21. Davide

Business picks up after family dinner. Uncle Luciano doesn't make any more brazen attacks like he did against our ships, our warehouse, and one of our soldiers, but now that there's blood on the ground, I'm busier than ever. I act as the liaison between my organization and the Rossi Famiglia, and there's a massive shipment of weapons coming in via our trucking route in a few days. I'm tasked with making sure that it's secure.

Which means clearing out the warehouse and finding space for everything, hiring muscle to keep it all under guard, and setting up a secure travel itinerary.

I'm out late every night and up early every morning, and it feels like my wife is nothing more than a sleeping body in bed. We barely run into each other, and when we do, it's like we're speaking different languages. I want to ask her about the office and I want to see her new desk, but I haven't been able to bring myself to go up there. The walls feel tight, and I'm already running on edge as it is. I don't want to risk having an attack right in front of her. I suspect she already thinks I'm a psychopath, which is bad enough.

"Everything's good on our end, bro," Carlo Rossi says on the day of the shipment. "Trucks left Philly about a half hour ago. They should get to you in like twelve or thirteen hours. Go get something to eat, maybe sleep or whatever, it'll show up in the morning."

"I don't think I'll be getting much sleep until the merchandise is where it needs to be."

"You really think this Santoro guy is that crafty, bro? Our truckers are top-notch guys. It'll be fine."

I smile bitterly to myself as I pace across the empty warehouse. My footsteps echo up into the metal rafters while my soldiers watch on. Tensions are very high.

I like Carlo Rossi. There's no bullshit to that man, and even though he comes across like he's all frivolous jokes and empty smiles, the man has a good head on his shoulders. But he doesn't know Uncle Luciano.

"I'm trusting you," I tell him, because there's one enormous flaw in this entire situation.

The drivers aren't my people.

"Bro, relax. We got this."

I hang up and bark orders at my soldiers. There isn't much for anyone to do since everything's been prepped well ahead of time, but I need an excuse to blow off this nervous energy. Bruno eventually pulls me aside and tells me to calm the fuck down because I'm driving everyone crazy, and I tell him to go fuck himself, and he ends up dragging me outside to smoke a few anxious cigarettes. I don't even enjoy them, but it's better than feeling like I'm trapped in a cage again.

Hours pass. Simon shows up with dinner for the men on duty and forces me to take a nap in the back office. I sit on the couch, my sleeves rolled up and my top buttons undone, and stare at the wall. There's no way in hell I'm going to fall asleep, not until we have all the guns where they need to be.

"You could try closing your fucking eyes, you crazy person," Simon says when he comes in later that night. He pours us drinks and sits next to me on the couch. "Father's confident in the plan, you know. He thinks you did a good, thorough job setting this up."

I grunt at him and throw back the whiskey. It's good stuff, but too bad I can barely taste anything right now. "Uncle Luciano's fucking clever. Dad should know that."

"Stop calling him uncle," Simon says quietly. It's an old argument, and I don't take the bait. "Santoro's smart, but he's not invincible. I know you feel like he is, but you were just a kid and it was a long time ago, and?—"

I stand before he can keep talking. "It's not about that."

"Isn't it? Davide, you don't have to pretend with me. I know you're still hurting. It's been twenty fucking years and you haven't gotten over what happened, and nobody blames you one bit for that."

I take deep breaths. The walls feel tight and I flex my burned hand. I can feel the flames licking my skin again. I can smell my own flesh burning like an overcooked hamburger, the ugly singed-hair reek of a human body getting cooked.

"Uncle Luciano isn't going to stop until we're dead." I hold up my burned hand, fingers flexing. "I'm the only one that understands."

"Davide—"

I grunt at him and walk to the door. They all think I'm some precious little child trapped in the most horrifying, traumatic event of my life, but they're wrong. They don't see Santoro the way I do. I'm the only one that got a glimpse of what he really is. I saw the unfeeling and uncaring black depths of his soul, and that glimpse was more horrifying than anything else, worse than the cage and worse than the fire. Santoro wants only one thing, and that's to destroy anyone that rivals his claim to power, which means he will never stop until everyone I care about is dead.

I've been telling them for years. I've been begging them to do something. Santoro's been quietly gaining strength, and Father did nothing. Nobody understood that Santoro would be our rival until it was much too late. Father thought they'd crushed him, but Santoro will never stop so long as he's alive.

Simon doesn't come after me when I leave the warehouse. I'm not sure where I'm going until I end up back at the house. It's a little past ten at night and I find Stefania sitting up in bed reading a paperback. She's wearing cheater glasses and her hair's piled up in a messy bun, and she looks so fucking perfect it kills me, because I know Santoro would gladly gut her in front of me if given the chance.

