Page 74 of Mafia Bride
He says nothing. I grip him with my right hand, and pull out the gun at my waist with my left, clicking the safety.
“Do you know what you did?” I ask evenly even as the rage fills me entirely. I am a ball of fire, burning my control from the inside out, but I am still and calm inside it, because once I give up trying to control it, the anger is my friend.
“Nothing,” he squeaks, tears forming. “Just got a little action.”
“Open your mouth, Roman. Let’s get the pussy stink out of it.”
I feel the other guys in the room stiffen. They know I can shoot him, and I might, but I also might not. Roman knows the same. He knows that if he does as he’s told, he may live, but if he doesn’t, he’s finished.
So he crushes his eyes shut and opens his mouth.
“You killed my wife.” I slide the gun along his tongue. “Maybe not today, but the day they finally murder her is the day you pulled the trigger. Should I save you the guilt?”
Romanahhsas if he’s at the dentist.
“Padre nostro,” I start the Lord’s prayer. “che sei nei cieli.”
He whimpers the rhythm, and when I’m sure he’s deep in prayer, with a chance to defend his life before God, I pull the trigger.
His body collapses and suddenly, the room is populated again. Carmine’s practically holding Vito up, and Gennaro’s looking down at Roman’s body, calculating how much dirt he’s going to have to move to bury him.
“Damiano Irolio will die for this,” I say. “Trust me. He will die when I say, and how I say. I don’t want to hear any of you make plans without me again.”
Stepping over Roman’s body, I leave the cleanup to my men.
20
VIOLETTA
I smell tobacco. It rouses me, almost, from a dream, one which I remember nothing but fear, and somehow I know it’s him immediately. The dream shifts. It feels like I’m on a boat, swaying softly to this beautiful tongue. He’s speaking in Italian, I know his voice, but I hear the words in English.
“I promise on my life, nothing will ever happen to you.”
Back and forth, so gently.
“You will never be hurt.”
Caresses on my cheek lull me deeper.
“You will never cry.”
I’m inhaling his scent and his words and disappearing into a beautiful black.
“The streets will be covered with blood before another drop of yours spills.”
A hand runs up my leg, under the nightgown Loretta loaned me. In the blackness, I turn to flame. His fingers tease the edge of the underwear. His other hand moves to the scratches on my calves where one of the guys grabbed me, and the deeper wounds where the glass cut me on the way out.
I roll over with a moan, still drowning in euphoric darkness, where I don’t have or want the strength to say no. He can fuck me now and I won’t have to resist out of anger or hate, or tell myself he’s no more than a kidnapper taking what he wants.
All I have to do is stay in this half-sleep and surrender completely.
Yes. I want that more than anything. I can feel the whole shape of him without even seeing him. Both of his hands join between my legs, thumbs slipping under the edges of the underwear, prying me open and finding me soaking wet.
My entire body throbs and with a gasp of disappointment, I awaken.
“Forzetta,” his voice rumbles against my cheek as his hands slide away. “It’s time to come home.”
He picks me up, cradles me to his chest, and carries me outside. I’m conscious, but still drowsy and limp. The world around me is dark with dots of light from the veranda, then the headlights. I lean my head on his shoulder, inhaling the tobacco and cologne and soap.
