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I’m exhausted. There are bags under my eyes and my skin looks pale. I prod at my cheeks, at my lips, and wonder if I’m half as pretty as Davide’s sister Elena or even his mother. They were all so nice to me, maybe a little too nice, except for his youngest sister, Laura—she only showed up for a second before storming off. I don’t know what’s going on there, but Davide says I shouldn’t worry about it.
Except I’m worried about everything. From the strange little enclave his family has carved for itself in the middle of the city to this bizarre house. There’s no privacy, only enormous floors with no walls, some closets, and a couple bathrooms. There’s nowhere to retreat from him, nowhere to hide, because everything’s out in the open, and it makes me uncomfortable. I’m used to my family’s house with all the hallways and doors and the million different little rooms, from guest rooms to billiards rooms to bars and offices. It’s the total opposite of this place—he doesn’t even have a guest bed.
Which means I’m stuck with him, at least if I want to sleep on a mattress tonight.
It’s late and I’m beyond tired, but I want to keep delaying this for as long as I can. I never thought I’d end up actually sleeping in the same bed as him, even if we were married, but now it’s looking like I have no other choice, and that scares the hell out of me. Not because I think we’ll have sex tonight, but somehow this is even more intimate than that first time we met at the club. I’d rather him shove my underwear in my mouth again than have to try to fall asleep side by side.
I force myself out into the bedroom—or the enormous main room, or whatever the hell I’m going to call it—and busy myself putting things away. I’m partially unpacked though my suitcase is still at the foot of the bed, and I’m too aware of Davide’s eyes watching me. The room’s dark and moonlight drifts in through the windows on the back side of the house.
“Are we going to talk about this weird floorplan you have going on?” I ask just to have something to say as I climb into bed.
He’s lying on his back with his hands behind his head. I stare at his forearms and his biceps, aware of a steady thrum of desire and excitement beating in my core, but I am absolutely not going to give in to my horniness right now. My lady boner must remain fully flaccid.
“I don’t like enclosed spaces. They make me uncomfortable.”
“Huh,” I say, a little surprised. “We met in that crowded club though. I didn’t realize it bothered you.”
“Your brother’s club was in a very large building, which helped, but yes, I was extremely uncomfortable every time I was in that place.” His lips curl like he’s remembering something distasteful.
“Then why did you hang around?”
“I was hoping I’d run into you.” He stares at me as I groan and close my eyes.
“You’re such a freaking creep,” I whisper, not sure if I’m annoyed or flattered. “And what was that downstairs? You went totally quiet and your mom acted like something was wrong.”
“I told you. Enclosed spaces. When I feel trapped and there are too many people, I can have a panic attack.”
“You were having a panic attack?” I roll onto my side, staring at him in surprise. He seems so calm and put together all the time—and even his little moment earlier was nothing more than a few very deep breaths. I find it hard to believe that a man like Davide suffers from panic attacks, much less that he’d be willing to come out and admit it to me.
“Not the way you’re thinking. I used to have very traditional attacks when I was younger, but now I can control myself better.” He closes his eyes and stretches his neck. “Is there anything else you want to know, baby? Are you going to ask me how I got the burns next?”
I chew my lip and glance at his left hand and the melted skin covering his entire arm. “I was wondering, but I figured that was rude.”
“I’ll tell you the story one day, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea to talk about it right before we go to sleep.” He’s completely deadpan when he adds, “I don’t want you to have a nightmare.”
I shiver and can only imagine what must’ve happened to him. I know what the men in these families do to each other in the name of honor and money, and sometimes that drifts from simply cruel into something much more horrifying. My brothers aren’t innocent, even though I don’t like thinking about the terrible things they’ve done to people, and I’ve benefitted from the violence that underpins the whole mafia world. I have no place to judge anyone.
“My brothers used to protect me,” I say softly and stare up at the ceiling. “I’m a lot younger than they are and when I was born, my parents had basically given up. Renzo took over raising me practically, but he was also dealing with all the shit my father dumped on him.”
“It’s not easy being the oldest in a mafia family,” Davide says softly. “My brother Simon carries a heavy weight.”
“Renzo did everything he could to shelter me from the worst of it. Dad didn’t take much interest in me because I was little and I was a girl, but sometimes I saw things and heard things—” I stop speaking, because what does my trauma mean to a guy who has clearly gone through worse? So what if I’ve seen my father beating my brothers? If I remember vividly one night where my father and his capos dragged a bloody man through our house and locked him in the basement.
“You can tell me,” he whispers and moves closer. His shoulder presses against mine, but he doesn’t touch me beyond that. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart, because I can’t think about my childhood without getting a sudden burst of anxiety, like a shot of pure horror straight into my veins.
“One of my earliest memories is finding a pair of blood-covered boots under the stairs in the basement and asking my mom about them. Do you know what she said? She told me that little girls who ask too many questions end up just like those boots.” Tears clog my eyes and I hate myself for it. I wipe them away, annoyed with myself. “You know what’s messed up? Mom wasn’t even that bad. I think she was genuinely trying to warn me, because even little baby Stef would’ve gotten hit if she said the wrong thing to the wrong person, and my brothers couldn’t be around to protect me all the time.”
His hand brushes against mine. His fingertips trace a line along my wrist, up my forearm, and back down again.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” he says and his voice is like silk in the darkness. “My family wasn’t quite like yours. My father was a hard man to please, but he never used abuse and violence to teach his lessons, and my mother must be one of the most patient women on the face of the earth. The darkness in my past comes from everywhere but home.”
I smile and it’s a bitter feeling. “I’m jealous,” I admit. “I wish I had a place where I felt safe. I was trying to make something like that for myself, before—” But I stop myself from finishing that sentence, because what good will it do?
I was trying to build a life for myself. I was trying to find a home. I desperately wanted safety and comfort, but I’ve been dragged into this relationship instead with a man I don’t know in a city I’ve never even visited before.
“Maybe one day we can have something like that here,” he says and the warmth of his arm disappears from mine. It’s a strange loss and I want to grab him and pull him back, but before he retreats to his side of the bed, he leans over and presses his lips to the corner of my mouth.
It’s almost a kiss. Not quite on the cheek, not exactly on the lips, but a weird in-between like our relationship. Not really married, but also not-not-married.
