Chapter 3-1
1584 Words
Chapter 3
Junior
“You call Nico?” Paolo stands beside me as we watch Desiree work on Gio.
It’s 3:00 a.m., and she’s already disinfected, stitched and packed both wounds.
“No,” I bristle. You’d think f*****g Nico ran this family now the way everyone looks to him. Yeah, he’s the one who made the Tacones hundreds of millions. He made us legit, took us away from illegal activities just by bringing the old gambling business to a state where everything’s legal.
He also had nothing to lose. He’s the fourth son of Santo Tacone. He slipped away with no big expectations on his head. Very little blood on his hands. He didn’t have the pressure to emulate my father’s vicious ways and keep order in Chicago. Didn’t have to hold La Famiglia and the old neighborhoods together after our father went to prison.
“We should call him.”
“Why?” I snap.
Paolo shakes his head. “What if this is a big f*****g mistake? Madonna, Junior, if Gio dies—”
“He’s not going to f*****g die!” I snap.
Desiree whirls at the same time and glares at Paolo. “Nobody’s dying on my watch.” She rubs alcohol over Gio’s forearm for the IV. “If you’re going to be bringing my patient down with your bad attitude, you should leave.”
Cristo, I love the piss and vinegar in her. It makes my c**k so hard when she picks that chin up and flashes defiance right in my face. Considering her rebellion doesn’t stem from ignorance, I’d say the girl had balls of steel. If she had balls, of course.
Paolo scowls and pulls me back into the hallway, out of earshot. “Okay, I get that she knows what she’s doing, but what the f**k, Junior? Did you seriously think this through?”
I gnash my teeth and don’t give him an answer.
“Tell me you weren’t thinking with your d**k when you asked me to bring her here.”
I wrap my fist in his shirt and slam Paolo up against the wall, my fear for Gio making my normally low patience level non-existent. “Shut your f*****g mouth. She’s here because she’s good, that’s it.”
“Right.” He’s breathing hard, probably working to keep his own temper in check. “And what happens to her when this is over, huh? You gonna get rid of her?”
I pull him away from the wall and slam him back, because I don’t like him threatening her life, even in a secondhand, vague way. “No, stronzo. I’m gonna pay her off. Money or fear will keep her quiet. Or a combination of the two. I’ll handle it.”
Paolo doesn’t quite meet my eye, but his jaw is set at a sullen angle. “Someone ought to call Nico.”
I release him and throw my hands out, Italian style. “Be my guest.” I stalk away, down the stairs to the kitchen. I can’t eat, but I pour a couple fingers of scotch for myself and throw it back.
I listen for Paolo’s voice on the phone with Nico, but it doesn’t come. Instead, the front door slams.
My skin pricks with irritation, but I pour another finger of scotch and swallow it down. Send a text to Mario and tell him I want a glass repair company at Caffè Milano first thing in the morning. I never intended to burn that business with Family s**t. I will stop by there personally to repay them for damages and make sure no one there’s going to squeal as soon as I can get away. And after the dust has settled.
I don’t know how long I stand there with the empty glass in my hand, but eventually I hear light footsteps coming down the stairs.
Desiree comes into the kitchen. Exhaustion shows in the circles under her eyes, the weariness around her mouth.
I pull out a fresh glass, pour another couple ounces of scotch and hold it out to her.
She stares at it for a moment, then takes it wordlessly and tosses it back. Her shudder as it goes down confirms my suspicion that she’s not much of a drinker.
“Hungry?” I ask.
“Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll eat.” She pats her hips. “Not good for the girlish figure to eat before bedtime.”
“f**k that. You worked your a*s off today. Your body needs fuel.”
I’m not the daddying type. Not in the least. I don’t even know what makes me insist. Maybe I’m just offended by her suggestion that her curvy body isn’t the most perfect figure ever made.
I walk to the refrigerator and pull it open. It’s mostly full of take out boxes and ready made food like that. “You want a sandwich?” I ask. “Or there’s half a calzone in here.”
“You have any ice cream?” Her soft voice is right behind me, and I register it with distinct pleasure.
