Waiting for my Queen: A Dark Mafia Romance
Page 23
Everyone has noticed his growth. “He’s making himself known to everyone. That’s for sure.”
“We haven’t talked about a girl name.”
I’m surprised Luca would bring that up. “I thought you were convinced he was a boy.”
“I do think it’s a boy, but we should be prepared just in case. Do you have something in mind?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “I’ve always thought Marisa was a pretty name.”
“Marisa Rossini. I like that. It’s a strong female name.” Luca rubs his hand in big circles around my stomach. “Marisa or Alessandro? Which one of you are in there?”
“Whoever’s in there is doing flips.” I place my hand over Luca’s and move it to the spot where I feel the strongest movement. “Do you feel that?”
Luca chuckles behind me. “I do and it’s amazing. I can’t believe there’s a little person inside you.”
“He’s already so strong just like his dad.”
“Don’t forget his mom. She’s pretty strong, too.”
“I can’t wait to meet him. Or her.”
“Me either.”
I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of Luca’s hands and fingertips kneading and rubbing my body. I’m not sure how long he’s been at it when I doze off. I only know that my heart pounds erratically when he tells me to wake up and get dressed.
“They’re here?”
“Yes.”
“Both of them?”
“Yes.”
“And they’re both safe?”
Luca hesitates. “Gemma is unharmed.”
“But Stephan isn’t?”
“The doctor is on the way.”
My heart sinks. “What happened to him?”
“Gunshot.”
“Is he going to be all right?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are they?”
“Stephan’s bedroom.”
I yank my nightgown over my head and slip on my robe, tying the belt above my bulging abdomen. Waddling as fast as I can down the hallway, I find Gemma sitting beside Stephan, her hand cupped around his.
“Can I do anything to make it better?”
“Having you here makes it better.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t believe you came for me.”
“How could I not after reading that letter?”
Viv comes into the room. “I need everyone to clear out. Dr. Schroeder is here, and you know how he likes his space.”
Gemma leans over Stephan and kisses his forehead. “I’ll only be in the hallway if you need me. All you have to do is call out, and I’ll come.”
“Thank you.”
My sister comes out of Stephan’s room and falls into my arms, sobbing, her brave face gone. “Oh, Em. It was awful. I thought we were both going to die.”
“Shh… all is well now. You’re safe and Stephan is going to be fine.”
“He risked his life by coming for me, and now he’s lying in there with a gunshot wound. And it’s all my fault.”
“He knew the risk involved and he still chose to come for you. Because he wants to marry you.”
“I can’t believe what just happened. The whole thing was like something out of a movie. He saved me. He’s my hero.”
“How are Micaela and Isabella?”
“They miss you. Both were so jealous because I saw you and we got to talk.”
“I miss them so much. How is Nonna?”
“Tired. All of this is taking a toll on her.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“Mamma is obsessed with revenge. It’s poison in her veins and causing her to not think clearly.”
“What does Nonna have to say about all of this?”
“She has begged Mamma to not work with the Gasparis. She believes no good can come from it.”
“No good can come from it. The Rossinis are organized and ready to fight. Mamma and the Gasparis will fail if they challenge us. I don’t understand why she can’t see that.”
“She doesn’t understand the war she’s starting. And I’m afraid for her.”
“The Rossinis are growing impatient. They’re ready to end this.”
“I was so afraid that they would strike against us first, and I would be caught in the middle.”
“They would have if it weren’t my mother involved. Luca is afraid it will cause problems between us.”
“Would it?”
“No. I would never fault Luca for protecting our family.”
“You consider yourself one of them.”
“I am Rossini. And if you marry Stephan, you will be too. You need to understand that.”
“I do.”
The doctor emerges from Stephan’s bedroom. “Two bullets extracted. No major damage as far as I can see. I’m leaving antibiotics and pain medication. Call me if there’s excessive fever or blood loss.”
“Well, he has an exceptional bedside manner,” I whisper to Viv.
“He doesn’t make small talk because he likes to get in and get out as quickly as possible.”
“Obviously.”
Not making a move, Viv and I stand motionless in the hallway, and Gemma turns back to look at us.
“You’re the one he wants, darling. Not us. Go on and see him,” Viv says.
Gemma nods. “Thank you.”
“I think Gemma should stay with Stephan in his room tonight,” Luca says.
“That’s probably a good idea. He shouldn’t be left alone,” Viv says.
From behind, Luca wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, his mouth hovering over my ear. “Gemma is staying in his room tonight, so it looks like I’m getting my cock sucked after all.”
“You are such a jackass.”
“Maybe so, but I’m a jackass who’s getting his cock sucked tonight.”
36
Luca Rossini
Emilia’s breaths are deep and regular. The pregnancy has really been taking it out of her lately, so her naps are longer, allowing her to fall into a deeper sleep. This means I should have about an hour until she wakes. Long enough to take advantage.
