Page 23 of The Mad Don
“Go to hell.”
He bites my ear.
The sound I make is not one I planned; it leaves me before I can stop it, and I feel the shame of it arrive immediately. He laughs like he has just confirmed something he already suspected.
“There she is,” he murmurs.
He runs the barrel of the gun slowly up the side of my neck, from the base to behind my ear. I feel every centimeter of the cold metal against my pulse, the pace, the way he stops for a moment just below my jaw, where the blood runs close to the surface and stays there long enough for me to feel my own heartbeat against it. Then down along the side of my throat, tracing the line of it to my collarbone, and I am trying to breathe, but my body is not cooperating. My body is responding to the metal, to his warmth behind me, and to his closeness in ways I have no language to justify.
He runs it down my collarbone, over the edge. Down the side of my chest, I feel my breath change. The barrel keeps moving with terrible patience over the curve of my ribs, and he is watching my face from behind me. I can feel him watching. His mouth finds my neck.
I pull against his hold, but I cannot move even an inch. He takes his time. First, his lips, then his teeth, then his lips again. He kisses my neck and sucks on my earlobe. His mouth is warm. I have lost the will to fight. I feel the gun in my stomach, and my stomach contracts under it. I am furious at my own body for the way it is leaning back instead of forward, for the warmth spreading through me despite everything.
Then the gun stops between my thighs. I stop breathing entirely, every nerve ending in my body converging on that single point of contact.
He pushes me away.
My legs are shaking, and I plant my feet on the stone to stop them. He smirks and steps back.
“Since you can’t get along with the boys,” he says, “you’ll be staying in my house.”
He walks toward me, closing the space between us. He slides the gun over my face slowly and stops the barrel at my lips. I clench my fists. Our eyes meet and I can see the brightness of insanity in his eyes.He is really crazy.
“I hope we get along just fine.”
He turns and walks back into the house. I stare at him leave, my heart drumming in my chest. I haven’t been overpowered this easily in years.How strong is he?I swallow, and my eyes fall onthe house. I clench my fist tighter and tell myself, I was just weak from the poison.
Chapter Seven
Giovanni
A week later
“What do you mean he can’t come?”
I look up from the document on my desk. The man standing in front of me, one of my newer captains, shifts.
“Fabiano broke his leg, Don Mondi. At the docks last night.”
“Broke?”
“A fracture, sir. He’s at home.”
I tap my pen against the desk twice and consider breaking the other one for him. I have a meeting tonight at the Marchetti estate. Ownership of the eastern holdings is on the table. Ricci will be there — my scorned, almost father-in-law. A year ago, Enzo Ricci’s daughter, Valentina, and I got engaged. Of course, it was a business engagement. Then one night, I saw her stumblingout of Fabiano’s room with her hair a mess and clothes barely on right. She had the biggest smile. I was supposed to be on a flight that night to meet a doctor for Lucia. I never took Fabiano for those. But my flight got delayed, and I decided to spend the night keeping Lucia company since pain flared up again.
So, I was blessed with such a sight. She didn’t see me, and I never spoke about it. But I did break off the engagement. I sent Ricci an official letter, and he was livid. I never told him why; I didn’t see the point. His daughter had her heart elsewhere, and it had nothing to do with me. It was simply bad for business to have my wife sleeping with myCapo.
Ricci would happily turn the night into a public confrontation if he caught me without backup. Fabiano was supposed to be at my side, taking the heat as he should.
“How long is he out?”
“Three weeks, the doctor said.”
Three weeks. Of course.I sit back in the chair and run a hand down my jaw.
I think about Yana.
I haven’t seen her in a week. Not since the night in the yard. I hear about her. I hear that she wakes at the crack of dawn to run laps around the property. I hear that she takes her meals inher room. I hear that she has not said a word to anyone in seven days, which I find more entertaining than I should.
