slowly but surely, and after Johnny’s words seem to resonate, a smile moved across her face, as though she was satisfied and happy for the answer she’d always wanted. “Will you help me with this?” she asked him, slipping off the old locket and passing it over to him.
“Si,” he told her, his smile wide as he hurried to fit the old pictures into the new charm. “Lift your hair.”
She turned, and Johnny draped the necklace in front of her, fiddling with the clasp as Betta grinned up at me. “So,” she started, her smile brightening. “What should I call you?”
He glanced at me, then back down at the clasp, focusing on the job he was doing. “You can call me Papa. I would like that, but only if you want to. If you don’t, you can call me Johnny.”
“Papa,” Betta said, trying out the word, rolling the syllables around in her mouth. Then, without any warning at all, she looked back up at me, hands on her hips. “I think you two should get married.”
“I agree,” Johnny said, not missing a beat. He smiled, brushing her hair down flat after the necklace was secure.
“I also think you should have another baby.”
“Betta!” I exclaimed, but I was ignored as she turned to Johnny.
“Maybe a little brother? In a year or so. Can you do that?”
My eyes bulged and Johnny laughed, patting her shoulder as she led him to the table.
“I’d like that. Or,” he said, grabbing me around the waist, “maybe a brother and a sister.” Betta made a face, and Johnny winked at her. “You’ll get to boss them around.”
She leaned back against her chair, arms folded, like this had become a negotiation and she needed a second to consider the offer. Johnny ushered me to my chair, standing behind me as Betta watched us, finally extending her hand to him.
“Okay,” she said, her smile wide when he sat down and shook her hand. “But I’m not changing diapers, and my allowance will be steep.”
“That can be arranged, little one,” he told her, leaning over to kiss our daughter on the top of her head.
Epilogue
Johnny
My father would have laughed at me. But since the old man wasn’t here to do it, my sister was filling in.
“I’ve never seen a grown man cry at his own wedding.”
“Fuck you, she’s beautiful,” I told Cara, ignoring my little sister when her laughter lifted above the crowd.
“Johnny Carelli,” her husband said, shaking his head at me like I’d committed some horrible sin that changed his opinion of me. “Sprung like a reformed fuckboy at a titty bar.”
“Hey,” Cara said, nudging her husband. “Watch your mouth.”
“He literally told you to fuck off,” Kiel sa
id to his wife, grinning like an idiot.
“Both of you fuck off,” I told them, heading in the opposite direction of the two sisters who were congregating near the bar where Cara and Kiel had cornered me.
We’d decked out the Weylin after a full mass at St. Mary’s. Sammy, despite everything, all the lies told by Patrick and on his behalf, was still a Catholic. She wanted this done right, and she wanted the world to see. There would be no large wedding party—just Indra standing up for her, Betta as her flower girl, and Smoke as my best man. The mass completed, which Patrick did not perform for obvious reasons—though, he told anyone who’d listen he still wasn’t feeling quite recovered from his heart attack—we’d invited our friends, family, and associates to the Weylin.
Surrounding us now was a crowd I hardly recognized. The Garcias had made an enthusiastic appearance, Mrs. Garcia telling Sammy she knew that night at dinner that it wouldn’t be long before we married. We didn’t bother explaining about the flower girl, and by the end of the night, I had a signed contract in my hand and a new investor in Mr. Garcia. One step closer to my family being out of the family.
“Johnny.” I heard, and I twisted around to see my cousin Smoke leaning against the wall. His attention was on a table to the left and a few of her volunteers Sammy had introduced me to earlier in the day. They were young and pretty and completely uninterested in anything but a good time, just how a guy like Smoke seemed to like them. “I wanted to tell you,” he started, grinning at the tallest of the girls when she looked him over. “Dante got word that Liam is in Ireland.”
“That right?” I turned away from the crowd, facing my cousin, not caring about anything at that moment but what he knew about that asshole and the threat he might pose to my wife and daughter.
“I knew you were busy, so I took care of it.”
“And how did you do that?” I asked him, not convinced he had the clout to take care of much when it came to someone like Liam. He might be a punk, but Shane was still part of the McKinney family. They cared what happened to theirs.
“I had words with Ian.” Smoke finished his drink, looking down to the bottom like he couldn’t believe he’d polished it off.
“Ian…McKinney?”
“Si,” he said, setting the glass on the table to his left.
“Ian McKinney, who…”
“You always look surprised when I do shit. Why is that, cousin? You think I’m stupid?” He was joking, grinning at me like he expected me to say yes, and laughed when I didn’t.
“I think I’m more serious than ever about you taking over for me.”
Smoke moved his jaw, his head working in one long nod. “That right?” The sound of laughter from the table caught his attention, and my cousin shifted his gaze, his head still facing me before he pushed off the wall, tucking one hand into his pocket. “Let me think about it,” he said, heading toward the table.
“You feel like dancing?” I asked him, head shaking when he gave me a “man, please” look.
“I don’t dance.” Then he stopped by the table, leaning down to whisper something in the tall girl’s ear, and the pair of them disappeared into the crowd, in the opposite direction of the dance floor.
My gaze caught in the middle of the room, to my little girl twirling in her pale green tutu dress, with the ribbons in her hair as she moved in time with the music. She was beautiful. Her long, dark hair was curled, hitting her waist as she held her little cousin, Keleu.