Quietly, I lift the chair in our bedroom and place it at the bedside. When I’m satisfied with its position, I go to the desk and take out my sketchbook.
My secret sketchbook.
I open the book to a clean page, and using my favorite charcoal pencil, I begin tracing the outline of Emilia’s body on the paper. She’s lying on her side, knees slightly bent, hair spilling around her on the pillow. One arm is tucked beneath her head, and the other is resting on the top of her belly. I love the way she’s always touching her stomach, even in her sleep.
I trace her delicate small frame and then begin work on her face. Those features… I’ve drawn them at least a hundred times in the last eight months, all without her knowledge. And I’m getting pretty good at nailing them even if I do say so myself.
Do I enjoy drawing Emilia because she’s my wife and the mother of my child and I love her? Yes.
But it’s more than that.
With Emilia, everything she does comes from within. She has dark impulses, same as me. It’s the Bellini in her blood, just as it’s the Rossini in my veins. It’s one of the things that makes her so thrilling to watch.
We’re both a little fucked up, but together, we are unstoppable.
I glance at the clock every few minutes, doing a countdown in my head. Right now, I anticipate about fifteen minutes until she wakes. It should be safe to work another five minutes. I don’t want to push it too close.
Glancing up at her face, I study her features and then return my focus to the page and shade the areas beneath her high cheekbones.
“Fuck, that’s all wrong,” I mutter to myself beneath my breath.
“Luca? What are you doing?”
My hand becomes motionless, and I hesitate for an instant before looking up at her. Saying nothing. Because I don’t know what to say.
I’m caught.
“Wha
t are you doing?” she repeats.
Lifting my sketchbook from my lap, I close it. “Just watching you sleep.”
“You pulled up a chair at the bedside so you could watch me while I nap?”
“Yeah. I like to watch you sleep.”
“You’re so weird sometimes.”
I shrug. “In my defense, I never said I wasn’t.”
“What are you reading?”
I look down at my book. “Oh this? It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.”
I shrug again, shaking my head. “Nothing of interest. You’d find it boring.”
Emilia sits up and reaches out. “Let me see it.”
“I told you, princess. It’s nothing of interest.”
“Is that a sketchbook?”
Dammit. My wife is sometimes, oftentimes, too damn smart for her own good.
“Yes, Emilia. It is a sketchbook.”
“You were drawing me while I was asleep?”
“Yes.” Because you’re my favorite subject.
“I want to see.”
“No.” That’s not going to happen.
“Why will you not show me?”
“Because my drawings aren’t good.”
“Who told you they weren’t good?”
“No one told me. I just know.”
“Have you ever shown them to anyone?”
“You know I could never do that.”
“Let me guess. Because art makes you soft?”
“Exactly.” And who would I show them to anyway?
“Contrary to what you’ve been taught, art doesn’t make a man soft, Luca.”
“No man in the Rossini family would ever see it that way, so no one can ever know about this little activity of mine.”
“I won’t tell anyone.” She smiles. “If you let me see them.”
“My own wife would blackmail me?”
“No, not really, but I am dying to see them.”
“I’ve never shown my drawings to anyone.”
“I’m your wife. The mother of your child. I’m not just anyone.”
Today’s drawing isn’t my best work. I’m not excited about showing it to her. “I didn’t get very far today. You woke up too soon.”
“I’m sorry about that.” Emilia pats the bed beside her and smiles. “Come sit here and show me what you’ve done.”
Drawing is a hobby. Just something to pass the time. So why am I nervous about showing my own wife?
Sitting beside Emilia on the bed, I open my sketchbook to today’s drawing and hand it to her. “It’s only partially finished.”
“Oh, Luca—” Emilia traces her finger along the curve of her body on the page. “This is beautiful.”
She flips the page to my previous drawing from several days ago—Emilia sitting in a tub, her breasts and pregnant abdomen peeking out of the water.
She places her finger over her charcoal breasts and turns to me. “Ah, I’m naked?”
If she doesn’t care for the little peep show in this one, then she’s probably not going to be thrilled with some of the earlier drawings.
“You’re not naked… well, technically, you are naked, but you’re covered.”
“Not enough.” She takes her hand away. “Did you draw this from memory when you sat with me by the tub earlier this week?”
“Yes.”
“This is incredible. How do you remember the details?”
“I don’t know. I just see it in my head, and I’m somehow able to get it on paper.”
Emilia moves to the next drawing—a sketch of her overlapping hands, the left adorned with her wedding ring. The right, bearing the Rossini ring.
“My God. The detail is amazing.”
She flips the page and comes across my favorite—my bride wearing her lace wedding gown and tulle veil. Her expression in the drawing is identical to what I saw on her face that day. I had to draw it so I’d always remember it.
And below the charcoal rendering of my bride are five words.
“My queen. Forever and always,” she reads aloud.
