Chapter 16

SPARROW

I measure my pace to make sure I'm never close enough for Big Bass to realize he's being followed, but close enough that I don't lose him. The not-losing-him part is actually pretty fucking easy considering he's a hulking six-some feet tall with a lumbering gait like he's the goddamn butler to the Addam's Family.

My muscles coil with frustration and my fingers itch to wrap around the handle of my dagger. I feel like a lion at a zoo, fruitlessly stalking back and forth in front of the unbreakable glass, the taste of blood on my tongue without any hope of quenching the thirst. Not today, anyway.

Big Bass reaches his apartment building and I hang back, watching until he disappears inside where he's going to spend another night safe and sound instead of joining his fucking friends at the bottom of the ravine. I blow out a frustrated breath and turn my ass around to head back the way I came.

I consider hailing a cab, but the walk will do me some good. It's only a dozen or so blocks back to Xaviaro's place, no more than a mile. Of course, in Wildcliff, a mile might as well be an entirely different world. It's too nice of an area to borrow any of the neighbors' cars and every building has a doorman. There are definitely some benefits to the fact that I've hardly been back to my own apartment in two weeks. Reliable hot water is one. The distinct lack of the dulcet sounds of domestic violence coming from neighboring units is another. And, of course, waking up next to Xaviaro every morning hasn't exactly sucked… although he usually does. I snort at the double entendre as I reach the main entrance to his building.

"Afternoon, Sir," Parker greets me.

"I told you to stop with the ‘sir' stuff," I remind him with a friendly smile. I've always found honorifics a little weird outside of kink situations, and at this point, I really don't want to hear that word on anyone's lips but Xaviaro's.

"Sorry, Si…" He catches himself and clears his throat. "Sparrow."

I chuckle and get onto the elevator, pressing the button for Xaviaro's floor. The doors close and I stuff my hands into my pockets, leaning against the back wall as I watch the floor numbers light up as it climbs slowly higher. I whistle along with the jazzy instrumental music playing through the speakers and my fingers brush against something inside the lining of my coat pocket. I frown and drag my fingers blindly along the seam until I find a tear in it. The doors slide open just as I manage to fish the small object out of my pocket.

I hold it up to the light in the hallway, studying it for a second. It looks like a little piece of black plastic. I'm about to just chuck it into the trash and chalk it up as nothing more than a fragment of something that broke off at some point without me noticing, but then I remember Xaviaro finding me at Riff Raff's and I chuckle.

"Clever," I mutter, stuffing the tracking device into the pocket of my jeans.

I toe off my shoes and hang my jacket in the closet, taking care to put everything away nicely, just the way Xav likes it. A weird sense of comfort and nerves creeps under my skin. It's a feeling that seems to find me every time I come home to Xaviaro's place. And that's exactly it, isn't it? Home and Xaviaro's place.

We haven't had any kind of conversation about me being here, it just kind of happened. After the meeting with Enzo two weeks ago, Xaviaro drove me to my apartment so I could grab different clothes and a few other things, and then I just… never went home again. He hasn't said anything about it and neither have I. We fell into a domestic routine that I haven't bothered to overanalyze for fear that I might try to convince myself that things are moving too fast or that there's something wrong with how happy he makes me. Like maybe I don't deserve to fall in love when Benny will never have the chance.

I swallow around the lump in my throat, startling when the door opens behind me without warning. I spin around just as Xaviaro steps through the door, nearly colliding with me in his hurry to get inside.

"Whoa, where's the fire, Killer?" I tease, enraptured by the way his expression melts from stoic to warm in the blink of an eye.

"At a warehouse downtown, with the pedophile owner locked inside," he answers dryly, and I bark out a laugh.

"Sounds like a productive day." I step closer and undo the buttons on his jacket, tilting my head up in a silent request for a kiss that he happily delivers, leaning down to brush his mouth against mine like he's asking for permission. Heat quivers in the pit of my stomach and between my legs. I smile against his lips, grabbing his tie to yank him closer and deepen the kiss.

"Aren't I supposed to be the one waiting by the door like your loyal little puppy?" he asks with a smirk when I break the kiss.

I scoff. "I wasn't waiting like a puppy. I just got home."

I swear I see his smile twitch even brighter for a second at the word ‘home.' He likes having me here. He likes coming home and leaving all his stress at the door, letting me undress him and give him permission to set the weight of his job down until it's time to put his suit back on again tomorrow. I like it too. But being his stay-at-home Dom isn't going to cut it forever. Eventually I'll need a job and a life here in Wildcliff, and both of those things come with a whole heap of complications I didn't think about when I shed my old identity.

"Go anywhere exciting?" His tone is casual as he bends over to untie his shoes, slipping them off one at a time and lining them up right next to mine.

"Like you don't already know," I challenge, quirking an eyebrow at him as I pull the tracker out of my back pocket and hold it up between two fingers.

"Dammit," he mutters, catching it with ease when I flick it towards him.

"No need for a LoJack. I promised I would behave, and I have been." I head down the hallway to the bedroom with Xaviaro right on my heels.

"You've been over on the hundred blocks every day this week," he points out in an even tone, not accusing, simply stating a fact.