"You're home," she says and sets the book aside. She takes off the glasses.

"I didn't know you wore those." I nod as she puts them back on her nightstand. "You look good when they're on."

"Yeah? You like the nerdy look, huh? They make me look smart, but honestly, I'm kind of nearsighted. I get headaches when I read without them for too long."

I walk toward her. "Put them back on."

Her eyes widen a fraction. "Davide. I've barely seen you."

"Put the glasses back on, dolcezza." I'm not in the mood for talk. I'm not in the mood for anything but her. Of all the places I could've gone in this city, I came back here, because Stefania's the only person who can make me feel okay right now. "Please, baby. Put on the glasses."

She must hear the strain in my voice because she picks them up and slips them on. "You like this? Do you think I'm pretty with these on?"

"Yes," I say, barely stifling a groan. I rip away the covers, revealing her bare legs. She's in a black silk pajama top and a pair of small matching shorts. "Unbutton the top. Do it slowly."

She bites her lip and I can tell she's wondering if she should keep going, but I keep staring, my pulse hammering in my throat, my cock already twitching with need. I want to bury myself between her legs. I want to fuck her mouth and make her drool all over my tip. I want her sloppy, wet, and moaning. I want her, and I never should've let work keep me from her for this long.

Slowly, she undoes a button. Then another. Then another. And it fucking kills me, but she's wearing nothing underneath, and I catch a glimpse of beautiful skin, until the front is completely open.

I reach down and grab her bun. I pull it back, making her gasp.

"Put your right hand between your legs."

"Davide—"

"Do it, baby, and if you talk again, I'm going to rip off your panties and shove them in your mouth again."

She's breathing fast now. The pajama top slips across her breast, showing off one stiff nipple. "Promise?"

I growl in response and grab her shorts, tearing them off. She yelps in surprise as I viciously pull down her underwear, roll her onto her belly, and give her ass two hard slaps, one per cheek. She groans, wriggling her hips and burying her face in the pillow, and I do it again until she's pink.

Then I pull her hair, force her mouth open, and shove her panties inside.

"Now, baby, I want your hand between your legs," I command. "Stay on your belly. Touch your wet little pussy and let me watch, and if you spit out those panties, I'll duct tape your mouth closed. Do it now."

She groans and obeys. Fuck, it's so fucking sexy, and I take a step back to enjoy the view as I undress. She wriggles her hips, stroking herself, her ass up in the air a little bit to give herself enough room.

"Fingers inside," I say, taking off my pants. I'm so fucking hard as I stroke myself nice and slow. "Two fingers. Sink them in slow."

She whimpers and tries to say something, but the panties are firmly in place. She does as instructed and starts to slowly fuck herself with her fingers.

"That's right, you're a good slut for me, baby," I say as I stroke faster. "Look at you, touching yourself in front of me. I want to fuck you in every hole right now until you're a dripping, drooling mess. I'll fuck your mouth first then I'll take your ass. And I'll finish in your lovely little cunt when you're sore and begging for release. Keep going, baby. Go faster. I want to hear the wet sound your messy cunt makes as you fill yourself with your fingers."

She moans and I spank her ass hard, making her squeal. She goes faster, pleasuring herself as I tell her how beautiful she is obeying my every command and how badly I needed her tonight.

"I'm going to make you my filthy slut," I growl in her ear then move back and lick her ass, bite it hard, then spit on her cheek. "Clean that off with your fingers and shove it deep into your pussy."

Her whole body shakes as she rubs my spit deep into her pussy, driving in and out. My tip's engorged and throbbing, and I'm fucking close just watching her drive her fingers in deep.

"Do you want to come, baby?" I ask and reach forward to pull the panties out of her mouth.

She gasps for air. "God, please, let me come," she begs, her entire body flushed, a bit of sweat glistening on her back. "Please, Davide."

"Beg, you filthy girl."

"Oh, god, let me come, I'm so desperate for it, I need you, Davide. I need you so fucking badly. You leave me all alone and I need you."

That kills me. I feel my chest crack open and my heart get skewered on her words. With a growl of rage and self-loathing, I pin her down and wrench her arms above her head, and fill her with my cock. I fuck her like a beast, because if she needs me, I should be here for her, should be giving her what she wants. I fuck her rough because I can't hold back any longer, and I feel her clench down as her entire body comes, her legs kicking and toes curling. I lose myself in her and fill her to the brim as I come seconds after she finishes, the orgasm like a hammer tearing through my body.

I collapse onto the bed with her. She whimpers as I pull her against me. I hold her tight, kissing her, telling her how beautiful she is and how much I needed and missed her and how good she feels.

I brush her lips with mine, making sure she knows that she may be my dirty slut while I'm fucking her, but she's my dolcezza and my wife when she's in my arms.