“You are my queen, Emilia. Forever and always.”
She leans over and places her hand against the side of my face, pressing a soft kiss to my mouth. “And you are my king.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you admit that.”
She smiles. “Well, it has taken me some time to come to a place where I’m willing to admit that. But yes, you are my king, and ours is an overwhelming, never-ending, restless love.”
Emilia returns her attention to my sketches, stopping to appreciate each one, complete or not.
“How long have you been drawing?”
“For as long as I can remember.”
“You’ve never taken any kind of art class? Not even when you were in school?”
I can only imagine what Marco Rossini would have said about that. “My dad would have had me killed before he would have allowed me to take a pussy class. You know that.”
“Art isn’t for pussies, Luca.”
“I know, but it doesn’t matter. I’m Mafia. I’m never going to be an artist.”
“You are so much more than Mafia. Can’t you see that?”
“I aspire to be more, but it can never be.”
“It shouldn’t be that way. You should be able to create art if it makes you happy. And especially when you’re so clearly talented at it.”
“I’m afraid it’ll have to be our little secret.”
“I will always keep all of your secrets.”
She turns the page and giggles. “Oh my. This… this is an interesting one. I don’t recall ever wearing anything like that or posing my body in that position… or doing that to myself with my fingers.”
Okay. Not all of my drawings are based upon images I’ve actually seen. Some of them, particularly the earlier ones, are based upon fantasies I had in my head.
She looks at me, and the question she isn’t asking is written all over her face. “Yes, Emilia. I’ve imagined you that way many, many times. I would love to see you wear something like that, and I’d also love to watch you do that to yourself.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” I’m a man.
She grins and returns to flipping through my sketchbook. “It’s a no while I have this enormous belly, but who knows? Maybe after the baby is born, I’ll do that for you.”
That’s not a no. I’ll take it.
She closes my book, holding it on her lap. “You’re an excellent artist, Luca.”
“Sure you aren’t just saying that because you’re my wife?”
“It’s true. You have a crazy, wonderful, natural kind of talent.” She flattens her palm over the top of my book. “It can’t be taught. This is something that you must feel deep inside.”
Because I’ve never shown my drawings to anyone, I’ve never heard opinions about them. I don’t know what to say. It feels odd to hear that kind of praise, even from my wife.
“I’m glad you like them.”
“I keep learning things about you. Are you ever going to stop surprising me?”
“I hope not.”
“I hope not either.”
37
Emilia Rossini
Luca wants me to be calm and stress-free for the baby, but then he turns around and does shit like this. “I’m nervous about this trip.”
“What part of it is making you nervous?”
“You’ll be hours away from me. I could go into labor while you’re gone.”
“Four hours there, four hours back. What are the odds that you’ll go into labor and deliver the baby before I’m home again?”
Eight hours is a long time. It could happen. “I don’t know what the odds are, but I’m telling you that I don’t have a good feeling about this trip.”
“What if I promise to call you when we get there?”
“What good will that do if I’m in labor? A phone call isn’t going to stop my contractions.”
That’s a terrible idea. “The weatherman is predicting snow. Do you have to make the pickup tonight?”
“Sal is very experienced at driving in snow. It’ll be fine.”
“I don’t want to have this baby while you’re on the road.”
“You won’t. It’s three weeks until your due date.”
“The doctor said I’m considered full-term now. I could deliver any day.”
“Are you having contractions?”
“I had some earlier, but they stopped.”
“That’s a good thing because we’ve only been married seven and a half months. You have to hold this baby in for a little longer.”
I hope he’s kidding. “I have no control over how long I’m able to hold him in. Perhaps you should have thought about that nine months ago when we weren’t married, and you were so adamant about me proving my fertility.”
“Do you want to hear something funny about that?”
“I’m not in the mood for jokes tonight.”
“I’m not going to tell you a joke.” Luca grins. “Promise you won’t get mad?”
Anytime he says promise you won’t get mad, I always get mad. “No, I don’t promise.”
“I lied to you about proving your fertility to me.”
“Lied to me how?”
“You never had to prove to me that you could get pregnant. I was going to marry you regardless. I just wanted to fuck you, and I knew that was the only way you’d let me.”
“Luciano Davide Rossini.”
“You sound like my mother.”
Oh my God. I can’t believe him.
I clench my fist and slam it against his chest. “Ohhh, you fucking asshole.”
“Yeah, I totally am.”
“Uh, I hate you so much right now.”
“Baby, you’ve tried like hell to hate me, but you’ve never been able to.”
“But that… that… was just so wrong. If I didn’t want more children, I would kick you as hard as I could in your nuts.”
He puts his hands on the sides of my belly. “I lied to you, and for that I’m sorry, but the result of my deception is this beautiful little life growing inside you. I will never be sorry about that.”
I want to be mad at him. I do. And I should be.