I throw open the freezer, happy because I know I do. I pull out a full pint of Ben & Jerry’s mint chocolate cookie. I’m not big on sweets, but I bought it the other day on some weird impulse.
“Ohmygod, that’s my favorite.” She literally snatches the carton out of my hand and tears the top off.
My lips twist in an uncharacteristic smile as I pull open the silverware drawer and grab two spoons.
I hand her one “I like your enthusiasm, doll.”
She wrinkles her nose, holding the carton of ice cream right against her chest as she digs the spoon in. She flops down in one of the kitchen chairs.
I don’t have people over to my house, and when I do, I make it a practice not to make them feel at home. So it shouldn’t please me that it’s so easy for her to get comfortable.
But again, this is the same character trait that won my ma over. She didn’t tiptoe around the house and act stiff and formal. She ruled the roost while she was there, bossing my ma around, all the while doing an irreproachable job.
I sit down in the chair beside her and try to stick my spoon in the ice cream.
“No way.” She jerks it away, angling her body to shield it from me.
I chuckle. “One spoonful. Give me a taste.”
My last words hang in the air between us, taking on an erotic undercurrent. Desiree blushes a bit when she offers the carton.
I take one spoonful, savor the rich treat, and then put my spoon down.
Desiree digs into the carton like it might be taken from her at any minute and she needs to get as much in her before that happens. I watch as she mmms and groans in pleasure, my d**k getting hard. Every time those full lips mold around the spoon I get jealous. I vow to buy a f*****g crate of this ice cream to have on hand while she’s staying here.
She doesn’t stop until her spoon scrapes the bottom and then she blushes again. “Dang. This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to eat before bedtime.”
“You deserved it.” My voice sounds rusty, which seems about right, since it’s unlike me to throw out compliments or praise. Ever.
She flushes deeper, looking distinctly guilty. “I have a tendency to stress eat.” She sets the carton down with one large spoonful left in it.
“I enjoyed the show.” I didn’t mean to say it, but it’s the truth. Watching her wolf down the ice cream was damn cute. I relished her enthusiasm and clear pleasure of the dessert.
Maybe in my head I’m thinking the hedonism she displayed over the ice cream translates to the bedroom.
Not that I’m going to f**k her.
I’m definitely not going to f**k her.
It’s bad enough I dragged her into this s**t storm. I don’t need to further taint her with me.
La Madonna knows, I ruin everything I come close to.
I scoop out the last bite with her spoon and hold it out to her. It’s weirdly intimate and as soon as I do it, I realize it’s too much.
“No.” She shakes her head and turns her face away.
“You sure? All right.” I put the bite in my mouth instead and her gaze tracks to my lips, like she enjoys watching me eat as much as I loved watching her.
She stands up, running her palms down her scrubs like they’re sweaty. “So. I’m spending the night, huh?”
Right. She’s not a guest, she’s a prisoner. I need to make sure she understands that.
I stand, too. “You’ll stay in Gio’s room,” I say. “That way if he needs you, you’ll hear him.”
Her eyebrows shoot up and I can tell she doesn’t like it, but she doesn’t say anything. I would put her in another guest room, but I don’t trust myself with her. Lord knows I want to get my hands all over her sassy curves. Want to find out what she tastes like. What it’s like to pound between her legs and make her scream.
But none of that is going to happen.
So putting her in Gio’s room is definitely the best plan.
We walk up the stairs to the landing. “You got a toothbrush I can use?”
Cristo. It’s like an overnight without the s*x. Not something I ever do—overnights, that is.
“Uh, yeah, I think I do.” I head into my en suite bathroom and dig out an unopened toothbrush head for my sonic toothbrush. I hand it to her with the toothpaste and point to the guest bath.
“Thanks. I’ll be right back with this.”
She disappears into the bathroom and I close my eyes and lean against the wall.
Maybe Paolo was right.
Maybe I was thinking with my d**k when I had her dragged here.
Maybe my d**k is an opportunistic f**k who doesn’t give a s**t who I ruin.
- Writer
