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Every time I’ve attended a patient’s physical exam, whether this intimate or not, flashes in my mind’s eyes. How freaking horrible. This one is probably the worst of them all, and I try to force my brain into medical mode to stop tears from seeping from my eyes. I won’t be weak in front of him.
The throw shifts and cold air sweeps up my legs and higher, to my sex, all exposed to that stark light. I hear the doctor pulling on her gloves, but I feel Matteo’s eyes on me, just like I did that first time he watched me from the veranda at our house. That feels like years ago now.
There’re touches to my legs, urging me to open even wider, and I comply, forcing myself to relax to avoid any pain. There follows the confident approach of the doctor’s fingers as she probes, the sound of her shifting as she looks properly.
“You know this isn’t accurate, right?” she says as her fingers slide from my entrance. “Nothing is hundred percent, but from what I can gather, I’d say she’s untouched. I’ll write up the necessary letter.”
A warm hand rests on my forehead, fingers caressing my hair. His callused palm, scented with the fresh-scented soaps in his shower, only hitches up my already frantic pulse. He is clean and I feel so dirty right now.
“Good girl,” he murmurs as he drops something next to my head. A T-shirt. One that smells of him. His hand moves away, and I don’t look. Not when I know he’s covering my legs again. Not when the doctor pulls off her gloves and closes her case. Not when footsteps fall and the bedroom door locks again.
I turn on my side and curl into a ball, finally letting go of the bottleneck of tears.
17
MATTEO
I wait at the railing where Tasha tried to hide last night as Burley sees the doctor off. Why I’m starting to think of her as Tasha, I don’t know. Woke up this morning and my first thought was of Tasha and not ‘Natasha Armstrong, daughter of the crooked politician who got my brother killed.’ And now, after being in that room while?—
Burley comes in from the foyer, and I descend the stairs and meet him in the kitchen. “Stan’s here?”
“He’s waiting for you.”
“Her travel documents?”
“They’ll be ready by Thursday.”
Good. “I’m going to the Don’s. Seems I owe you some money.”
“Yeah?” Burley nods but he doesn’t seem thrilled.
Confirming Tasha’s virginity just set our plan in motion. There’s no stopping now. “Get Rosalia’s contact to bring her some clothes. Pretty things. Underwear. Evening dresses. Ask Rosalia what she’ll need and make it happen. Put it on the company card.”
“Yes, boss.”
I sense his mood. It’s foul, but so is mine. Trust the Don to fuck with my life by asking me to tie up his shitty loose ends. No pussy should be any man’s loose-end solution. “And feed her. Can’t let her lose any weight. She’ll be too skinny for most men’s liking.”
“Yes, boss.”
Fuck. When my most trusted bodyguard and friend starts yes-bossing me, I’m two ticks away from blowing a fuse. None of this is negotiable, so I walk away and take the private elevator that has a couple of stops, some of them only accessible with a combination of high-tech security checks. There are perks to owning a building. When I walk into the garage, Stan has already pulled up the SUV and opens the back door for me.
As we drive through Boston and out to where the properties become larger, more exclusive and more like compounds, I go through the list on my phone. My mind is preoccupied by her, and before going into this meeting I need to make sure everything for Sicily is set up as I’ve discussed with my brothers. This trip isn’t exactly going to be a walk in the park. Things could go phenomenally wrong. Once the Sicilian knows I’ve touched ground, I’ll have to move quickly to get the Don’s first job done.
The Don.
The exact moment I started referring to my father as the Don, and no longer as my dad, often plays out vividly in my mind. It was the last time I dared say no to him. Sometimes the scars on my back even sting, as if the whip connected with my flesh minutes ago. We went hunting, the one and only time he and I went on a dad-and-son trip. He wounded a deer with the exact intention of making it immobile so I could kill it by hand. I couldn’t do it… until I did.
At age twelve I learned to never say no to the Don. After that whipping, I even ate the raw liver he knifed out for me, still steaming from the musky carcass. Warm, raw and iron-rich blood still tingles on my tongue, but over the years, those memories have become mixed with other tastes and smells.
I never defied him again. Not because I didn’t want to, but if I didn’t live up to his demands, my brothers would have to step in. I’m the first in the line of fire, and to my death I will protect them from him.
When I walk into the Don’s office an hour later, Luca, Stephano, Benedict, and Dominic are already there, arguing about some red card handed to a player in a recent NFL game. The situation almost seems normal, as if we’re a normal family, and when Bruno farts as I walk past him, I smirk.
“Bruno! Bruno, Bruno,” the Don says, raising his hands with each repetition in exasperation. “Don’t gas us out of the room, boy.” He waves at the empty wingback that’s been kept open for me and picks up a can of air freshener and sprays it liberally. “There, breathe easy.”
It’s quiet for a minute as I try not to breathe and take in my father’s face. It’s there, all right, the grey color of encroaching death on his skin. He doesn’t stand so I don’t see if he’s lost weight or how weak he’s become since our last face-to-face meeting.
“Let’s hear your plan, Matteo,” the Don says as he leans on the table and laces his fingers together.
