I crawled up her body, my hard dick wet with her arousal pressing into her hip. Her expression softens, as I gentle my hands at her hip. She doesn’t know what to think as I kiss up between her breasts along her collarbone and up her neck.
“You only need to ask me,” I stare at her lips, wishing I could kiss her like I used to. My eyes dart to hers, and I feel this familiarity of what used to be between us. I take a chance, pressing my lips to hers.
She kisses me back before breaking the kiss and asking, “please sir.” There’s hesitation in her voice before she adds, “I miss you.”
There’s no trace of anger on her face. Only sadness. I’m not sure if this will last. But at least I have my flower for a moment.
Chapter 24
Joesph
The marks in the Journal are smooth, as the pen glides against the paper. The pages are worn and old at this point and nearly come to the end. It’s fitting, seeing as how I’ve come to the final scene between myself and my father.
The Romanos were easy to gun down. They didn’t even see it coming. My father took the entire crew. 18 men. The first four littered the front of the restaurant with bullets. I remember how the glass broke. Shattering onto the ground in splintered pieces. I stood in the background, my father to my right, my brother to my left. The screams and gunshots rang out clearly. Blood flooded the streets that night, on both sides, although heavy in the Romanos. Their wives were with them. Their children were with them. Their deaths were quick. With a gun in each hand I walked up with my father, the glass crunching beneath my boots.
I shot a bullet in the head of each of them from my guns. Evidence. I continued shooting until they were both empty. Part of me hoped that my father was going to put a bullet in the back of my head. Every bullet that went off, I expected it. I was meant to take the fall. And I didn’t think that required me being alive at the end of this.
My father gave me a look with a hint of fear when he told me not to mention a single name. I already knew not to. What’s more memorable than seeing fear for the first time in my father’s eyes, was the cold look of my brother’s face. I saw jealousy there. My father was willing to trust me with this task. A son who he knew never loved him. And my brother hated me for it.
Even if I was going to go away for life. He didn’t like that I got any approval from our father or any respect from the men of the familia. But I didn’t agree to do it for either of those reasons.
I never uttered a word. I was ready to take the blame and get the death penalty or jail for life; I didn’t care which. I deserve to be punished for my sins. All of them. But the cops let me go, they followed me, they waited. They were pissed I wouldn’t talk and they anticipated that letting me out with send up red flags to everyone on the streets.
They thought mi familia would come for me. They thought the target they put on my back would have me running back to talk and give them the information they wanted in exchange for protection.
Their error was thinking that I gave a damn. I was ready to die. I didn’t care how. It didn’t matter to me who pulled the bullet.
My father didn’t make a move. If anything, he knew I was honest and he gave me the only thing I truly wanted. Freedom from his rule. But now that my brother is gearing up to take over, my past is coming back to haunt me.
I’m not going back. I don’t care how many men my brother sends here. I’ll kill them all before I go back. I just hope it doesn’t come to that. I haven’t pulled a trigger in a long fucking time. But I sure as fuck didn’t forget how to do it.
The pen stills on the paper as I hear the faint padding of Lilly’s bare feet against the floors behind me. Her anger has waned tremendously. She’s not trying to fight me like she was before.
Maybe she’s forgiven me. Maybe she’s realized that she wasn’t as angry as she thought she was. She was hurt because she thought she knew me.
In many ways she does. More than anyone else ever has.
Or maybe it’s because I stopped fighting her.
I’ve been going easy on her. I don’t want to give her a reason to go back to that cage. I don’t want to give her a reason to fight me any more than she already has. I don’t see a way out of this, other than meeting with my brother. But to do that, I have to leave Lilly, and not something I can’t risk. I won’t risk her.
“Joseph?” She asks me.
Although she’s used my real name, she still kneels beside the chair. I never know which side of her I’m going to get until she approaches me. It’s a funny thing, I thought I didn’t want a submissive. I didn’t want someone else to control what we do and when and what our rules are. But Lilly’s gotten under my skin. I’m bending for my flower. I’d rather do that than to see her wilt.
“Yes?” I turn to her, petting her hair and waiting for her to look up at me.
She visibly swallows and clasps her hands in her lap. She seems nervous which in turn makes me nervous, but of course I don’t show her that. I’m her Master at all times, I must be strong for her.
“What are you doing?” She asks, her eyes on the journal.
I pat my lap, “come sit with me.” She stands slowly and obeys me, but there’s still hesitation in her actions. I’ve yet to earn her trust back. Even if she gives me these small moments. I know what we once had is broken.
I place my journal on her lap. My heart races in my chest, every bit of vulnerability I’ve ever had is documented. I don’t know why I write it all down. Maybe the dark scenes that haunt me late at night will leave me. If only I’m to write them down.
“I like to write things I remember.” Her pale blue eyes focus on mine through her thick lashes. And then back down to the journal. I can see those wheels turning in her head, she wants to ask more. I don’t wait, I pull her closer to me, my fingers tickling the curve of her waist as I sit back in the chair. “I used to do very bad things, Lilly.” My heart pounds in my chest as I confess to her. “I’ve written down some more for you.” I swallow thickly. “These ones are just for you.” My body chills at the thought of her hating me when she reads them. It’s all the truth of what I’ve done. I can’t forgive myself, but maybe she will. She’s kinder than me. She met me when I’d tried to move on.
Her breathing comes in a little louder. She licks her lips slightly and then asks, “why did you do them?” The hurt in her voice kills me.
“You didn’t want me to turn out to be a bad man did you?” She wants there to be good in all people. I can tell that about her. It’s one of the qualities I find endearing about her. I think that’s one of the reasons she’s so angry with me. I disappointed her. But I swear I tried.
Her voice cracks as she answers, “you aren’t a bad man.” She can’t even look me in the eyes as she says it. She knows she’s lying and it breaks my heart.
“I didn’t have much of a choice.” I know I had one, but it was kill or be killed. For the first time in a long time, she lays gently against my chest. Her small hand rubs circles over my heart. I miss her comforting touch.
“Would you like to read it?” The offer spills from my lips in an attempt to tell her what I had been through and explain without having to actually tell her. I don’t want to recount it all over again. I put it into this journal so I can forget. But maybe if she knows everything, how I left and why, she can forgive me.