Page 74 of The Capo's Nymph
Maddalena and I take turns with Amadeo who equates food with art class – abstract art where the artist flings paint around the room – but it soon becomes obvious Nico’s the one who needs more help.
His large hand grips the tiny spoon tightly, and his jaw is clenched as Lucia continues growing more hysterical. The softness in his eyes has faded, though his voice remains calm even when Lucia bats the spoon away with her increasing tantrum. It makes me anxious, knowing very well how fathers in our antiquated world usually respond when their children are not behaving, but I trust him.
“I can take her upstairs, master, so you might enjoy your zuppa,” Ersilia offers, stepping back into the room.
“Or I can hold her,” I add.
“No, that’s not necessary.” He lifts Lucia from the highchair, moving her to his lap. She smears a fistful of sweet potatoes all over his expensive suit, but he does not raise his voice. “What is it,principessa?What am I doing wrong?” His tone tears at my heart. He believes he is failing somehow.
Just then, I notice her socked feet. I’d bet money she’s wearing two pairs. Ersilia is constantly prattling about their feet being too cold while Lucia hates for her feet to be too hot.
Scooting closer, I explain the dilemma, pulling the socks off and discovering what the real problem is. One of her little toes has turned purple. A hair has wound up tangled around it until it’s cut the circulation off. A longwhitehair. An escapee from Ersilia’s ever-present bun.
Lucia shrieks when I free her toe and the blood flows freely again, bringing momentary pain. Frustrated, I shoot an angry look at Ersilia who is hovering over my shoulder. Her eyes grow wide with dismay that quickly turns to fright as she pats at her hair. “Oh no. I did not mean for-”
Nico passes Lucia to me, rising to his imposing height with murder in his eyes. I’ve seen him angry, but this look scares the hell out of me even if it’s not aimed at me. His low growl fills the room. “You are lucky to be a woman, Ersilia. But your nephew works for me. If you don’t get your things and get the fuck-”
“Nico, no!” I interject, quickly passing Lucia to my sister and placing myself between Nico and the housekeeper. “Ersilia did not do it on purpose, and her family had nothing at all to do with any of this. I’m sure she will take extra care in the future and respect my wishes when it comes to our children going forward. Won’t you, Ersilia?” I enunciate slowly.
Our eyes lock; a look of warning from me and one of gratitude from her. Quickly, the housekeeper dips her head. “Yes, Mrs. Morelli. Thank you. I am sorry. I would not dream of hurting these children, and I regret… It will not happen again, master. I will take extra care and respect your wishes from now on, mistress. I swear it.”
Giving her a nod, I order her to tell Nunzia we’re reading for the next course. Lucia’s tears are drying as Ersilia dashes off, so I lightly tickle her tummy, making her laugh in Maddalena’s arms. Amadeo knocks his bowl of sweet potatoes off his highchair, deciding he would like to laugh, too.
When I risk a glance at Nico again, I expect him to still be angry. At Ersilia and at me for interfering. My stepmother wouldn’t have dared to do so with my father, especially in front of others.
But Nico does not appear angry anymore.
“You…” he rasps in a low voice, framing my face with his powerful hands.
“Me?”
He drags me close, kissing me hungrily and deeply until my brain can barely complete the simplest thought.
“Jesus, you two have a bedroom,” Maddalena mutters, her cheeks flushing as red as mine must be when he releases me again.
Nico pulls my chair back, saying in a low voice that makes my pussy clench, “Yes, we do.”
32
Nico
“Am I getting my cocked sucked for Christmas?” Dante asks, unamused when we pull up outside The Gentleman’s Post. “Because I can arrange that without your help.”
“I’m aware,” I reply, killing the engine. I draw in a calming breath. My wrath has done enough damage in the past. This time, it must be aimed with more cunning.
The guard on duty outside had texted me the mystery black van’s plate number just yesterday. We’ll find it soon. Today, he subtly points to the worn-out street prostitute with badly-dyed purple hair loitering down the block.Violet.
Sensing tension, Dante follows when I climb out of the car, prowling toward her. She set up Matilde. This may very well be her last December.
A jaded junkie, past her prime if she ever even had one, but she’s not stupid. The second she recognizes me, she runs. Just not very fast.
“What did you think that would accomplish?” I ask, trying not to touch more of her than absolutely necessary when I catch her and drag her into the alley.
“Nice knife,” Dante says, confiscating her hidden weapon. “Since she showed us hers, why don’t you show her yours, Nico?”
With a dark smile, I pull my favorite knife. “I don’t know anything!” she screeches.
“I haven’t asked you anything…yet.”
