Even computers didn’t inspire enough trust, though. That was why my wife was in the firehouse. Even if they blew up the other building, she was safe on the other side. Besides, the entire block was “owned” by Luca Fausti, Rocco’s father. No one touched him. If they did, they’d regret it.
The Scarpones wouldn’t even drive down that block, much less put a finger on one of his properties. Luca Fausti disliked Arturo. Always had. And after Marzio had filled him in on what had happened to me, he was all too eager to put his name on the block as a front.
Still. I took one extra step to make sure Mariposa was safe. The abandoned firehouse wouldn’t get a second glance.
Though, I didn’t fucking like the Scarpones seeing her, getting that close to her, like they’d done in Italy. They knew that if anything would draw me out, it would be my grandfather’s funeral. I’d been seconds away from being discovered when Rocco—actually, my wife, since she came looking for me—stopped them.
At the time, I didn’t care. It was easier to die than to feel the pain of losing the man who taught me everything about living. Then mia farfalla brought me back. The life in her made me hungry again.
I hit the break when a man jogging down the street decided to cross. He ran right in front of my car, slowing when he made it past the hood. He stopped for a second, putting his hands on his hips, breathing heavy. The wolf tattoo on his hand stood out, the glow of my lights highlighting the ink. He narrowed his eyes on the car, trying to see through the tinted windows. He couldn’t.
“Joker.” My voice was low, rough. “You’re trying to see someone who doesn’t exist anymore.”
I lifted my hand in greeting. He narrowed his eyes again but didn’t move. I took off slowly, watching him through the rearview mirror. He moved from the curb and stood in the middle of the street, trying to read the license plate. Be my guest. He’d get some random name and number.
He was always a stupid motherfucker. Couldn’t see beyond what was right in front of his face.
Yeah, my wife was protected from them, from this life of vengeance I chose. The jury was still out on my fate. I didn’t know who was more dangerous to me—the Scarpones or her.
22
Mariposa
He was late. I was too, but that was beside the point.
He had been “working” more late nights ever since we got back from Greece. He didn’t bring up what had happened to his building, or whatever else was going on, but call it wife’s intuition—I knew he fought a battle that was kept under wraps.
I thought his building, or a building, getting blown to smithereens would’ve made the news, but it hadn’t. I watched the news every night and… nothing. The supposed “wars” between the connected families had died down, the news reported, and soon after that was settled, it was all about politics again.
Usually, I didn’t mind when he was late, but tonight was important for two reasons. One. Keely had her debut on Broadway. She was playing the lead. Some kick-ass Scottish warrior who was an excellent archer. Two. I didn’t want to think about reason two. It made me nervous to keep dwelling on it, so when it happened, it happened.
“Mariposa,” Capo called out, coming into the bedroom. He found me sitting in the bathroom naked, touching up my makeup.
He stopped, his suit jacket over his arm, looking me over. “Just the way I want you,” he said, his voice low. “Stand.”
As I did, he threw his jacket on the counter and loosened his tie, his eyes never losing contact with mine. The frenzy that existed between us, something carnal, seemed to feed his desire as much as it fed mine.
A long moment seemed to stretch before something seemed to explode inside of me, before his body created the physical equivalent between his chest and mine. Our bodies crashed into one another, my fingers hungry against his skin, his mouth devouring mine. My back slammed against the shower, and without him having to instruct me, my legs wrapped his waist, urging, pleading, demanding that he settle the ache.
I’d come to know that whatever thing stood between us, was primal but basic, animalistic. And that’s how we were tearing at each other, like animals that didn’t know right from wrong, that had no other thought or feeling but this and now. It had only been hours, but the ache screeched…right now!
The noises we made echoed around the huge bathroom, and the noises his mouth made from pleasure reverberated inside of me, reaching every hollow, pinging from bone to bone, sliding right through my bloodstream.
He drove me higher and higher, my back sliding against the doors to the shower, his thrusts hard and crazed. He read my body language, maybe the way I started to quiver, and how loud my moans were becoming—maybe the pleading was getting worse. Then, in another explosion, we came together, his guttural growl swallowing my softer one as he spilled into me with so much pleasure that it made me feel like the most powerful woman in the world.
We stood connected for a moment, our breaths settling together, and when I finally had the energy to open my eyes, I smiled at him. He’d been watching me.
“Welcome home, Capo,” I said, my voice shredded.
He grinned and set me down on my feet. “My favorite time of the day,” he said.
“Mine too,” I whispered, dazed, as he carted me into the shower and wet all of the makeup I’d applied and my hair.
We were going to be so late.
I hurriedly redid what he had wrecked, my face, and tried to the do the best with my hair without having to fuss too much. Tonight was a reason to dress up, so I wore a sapphire silk jumpsuit, and diamond, sapphire, and gold bangles on my wrists to match.
“Blue.” He grinned as he stepped out of the closet, handing me a pair of shoes I had asked him to find. It had taken him ten minutes to get dressed.
“My signature color,” I said.
He nodded. “Sempre bella in blu.” Always beautiful in blue.
We stared at each other for a moment or two. The intensity in his eyes was hard to meet, especially when images of the night before, when he had brought the marshmallows home, did things to me that made my skin shiver in remembrance. Out in public, the man was as reserved as could be, but behind closed doors…he was an insatiable animale. And when he had time…delayed gratification was his specialty.
“It really should be a crime for any man to look as fine as you,” I said, not able to help myself.
“That’s why I married the most beautiful woman.” He slipped my dress coat over my arms, helping me into it. “No one will be looking at me, but at you.”
I sometimes forgot how much of a recluse he was. Even though women stared at him wherever we went, he didn’t seem to notice, or care. The sooner he was behind closed doors, the sooner he opened up to me.
Ever since the day of his grandfather’s funeral, after what had happened in church, something had changed between us. Nonno had told me that all life changes begin with a crux. He explained to me what it was—the decisive or most important point at issue, the heart—and when it changed, it changed the entire course of things.
“Compare it to taking a different road,” he had said. “Sometimes we do this by accident; sometimes we do this by will, but it changes everything beyond that point. It changes history that has yet to happen.”