6. Delphine

6

delphine

Salvatore’s still sound asleep when I wake up the next morning. I lay in bed for a while and express silent gratitude that everything has turned out alright.

We’re all under one roof in one piece, celebrating the holiday together. What more can I ask for?

I roll over onto my other side and take in a sleeping Salvatore. He’s not the kind of person who gets much sleep, usually only five or six hours at most, but he’s been knocked out since last night. Probably exhausted after going to find Dad and Marcel.

I slide my arm over his stomach and snuggle closer, unable to resist touching him in some way. My husband worries that he’s not giving the kids and I what we need, but little does he know he’s exactly what we need. He gives us every part of himself, even when he’s struggling with his inner demons.

Hopefully, this Christmas getaway will show him the holiday can be full of new, brighter memories. We can enjoy the holiday as a family.

Salvatore senses my touch, cracking one eye open to peer at me. I smirk at him and then squeeze him in a side hug, burying my face into the crook of his shoulder. He chuckles and embraces me in return, his arm sliding up to rest on my hip.

“Morning,” he rasps. “Were you watching me sleep?”

I plant a kiss on his bare shoulder then rest my head on it. “You’ve watched me sleep plenty of times.”

“That’s because I’m an obsessive asshole who can’t go more than a few minutes without thinking about you. It’s different.”

“Ever consider I’m just as obsessed?”

A slight grin appears on his sleepy face. “I forget. I’m married to a bad girl. She breaks the rules just as much as I do. Why wouldn’t she be as obsessed as I am?”

“Mmhmm. And it turns you on.”

I seek him out for a soft kiss, our pace lazy and relaxed. We sink into each other’s affection, laying against the pillows, wrapped up in the warm duvet, simply enjoying the moment. Hands wander, traveling up to Salvatore’s hair and reaching around to grip my ass. I’m gradually pulled atop Salvatore as our bodies gyrate together, creating a nice friction.

He nips at my mouth and squeezes my backside. I moan against his lips and rub my body in a teasing way that makes him even harder than he already is. His erection pokes into me, a large bulge inside his pajama pants.

“Do you want me to suck your big fat dick?” I pant, reaching into his pants and feeling his hot, silken flesh. “Do you want me to choke on this big-ass dick, Jon?”

He screws his eyes shut, veins throbbing in the side of his neck, as I begin stroking him.

The door suddenly flies open and in rushes our little ones. Dominic leads the charge as Serena trots in next and then a wobbling Dante.

We scramble to separate and yank up the duvet to cover ourselves. Though we’re dressed, we were right in the middle of… getting frisky.

“Kids,” Salvatore pants, visibly thrown by their arrival. He sits up and uses a pillow to cover his lap (and erection). “What have we told you about coming in our bedroom without knocking?”

“But… but, Daddy, there’re new presents under the tree!” Dominic says with large round eyes the same shade as Salvatore’s.

The two of us share a glance. The presents under the tree were a result of us secretly grabbing them from the car and setting them up after the kids had gone to bed.

Serena climbs onto our bed uninvited like she’s used to when she has nightmares. “Mommy, was Santa Claus here last night?”

“Maybe,” I answer vaguely, still breathless. I right my pajama top and slip out from under the covers since I’m more presentable out of the two of us.

And Salvatore needs a moment to… calm himself down.

“Alright, let’s head downstairs to get breakfast started. Your daddy needs a few more minutes of sleep.”

“Pancakes, Mommy?” Dominic asks. “The ones shaped like trees?”

I herd the three of them toward the door and sneak a smile over my shoulder at Salvatore. “Sure, and we’ll even add snow too.”

That last line is enough to excite the kids, drawing cheers and whoops.

The kitchen in the cabin-style home is immaculate—the appliances glint under the bright lighting—and there’s so much counter space, we’ll easily be able to cook Christmas dinner. I tell two of my little helpers to get on their stepstools so they can help with the pancakes while Dante goes into his highchair.

Dominic and Serena are more than happy to make their Christmas tree-shaped pancakes. They proudly whip up the batter and then help me pour it into the molds. Their eyes light up watching firsthand as I turn on the burner and let the batter cook in the griddle.

“It’s working!” Serena cheers. “They look like trees!”

“What’s going on in here? What’re all those giggles for?” comes a voice from the doorway.

“Uncle Marcel!”

I remain by the stove as Dominic and Serena hop off their stools and practically tackle my brother with hugs. He scoops them both up, one in each arm.

“We’re making pancakes,” Serena says.

“Christmas tree-shaped ones,” adds Dominic.

“I hope you saved enough for me. Those are my favorite.”

It doesn’t take more than another minute or two before Dominic and Serena are rushing off to go play with Bryce once they realize he’s awake too.

I shake my head and let out a short laugh. “So much energy so early in the morning.”

“I don’t know how you manage three of ’em all at once.” Marcel stops in front of Dante’s highchair and tickles him under his chin. “Good thing you’ve got the help you do.”

“Salvatore makes it easy. He’s very hands on.”