"Watching," I say with a shrug. "I've kept my distance and I promise you they couldn't pick me out of a lineup if you flat-out told them they were being followed."

He grunts. Such a simple sound loaded with the fighting words he's smart enough not to say out loud.

"I already know," I assure him. I know that as much as Enzo seemed to like me, the death threat wasn't just bluster. And I know there's more at stake now than my own soul-blackening need for revenge. I don't like any of it, but I know it and I'm following the rules.

I slide Xaviaro's jacket off his shoulders and carry it over to his closet to hang it up. I can feel his eyes on me, warming my skin and penetrating me all the way down to my bones. There's a reason I didn't think about the logistics of after when I walked away from my old life. Deep down, I didn't expect to survive that long. Or maybe I simply didn't care whether I did or not. And then this brutal, terrifying, absolutely perfect man kneeled at my feet and everything changed.

Well… almost everything changed. Benny is still gone and the men responsible still need to pay. If I have to choose between doing what I came here to do and the hazy future I've already started building with Xaviaro inside my heart, I'm not sure which I would pick. I turn that over and over in my head as I return to standing in front of him and work on unbuttoning his shirt, slowly revealing the more complicated knots of the harness I tied around his chest before he left for work this morning.

The teal shade of the newest ropes stands out against the darker tone of his skin. I run my tongue over his nipple, feeling it harden under my touch, a shiver and a groan escaping him. If I die, who will give my murder marshmallow the escape he desperately needs? I do the same thing to his other nipple, grazing it with my teeth after it's damp from my tongue. He cants his hips, pressing the swell of his growing erection against me and carding his fingers through my hair.

"I was thinking…" I'm sure he's not fooled by my offhand tone, like whatever I'm about to say just popped into my head today rather than haunting my thoughts for the past week and a half. "I get the whole thing about the Irish possibly protecting the Reapers and the Mafia war situation, but what if Big Bass and Shit Stain just happened to, I don't know, have an accident."

Xaviaro frowns. "An accident?"

"Yeah. They're bikers on meth. When you think about it, it's more suspicious that they've managed to live this long without crashing their motorcycles or overdosing. Nothing that could be traced back to the Morettis, obviously." I shrug, and he lets out a throaty laugh.

"As much as we rag on them, the Fitzpatricks aren't a bunch of morons. And if Enzo is right, they're just itching for a reason to go to war."

I discard his shirt and undo his belt, stripping him down to nothing but his silky boxer briefs and the harness. I slip my hand around the knot in the center of his sternum, using the index finger on my other hand to draw slow circles around his belly button.

"One little meth lab explosion," I barter. "I defy the Fitzpatricks to prove that's anything but natural selection."

"You don't want them to go out in a meth lab explosion," he says knowingly, cupping my face in both hands and holding my gaze. "You've come this far. You want to look them in the eyes and make sure they know which sin they're paying for."

Fuck. He's right.

"I can't let them get away with it. If it means crossing Enzo…" I trail off and shake my head, still not entirely sure which way the decision will go if it comes down to it.

His expression hardens. "Benny is going to get his justice, and I promise you'll be the one to watch the light flicker out of their eyes. Just be patient a little longer."

I nod and press a kiss to his chin, feeling the sandpaper of his stubble against my lips.

"Okay. I'll do my best."

XAVIARO

Sparrow hands me a pair of black sweatpants and I step into them, studying him silently as I do. I believe him when he says he'll try to be patient, I just don't know how far that will stretch. Another few days? Another week? And what if nothing has moved forward at that point? At the end of the day, if he goes against Lorenzo, I'll put myself between him and the bullet. But that'll only buy Sparrow the time it takes to line up a second shot, and we'll both be dead.

Call me idealistic, but I'd really fucking prefer a future that doesn't end with the fish and birds picking the rotting flesh from our bones.

"I'm guessing you haven't eaten." The abrupt change of subject erases the pout from his lips.

"Didn't get around to it," he confirms my suspicion, his stomach chiming in with a loud growl seconds later.

"Good. Come on, I'm going to make you pork ragu over creamy polenta like my Nonna taught me." I tuck him under my arm and lead him out of the bedroom, replacing grim thoughts with more pleasant ones as Sparrow hops up to sit on the island counter and I open the refrigerator to start pulling out the ingredients I'll need.

"Nonna means grandmother, right?" he asks.

"Yes. She was tough as nails and didn't take shit from anybody. And she could make a tiramisu from scratch that would make a grown man weep," I reminisce with a soft smile.

"She sounds amazing," he says. "I never knew any of my grandparents."

"No?"

He shakes his head. "My mom had some big falling out with her parents before I was born, so we never saw them. They used to send birthday cards every year, but eventually those stopped too. And both my dad's parents died before I was old enough to remember them."

"That's a shame. Grandparents are the best. My Nonna taught me how to cook and how to sew. She said I couldn't wait around to get a wife, I needed to know how to take care of myself. I was only about ten, but I think she knew even before I did that a wifewasn't in the cards." The prep is all muscle memory as I ready the ingredients and pull out the correct pans. "And my grandpa was the one who handed me my first gun and taught me how to shoot. Not sure he would have done that had he known where it would lead," I say wryly.

