Home > Machiavellian (Gangsters of New York, #1)(66)

Machiavellian (Gangsters of New York, #1)(66)
Author: Bella Di Corte

Instead of saying something that resembled an apology, I said, “You enjoyed that?”

“Your reaction was cute.”

Cute. I hated that word. Puppies are cute. Babies are cute. Even tiny vegetables are cute. But a grown woman shouldn’t be cute. She should be—

“Your mind is fidgeting.” Then he hung his head, leaning his forehead against his steepled hands.

I tiptoed back to the pew and slid in next to him again. I lifted my hand slowly and put it on his back. His muscles were tense, almost stiff, but at my touch, he seemed to relax some.

Me? I tried not to fidget. The thought of going this deep with him made me anxious. Beliefs and faith were personal. They were two of the few things in this life that were truly ours to keep, and apart from love and our sins, what else was there to take when we died?

Capo came to church for a reason. I need to fade yet be seen.

Suddenly the weight in my pocket called to me. Fiddle with me, it seemed to whisper, but right in my ear. I pulled out my mother’s rosary, rubbing the cool beads between my fingers.

For the first time, he looked over at me, at what I was doing. A beam of light went straight through the stained glass and hit his eyes. He became the mosaic—the glass holding back the tide. I glanced down at his throat. Someone had tried to destroy all of his defenses. Whoever it was had shattered him, and then he’d put himself back together. The hard, metallic lines that keep the glass whole were so apparent on his face, if someone had enough courage to see.

I need to disappear yet be seen.

Ti vedo.

I see you.

I see right through the beautiful blue shattered glass. I see the hard lines that keep you together. I have the courage to see past the hunter and into the man’s eyes that connect to a beating heart.

I see you, my husband. I see you, my capo. I see you, my heart. I see you, my everything.

I held the rosary in one hand and reached out to touch his cheek with the other. “It’s nice to have a friend who…doesn’t mind the stillness, no matter how loud the silence.” My voice was as soft as my touch.

“It’s nice to have you, Mariposa.” His voice was rough. “La mia piccola farfalla.” My little butterfly.

Then we said no more, meeting in the depths of his silent grief that somehow seemed so loud inside of my heart.

 

 

20

 

 

Mariposa

 

 

After we left church, Capo sped back to his grandfather’s place. He instructed me to pack. He told me we were going on our honeymoon. I felt guilty. We were leaving the family at a time when family should stick together, but Capo said they gave us their blessing. His grandfather would’ve wanted us to go. Something was off, though, and I knew it had something to do with the two men who were outside of the church.

The tattoos on their hands matched Capo’s. It was understood that he’d run with them at one time. But I wondered…maybe the scar on his throat had something to do with them? I wasn’t sure, and when I asked a few questions, Capo told me to keep packing. I took his refusal to answer as a yes. Maybe he wanted to lead Achille and Arturo away from his family?

It took us two hours to say goodbye to everyone. They made me promise to bring Amadeo back soon. They felt he was away from “home” for too long. I had no idea how to respond when they kept telling me they loved me and were going to miss me.

What surprised me the most was that a few tears slipped down my cheeks after we left. I hid my eyes behind dark sunglasses to try to hide them, but Capo noticed.

He wiped a tear from my skin and rubbed it against his lips. “Leaving doesn’t mean you’ll be gone forever. You’ll be back.”

I still had no idea where we were going, but after we boarded the biggest boat I’d ever seen, I knew we were going on a nautical journey. Capo met the captain as soon as we boarded. He was related to the Faustis in some way—of course.

Capo corrected me when I called it a boat. It was a yacht. Boat. Yacht. Floating mansion. It was all the same to me. It had numerous plush cabins, numerous efficient workers, and anything we desired was only a request away.

I fell asleep somewhere in Sicily and woke up in Cala Gonone, a city in Sardinia. We spent the day there. The water was sapphire, topaz, and a green I couldn’t even describe in words. I could see straight to the bottom. It was like a watery dolphin hole bringing swimmers to another world. The sea was cool, my skin hot, his lips salty when they touched mine, and I couldn’t imagine a more perfect spot if I tried.

That night, I fell asleep in Sardinia and woke up at a port somewhere in Greece.

Greece!

I knew Capo had probably gone through my things when I’d handed them over at The Club. Being in Greece took that probably and turned it into a solid for sure. I’d written in Journey about Greece and how badly I wanted to go. One of the customers at Home Run was from Greece, and he’d tell the most wonderful stories about the sunrises and sunsets, the bright houses, the blinding sea, the windmills, the mountains, the food, and the people.

The first thing Capo did after the tender dropped us on land was find a shop that sold cameras. He told me it was unacceptable that I was squaring my fingers, putting them in front of my face, and then making a clicking noise when the sight I never wanted to forget was in frame. If I wanted a camera, I’d get a camera.

He bought me a fancy one, and it took me two hours to figure out how to work it, but once I did, there was no stopping me. Rarely was it not around my neck. And I must’ve gone through five digital cards, filling them all to capacity.

Sunrises and sunsets, white-washed houses, blinding seas, windmills, mountains, food, and people. Capo and me. Just…Capo. The camera loved his face and body.

During our time, I got to meet a different side of him. He was more at ease, and when he felt like I was chickening out on life, he urged me to do things I’d never imagined before. Swimming naked at night under the stars with him, hiking to places that were only occupied by wildflowers and goats, crashing a wedding and dancing until my face felt like it was permanently stuck smiling, rafting on Mount Olympus, kayaking over water so clear that the surface resembled glass and the depths blue and green treasure, having sex in secluded coves, and eating things that took some guts, like sea urchin salad (straight from the sea) and lamb. I drew the line at fried ink sack from an octopus and snails that popped when you put them in a pan. I fell in love with pomegranates, though, and the chef kept the kitchen stocked with them.

We’d been in Greece for a month when Capo received a call from Rocco. Capo had to plug his ear to hear what Rocco was saying. My husband had surprised me with a night out in Athens. The Greek National Opera was performing Carmen at the Odeon of Herodes Atticus.

The Odeon of Herodes Atticus was an outside stone theater that had been there since 161 AD. It was steep-sloped, almost like a bowl with high sides. Beyond, the city of Athens glowed, while the mountains in the distance created rugged shadows. I’d never been to a place with so much history. Not only could I touch it, I could smell it in the air.

Capo ended the call and raked his teeth over his bottom lip. With him, passion and anger were closely related. He only rolled his teeth over his bottom lip when he wanted me or when he was pissed off.

“Something wrong?”

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