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I’m being ridiculous, I know. And this is not how a mafia princess should be thinking. Especially not in the house of another family. In the Life, all other families are potentially enemies. You should never let your guard down. Not for one second.
Still, I’m going to risk it. Just while I walk down the stairs with the morning sun flickering and sparkling on me though the gothic stained glass. It’s probably all a childish dream, and I expect I’m going to cry later, later when the mist clears and I see how naive I’ve been. But for now, just for this walk down the big staircase, I’m going to let it wash over me and allow myself to feel it.
All through the forced hush at breakfast, everyone seems to be glowering at their plates or at each other. When I catch a flash from Carlo’s eyes, so short and fleeting, I have to close my eyes and replay the image in my mind to be sure it was there. That image will stay with me. It will brighten me up in darker times.
The don rakes his glaring scowl over everyone like the beam of a distant lighthouse at midnight in hell. Every time his eyes sweep into mine, it’s like I’m being cut open by a hot, rusty saw.
The eggs and potato waffles look great and I’m so hungry, I’m close to rumbling, but I can’t bring myself to eat under the don’s hostile glare. I nibble through two pieces of toast with my coffee as fast as I can. As I get up to leave, the sound of my chair scraping on the polished wood floor scratches at my insides. As quickly as I can, I make a silent nod to anyone who looks up and I try to hold onto the long sigh until I’ve closed the door behind me.
Somehow I found the courage to explore the house. In daylight at least, it feels slightly less like a vampire’s haunted castle. Coming back from the summerhouse last night, I noticed the angled glass of a conservatory at the back of the house. When I find it, it’s leafy and almost bright. At least, it’s less threateningly dark than the rest of the house.
Plump, comfy looking cushions on the wicker couches and armchairs look positively inviting, around a low table that even has a scatter of magazines and newspapers. The choices must be Mrs. Jago’s. They’re all too civilized for the don, and I can’t see any of the brothers wanting to read magazines about style or people in the news. I imagine Carlo might read political and economics essays. Perhaps Alessio, too.
Somehow, though, I don’t believe the don would sit and read anything longer than a headline, unless it was a lurid piece of sex or gore. I found plenty to read and only wished I had more coffee. I could go back to the dining room for some, but I would not. Not unless I could be sure that everyone had left already.
The don doesn’t even look in my direction as he stamps by the open conservatory door. His fast, heavy walk is like a lumbering stride as he makes for his study, a couple of doors farther along the hallway.
I didn’t see Jago going into the don’s study, but a while later I watch her coming out. Her eyelids are low and she’s restraining a Cheshire cat grin. She doesn’t even notice me, and I’m always glad when that happens.
Late in the morning, Bruno walks by the door and pauses. I look up at him from under my eyebrows. He flicks his eyes in the direction of the summerhouse as a signal, then looks back at me.
My heart jumps and I nod, trying not to grin. He puts his hand on his forearm as he consults his watch. Then he lifts his five fingers twice. I nod again. Ten minutes. Can I sit still that long?
That day and the next, and the next, whenever Alessio or Bruno or Carlo could get away unnoticed, any combination of us, or best of all, all four of us, would slip into the summerhouse. We would fuck like animals, and make love.
Hot, filthy, shameless, sinful, delicious love. Love more strong and hard and deep and punishing and violently explosive than anyone ever felt before. More than any lovers in history can ever have come near. Harder. And scarier. Dirtier.
I told them that they were mine, all of them. And I meant it.
And they told me that it was all just slippery, wet, meaningless fucking. Animal urges. That they were just playing with me. Having their fun. That they could stop any time.
That was just another way they had to torture and tease me. I loved it. And I knew they didn’t mean a word. I knew they all felt the same way I did.
When Alessio said once through his curled lip, “We could pick a girl on Wood Street. Any girl. The first girl we meet. She would do,” I knew he was only tormenting me. Them ripping up my insides like that was such a big part of it all. Just like the slaps and the pounding they inflicted on me till I could hardly walk.
But even Alessio saw that, while I laughed it off, it made a tear roll down my cheek.
And he swept me up and held me and kissed me and rocked me, wrapped in his strong arms and he wouldn’t let go until he knew, until he could see that I felt better. That’s how I knew.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
It all has a soft glow, a cozy feeling that wraps around me and never leaves. I never felt so protected and safe in my life before.
Then one day in the hallway, I saw Jago coming out of the don’s study again. I didn’t think she noticed me and I thought there was a chance I might make it into the conservatory before she did. She was flushed in the face and beaming, adjusting her skirt and smoothing her blouse. Was that normal? Maybe.
But then she looked up and and caught sight of me watching her. The look on her face would have stopped a train.
That afternoon, Don Bagniola came to the house with a massive posse of hench-goons in dark suits and heavy shades. He spent several hours with the don in his study. I guess he had come about the raid.
At dinner that night, the don was in a darker mood than ever. The brothers were more quiet than ever.
Late that night, I find Alessio alone in the summerhouse. Bruno and Carlo are not too far behind in joining us.
We make love with a hunger. It’s animal. Savage. Desperate. For a long time, we heave and thrash, tearing into each other. Taking. Grasping.
Cuddles at the end are long and deep, warm and comforting, but nobody speaks. All of us are quiet.
We’re all waiting for a storm to break.