"I take it they don't know what you do for a living?" he guesses.

"Oh sure, I include my annual kill count in every Christmas card I send," I say flatly, and he cackles. "They actually both passed a few years ago now."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Sparrow puts a hand on my arm briefly, warming my bare skin with his touch and offering me comfort. "Is it over the line to ask how you started working for the Morettis?"

I snort. "I think we're past having lines, Little Sparrow. You can ask me anything you want. Lorenzo and I met at Saint Sebastian's when we were only yay high." I lower my hand and gesture right next to my knee to make my point.

"Is that a church?" he asks, cocking his head.

"Catholic school. Nuns hitting you with rulers, teenage boys giving each other handies because there isn't a girl in sight, that whole bit."

Sparrow giggles. "I did not know about the handjobs. Now I'm kind of mad that my parents sent me to a prep school that allowed for gender mixing."

"I didn't hate it," I agree.

"It's weird. I can't even picture you as a kid. Did you wear a cute little suit even back then?" he teases, reaching over to run a finger along the bare skin in between the ropes.

"I wore a Catholic school uniform, obviously," I answer with a smirk. "And…"

"And what?" he says with a wicked gleam in his eye.

"And, I might have gone through a phase where I refused to wear anything other than Ninja Turtles footie pajamas."

Sparrow squeals with amusement. "Okay, but which turtle?"

"Leonardo." I scoff. As if there's any other possible answer.

"You really are the perfect man. If you'd have said Raphael, we would have had to break up," he says. "Okay, so, you're BFF with the baby Moretti, then what happened? He just said ‘hey, you want to kill people for me?' and you said ‘sure?'"

"Kind of. I guess it just sort of happened. He took over when his dad got iced and he was clearly drowning. It was a lot for him to handle and he didn't know who he could trust outside of Alessio, Elio, Sal, and me. I was there for him. I helped him find his footing and figure out how to run the Family. The killing part never bothered me, so I just fell into that role." I keep my attention focused on the food I'm working on, afraid to risk a peek at Sparrow's face. He's never seemed bothered by what I do, but there's a seed of fear in the back of my mind that one day he's going to realize how fucked up it is that other people's lives don't matter to me as much as they're supposed to. Will he see me differently then?

"You found your calling," he says sweetly, easing the gathering tension in my shoulders.

"I found a job that I'm good at and don't totally hate," I correct.

"Well, that's more than most people can say."

"What about you?" I ask. Aside from the first night that we lay in his bed together, I haven't asked about his past and he hasn't volunteered anything. But the more time he spends here, in my apartment, in my bed, in my life, the more desperate I am to know everything.

"What about me?" he repeats.

"Before you were a Deadly Sparrow out for vigilante justice, what did you do for a living?"

"Tech support for big businesses. It was all freelance, so I'd get a six-month contract at one company, then pick up and move when the next contract came in somewhere else." He sounds bored just describing it, swinging his feet and drumming his fingers on the counter.

"Not your calling?" I infer with a twitch of my lips.

"No." He laughs again. "I think this is my calling."

"Watching your Mafia boyfriend cook dinner wearing a rope harness?" I tease, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes," Sparrow answers, reaching out to snag the back of the harness when I turn around. "And killing the fuckers who took Benny from me."

His words are anything but ice. Actually, they're more like fire, searing through me with their ferocity, willing to ravage anything in their wake.

I turn my head to look at him over my shoulder. "I know."

He tugs me close enough to give me a rough kiss before letting me go again.

"Suicide, in case you were wondering," he says while I move the seared pork into the polenta to simmer.

"What?"

"How I faked my death," he clarifies. "I wrote a note and stuffed it into my favorite pair of shoes. I left them on a bridge where a lot of people jump. It was a lot easier than I thought it would be, actually. They didn't even bother to look for my body since most people don't wash up for months thanks to the temperature of the water."

The image of his face bloated and cold sends a chill through me. I grit my teeth and force it away.

"Do you feel bad for your parents? Losing your brother and then you."

"Hell no. They were so embarrassed by his addiction that they acted like he never existed. They took all the photos of him out of the house and refused to say a word about him whenever I brought him up. I picked suicide because it was the only thing that would embarrass them even more than the way Benny died. Fuck them." He spits the words like venom and hops off the counter.

"How long do we have until dinner, Killer?" he asks, wrapping himself around me from behind, searing my skin with hot kisses along the back of my neck.

"It has to simmer for about two hours."

I can feel the shape of his smile as it curves against my back. "Perfect. Be a good boy then and come play with me."

He slips a hand beneath the waistband of my loose sweats and wraps his fingers around my rapidly swelling cock. I moan and let him drag me out of the kitchen with his other hand clutching my harness.

Sparrow pushes me down onto the couch and climbs into my lap, his hands in my hair and all over my bare skin now, his tongue sweeping between my lips in a demanding kiss that I happily melt into. Whatever it takes, I'm going to make sure he gets the revenge he came for. He deserves peace and this is the only way he'll get it.

I just need to make sure it doesn't come at the cost of both our lives.