Kit and Kane were nestled off to the side, watching and talking to their friends Dale and Gin, who was heavily pregnant with her first child. They could all use this trip to my wedding as a business write-off if they were so inclined since my production company was now funding their new cable shows. Little by little, my legitimate companies were taking over. If I could settle them all, squeeze myself out of the businesses that had made my father rich, then I wouldn’t have to worry about my family, my blood family, being in danger.
I made my way to the dance floor as Kiel picked up the baby from Betta. “Dance with your old man?” I asked her, holding out my hand.
She laughed when I twirled her, then hopped onto the tops of my feet, letting me lead her. “Aren’t you supposed to be smooching my mama?”
“That comes later,” I told her, barking out a laugh when Betta wrinkled her nose.
“Where is she?” The girl swiveled her head, frowning when she couldn’t spot Sammy in the crowd.
I picked her up, letting her see above the crowd. “There,” I said, lifting my chin toward the bridal table. At the end, huddled in a corner, sat my wife, Sammy, and Father Patrick.
“Wow,” Betta said. She nodded, looking down at me when I turned, exaggerating our movements to follow the rhythm. “Did you do that?”
“I did nothing,” I said, twirling us in the opposite direction.
My daughter grinned, wrapping her arms around my neck. “I think you did, and it’s good.”
“Think so, little one?” I asked. Didn’t think I’d ever get tired of how good it felt when she hugged me.
“I think it’s the best thing you could have done for her, Papa.”
“Nah, picolinna,” I told her, kissing her cheek. “You’re the best thing for both of us.”
The world was watching, and we didn’t care. Judgments and opinions and a bunch of thoughts that had nothing to do us washed over us, and they still didn’t touch us.
Nothing would.
“This was a great day,” Sammy said, head against my chest, her fingers curled in my hand. “Thank you, Johnny.”
“Every day is a great day with you, amore mia.”
The music was slow, and the crowd was thinning. Kane held his woman two feet from me, shooting me a nod just before he led his wife and two sleeping daughters away from the venue. I didn’t know what had become of my cousins, likely drunk or passed out somewhere, probably sleeping between one or more of Sammy’s volunteers, but Antonia had skipped the reception altogether, and Dario still wasn’t a fan of large crowds. I had a feeling it would take a while for him to shake off Rikers.
The Seattle contingent was gone; Dale and Gin congratulating us and leaving for their hotel, and my sister and brother-in-law taking their cranky baby home for the night.
Now it was just me and my wife and a few lingering friends who still didn’t quite believe that Johnny Carelli had given up the single life.
But I had. Gladly. Willingly.
Sammy melted against me, and it took all my effort not to drag her off of the dance floor and find an empty room in this place. I wanted her—now. Wanted more than anything to get busy working on the sibling request Betta had made. But one glance around the room, spotting Father Patrick sitting next to my daughter, doused any of those sparking inclinations.
He sat directly across from us, glaring whenever Betta didn’t hold his attention, but I didn’t care. Let the old man have his anger. He could hate me all he wanted. I had my wife. I had my child. And Sammy was starting to forgive him.
“Talk to him,” I’d prompted, reminding her two days ago that he was old and wouldn’t be around much longer. “If you don’t say your piece now, you’ll always regret it.”
A small olive branch had come with an invitation to our wedding, something I was convinced he’d tried to object to. He didn’t, and Sammy spent a half hour of the reception letting the old man tell her how sorry he was and how much he missed her and Betta.
It would take a long time for her to forgive, even longer to forget.
But for now, the only thing on my mind was my wife and the life we were moving toward. She stretched her arms around my neck and smiled at me, that same glorious smile that had mesmerized me as a boy. It had always driven me over the edge like it did now, and I moved in closer, kissing her, needing a taste, never being full of her.
“Bella,” I whispered through a sigh. “I’ll never get tired of the way you taste.”
“Good,” she said, biting her lip, the small gesture reminding
me of that first day in the library, years ago.
“You know, you told me once you were going to burn in hell because of me.” She looked up, moving her head back as though only just recalling the memory.
Sammy’s surprise softened into a smile, her features relaxing as she ran her fingertips over my face. “I’d burn for you. A hundred times, I’d burn for you, my love.”
“It doesn’t matter where we spend eternity, bella.” I kissed her, knowing right then nothing or no one would ever make me feel this good or this free. “A lifetime with you is all the heaven I need.”
Thank you for reading STRIPPED DOWN. We hope you loved Johnny and Sammy as much as we do!
Our time in the sexy mafia word in New York City isn’t over. We’ve only just begun. Coming in 2020 — a NEW steamy romance series by Eden Butler and Chelle Bliss featuring Smoke, Dario, and so many more. Sign up now to get the latest news — menofinked.com/alert
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About Eden Butler
Eden Butler is an editor and writer of Romance, SciFi and Fantasy novels and the nine-time great-granddaughter of an honest-to-God English pirate. This could explain her affinity for rule breaking and rum.
When she’s not writing, or wondering about her possibly Jack Sparrowesque ancestor, Eden impatiently awaits her Hogwarts letter, writes, reads and spends too much time watching New Orleans Saints football, and dreaming up plots that will likely keep her on deadline until her hair is white and her teeth are missing.
Currently, she is imprisoned under teenage rule alongside her husband in Southeastern Louisiana. Please send help.