AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I decide that I’m allowing myself to get way too worked up about Jago. But I’ll take my chances that the summerhouse has a way to make coffee.
The newspapers look as gray and dreary and bloated with doom as ever, so I nip back into the library for one of the beautifully tooled, leather-bound books.
The shelves are stacked with the usual mafia men’s books. The Godfather and eight or nine other books of Mario Puzo, which I’m sure they’ve all read, probably more than once. Histories of WWII, which I expect they’ve all thumbed occasionally. The inevitable biographies of Napoleon that all mafia guys seem to obsess over.
I’m starting to think I should have just picked up a paper, when I see a section of biographies of women. Nancy Astor, Eleanor Roosevelt, Martha Gellhorn, Amelia Earhart, and Katharine Graham among them, alongside some prima donna opera singers. And my mind goes back to the missing donna in this household.
There are beautiful volumes on landscape gardening, which I also doubt are part of the don’s collection. I take a couple of those with me, and head out for the summerhouse.
The morning sun is too bright. Or maybe my head is still too fuzzy. I hurry with my head down along the winding paths. In daylight, the gardens seem less mysterious. More accusing.
I know that what we’ve been doing is so far out of the realm of what’s considered ‘normal,’ even for people like us, in the shadowy world of ‘the Life,’ I should probably feel guilty or wrong or something like it. Instead, I think about the kinds of things people do every day.
People like the don.
Or my daddy.
Probably all three of the Fortuna boys.
I didn’t hurt anyone. And I felt something, a lot of things, that I couldn’t have found any other way. Still, I know it’s not something I could just chat about over drinks with friends in a bar. Not without expecting some comeback.
So, while I know that I should be telling myself we will stop, I’m thinking about some of the ways I could take it further. My breath trembles as a memory stirs of two hot cocks, one in each hand, both by my face, while another one pounded into me. Even though I try to chase the thoughts away, images wind in slow motion, thoughts of how else I might take so many men at once.
Behind a little gazebo, a tree shakes and leaves scatter in front of me. My heart jumps. In a whump and a whoosh of feathers, a huge magpie flies straight at me, arcing up at the last inch before before he soars, cawing into the dazzling sky.
Quickening my pace, I hurry the rest of the way to the bright awning and deck of the summerhouse. As soon as I’m inside, I close the door behind me and lean back against it, panting.
The sun burns low through the windows on the lake, so all I can see for a moment in the cool interior is blocks of shadows around the rectangle of light. I’ve nearly got my breath back, feeling secure in the summerhouse when I remember the mess we must have left.
“You took some of Mom’s books.”
My eyes still haven’t adjusted to the inside. All I can see clearly is the far windows. Squinting, I can’t make out any of the features of the big man in front of me, but I know Bruno’s voice. First I assume that he left the note under my coffee cup, but he sounds surprised to see me.
Holding up the big books to shield my eyes isn’t much help. I can still only make out the muscular and athletic silhouette in his Italian tailored suit. “I guessed these were the donna’s.” I try to offer a smile, but it’s hard when you’re dazzled and you can’t see the target.
“But you thought you would bring them out here, to the damp summerhouse?”
Bruno’s voice is hard. I wish I could see his eyes. All I can make out for certain is that his fists are balling and clenching.
“Is it damp? I thought it was quite…” I realize that I’m in danger of blathering and I trail off. Too late, I remind myself however charming his exterior can be, Bruno is not a man I should show weakness to.
He grabs my free wrist, and his grip is like the jaws of a big beast. He pulls me close. My eyes are adjusting slowly, but the sun is still low and I can’t see his face or make out his expression.
His sniffs, long and deep.
“Sorry.” He doesn’t let go. “I wasn’t expecting to find you out here.”
Jumpy, with my heart in my mouth, I’m almost ready to tell him about the note. I catch myself in time, but I’m wishing I’d had a lot more coffee.
His grip tightens on my wrist. It hurts, but worse than that, I like it. What is wrong with me? I’ve been used to conflict and confrontation all my life. I never wanted it or sought it out, but I never ran away from it either. Now that I’m trapped in this gothic mansion, conflict seems to be everywhere, waiting behind every door. But with the three brothers, it always comes with a crackle of sexual charge, and I think I’m becoming unhealthily addicted to it.
Even Bruno’s breath smells of danger. And it makes me want to provoke him. Anger him. Make him pull me closer.
He lets go, almost flinging me away.
“Sorry.” He turns away. “Don’t mind me.” He goes to the window and looks out. Then he turns back. At last I can see his face. But I still can’t read the currents of turmoil in his expression. “There’s always something going on in this house. Some new kind of trouble every day.” His lips mash together.
“The don’s been at me again about the raid. He’s taking us in turns. He’s set on the idea that the raid was connected to the Crespi thing.”