“I meant the hired help.” Marcel turns to me, folding his arms over his chest. “It’s fortunate your husband can pay the big bucks to buy people like that. He’s got his family running just like he’s got his business operating.”

“Now’s not the time, Marcel. If you’re here to start shit, I’m not interested. Neither is Salvatore. Dad’s even moved past that stage. Why haven’t you?”

“Who’s starting shit?”

I roll my eyes as I gently transfer the Christmas tree-shaped pancakes from the griddle onto the large platter. “Marcel, it’s Christmas. It’s the time of year where we’re supposed to be celebrating each other. Why did you insist on coming if you weren’t going to be able to be cordial?”

“I’m being cordial. But that doesn’t mean I need to forget the past.”

“And what past would that be?”

“Delphi,” he says, dropping his voice an octave or two. He steps closer after glancing around to make sure we’re alone. “You’re married to a mafia boss… or have you forgotten?”

“I sleep next to him every night. How could I?”

“Your life’s been in danger how many times? It’s only a matter of time before you and the kids?—”

“Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you speak that into existence.”

“Speak what into existence?” Dad asks from the entrance into the kitchen. He’s wearing another cozy cable knit sweater, this one a burnt orange that goes perfectly with his dark brown complexion. He strides into the kitchen with a broad grin, stopping to kiss me on the cheek and then clap a hand to Marcel’s back. “Have I mentioned how much I love seeing my kids together like this? And my kid’s kids! Danny boy, you’re up!”

Dante squeals in excitement as his grandpa scoops him from out of the highchair.

“What were you two talking about?” Dad asks.

“I was just telling Delphine that maybe she ought to think about?—”

“Eggs,” I interrupt. “He was suggesting some eggs in case someone doesn’t feel like pancakes. I told him he can cook some up for Sasha and the others if he wants to.”

Dad seems suspicious for a second. Dante diverts his attention by asking him about the snow outside the kitchen window. He’s distracted as he goes into grandpa mode.

But while Dad’s mellowed out over the years, it’s as if Marcel has done the opposite. He’s as antagonistic as our father once was about my relationship with Salvatore.

Over the past decade, he’s lived overseas, conducting business with foreign companies and getting his love of travel out of his system. His absence has been difficult on our family, but Dad and I also respected his wish to do his own thing.

It wasn’t until recent weeks when he’d suddenly moved back to Northam.

Marcel walks out of the kitchen with barely another word of acknowledgment.

Dad turns to me. “I was talking to Salvatore upstairs. We’re thinking about spending the day fishing. Just us guys. What do you think?”

“You? Salvatore? Fishing?” I laugh before I can stop myself.

“You laugh, but the lake nearby is excellent for fishing this time of year. Think about it—we’ll catch some delicious trout and cook it for dinner one of these nights. Salvatore thought it was an excellent idea. You, Sasha, and the kids can hang around the house.”

I can hardly object when Dad sounds so excited. I only hope some of his holiday cheer rubs off on not just Salvatore but on Marcel too…

Late into the morning, Salvatore, Stitches, Dad, and Marcel depart on their midday fishing excursion. Salvatore comes up to say goodbye, cupping my face and kissing my lips.

“We’ll be back in a few hours,” he says.

“Are you sure you want to go? Fishing has never been your thing.”

“I might enjoy it. Your father seems to love it. Maybe it’ll rub off on me,” he says, stroking my cheek. “I’ll have my phone on me. Call or text if you and the kids need anything.”

He kisses me a final time before he heads out the door with the other men.

Sasha comes up from behind. “Imagine choosing to be out on icy water on a cold day like this. Should we take the kids out to play in the snow?”

We bundle them up in their coats, beanies, gloves, and snow boots and then venture into the huge, fenced-in yard behind the house.

Dominic and Bryce immediately launch into play, scooping up snow and crushing it into balls that they hurl at each other.

Serena tries to skip in the snow only to trip over her own feet and then roll over to make a snow angel.

I turn Dante loose for him to waddle for a few steps, his little face full of wonder at the mountains of snow that surround him.

Sasha smiles. “This was a good call, Delphi. Coming up here for Christmas. Stitches agrees.”

“I just wish everyone felt that way.”

“Who? Salvatore? I told you he’ll come around. He just needs time.”

“Not Salvatore,” I answer, sighing. “My brother’s deciding he wants to stir up old drama.”

“Then he can leave at any time.”

“If he keeps it up, I just might have to ask him to.”

Sasha yells at Bryce to stop stuffing handfuls of snow down his pants. Dominic’s laughing along as she rushes over to shake the snow out of his friend.

I’d be amused too if I didn’t have a terrible roiling feeling in my stomach. Intuition tells me Marcel, much like Dad in the past, won’t be letting things go so easily.

I glance around our snowy surroundings and wonder if it’s paranoia that makes me feel this way or if there’s truly a reason to feel the way I do.

If there’s someone—or something—lurking just out of reach that’ll ruin this Christmas getaway of ours.