Chapter 60

60

Christian

Earlier today, I spoke with Michael on the phone, and he told me that my triplet is stable but still unconscious.

I felt guilty about staying away when my family needs me, but Michael convinced me that it was just as important for me to woo my wife and bring her back home. I had hesitated and he was insistent that I take as much time as needed to consolidate my relationship with Aurora. He promised that he'd call me if anything changed in my triplet's condition, and that's when I finally relented.

We spent an idyllic weekend in Aurora's apartment, after which she went back to work, returning exhausted every day. Seeing her in her natural habitat, taking in just how much effort she put into her role as a doctor, has put things in a new light. Oh, I knew she was clever and that she was a good doctor, but I had never appreciated just how much of herself she puts into building up her career… To be fair, it's more than a career; it's a calling. And it feels wrong to ask her to give it up and move back to Palermo with me.

So, I haven't. Instead, I've focused on the now, and the time I have with her. I've made sure that there was food to eat—yes, I did order it in— when she got back and ensured that she got a good night's sleep. After I fucked her, of course.

That's how we passed most of the week, and now it's Friday, and I'm scheduled to fly home tomorrow.

The doorbell rings, and I let in the caterers. They get to work laying the table, complete with cutlery, candles, and wine glasses. They place the prosecco in the bucket and leave. Just in time, for a few minutes later, Aurora walks in.

She takes one look at the table and pauses. "Wow," she breathes, "what are you celebrating?" She kicks off her boots, takes off her coat and drops it, along with her bag, on the sofa in the living room. She walks over to the table and raises the lid of one of the dishes. The tangy scent of spaghetti fills the space. "Oh, yum." She reaches for a fork, and I click my tongue.

"Now, now, don't be naughty, my Flower."

"But I'm hungry," she whines. "I'll take only a bite; I promise." She dips her fork into the food, scoops up some of the strands, and brings it to her mouth.

"Oh my god," she groans, "this is so good. Did you have it catered from a Michelin-starred restaurant?"

"Even better." I smirk. "I had Zia Anita's Cucina make it special for us."

"Zia Anita?" She blinks. "You have an aunt who lives here?"

"She's actually my cousin's husband's sister's uncle's wife."

"Huh?" She scowls. "Isn't your cousin's husband's sister's uncle the same as your cousin's husband's uncle?"

My grin widens, and she frowns. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Almost." I laugh. "She really is a distant relation who moved to London thirty years ago and now runs one of the most authentic Sicilian restaurants in all of London."

"Right…" She licks her lips. "Well, whoever she is, her spaghetti rocks."

"I'll be sure to tell her that." I walk over, then scoop up some of the sauce from the corner of her lips and bring it to my mouth. "Hmm…" I survey her features. "You're right; it really is delicious."

Her pupils dilate, and by god, I'm sure I can smell the ripe scent of her arousal. I wrap my fingers around her wrist, then bring the fork to my mouth. I swirl my tongue around the tines, and a whine spills from her lips.

"Not fair," she whispers, "you're seducing me."

"Was under the impression that it was the other way around. You're seducing me, baby."

"Me?" She glances down at her scrubs, then back at me. "I'm hardly dressed for seduction."

"You could wear a sack, and the moment I take in your curves—which, by the way, no cloth can ever hide from me—I'm a goner."

She laughs. "Sometimes, I don't know if I should believe you or not."

"Oh, believe me, baby." I ease the fork from her fingers, drop it on the table, then bring her palm to my crotch. "See what you do to me?"

Her breath hitches. She massages the evidence of my arousal, and fuck, if my dick doesn't thicken further.

"And here I was, trying to make sure everything is perfect today."

"Everything is perfect." She squeezes the column between my legs, and my groin hardens. My balls ache, and hell, if it isn't tempting to throw her onto the table and fuck her senseless, but that won't do.

"It's our last night together," I whisper. "I want it to be a night to remember."

"Oh," her features seem to crumple, "that's right." She pulls away from me, but I don't release her. She glances away, and her chin trembles.

"Hey," I wrap my arm around her and bring her closer, trapping her hand on my crotch between us. "Don't be upset, Flower. You know I'll come back to you as soon as possible."

"It won't be soon enough." She shakes her head. "You've not even left, and I already miss you." She presses her lips together as if she regrets her outburst.

"I miss you already, as well," I admit. I press a kiss to her forehead, then to the tip of her nose. "I have no idea how I'm going to live without you, but I need to get back; my family needs me."

"I know." she bites down on her lower lip.

"Fuck," I groan, "don't do that. You're not allowed to do that. Only I can bite down on your lip, Flower." I lick her mouth, and as soon as she releases the hold on her lip, I close my teeth around it. I tug, and she trembles. I lick the abraded flesh, and a moan squeezes past her lips.

"Christian," she moans, "please fuck me."

I release her mouth and press my forehead to hers. "I intend to, but not yet."

"But why?" She massages my throbbing length through my pants. "It's not like you don't want to."

"Of course, I do," I confess, "but I promised myself I'd make sure we have at least one civilized meal together before I make love to you."

"Make love to me, now." She tips up her chin. "Please?"

"As soon as we finish dinner." I frame her face. "I need to make sure you are well fed and taken care of. Otherwise, between the demands of your job and my demands on your body, I'm going to wear you down."

She holds my gaze for a second, then nods. "Okay," she jerks her head, "I'll take a quick shower."

I have the candles lit, the music playing softly over the speakers—which I had specially-ordered a few days ago. I admit, I have consumed a couple of glasses of whiskey to curb my nervousness—why the hell am I nervous anyway?—by the time she returns.

I take in the simple pale pink dress that covers her from shoulder to knee and which shows off her curves, and the blood drains to my groin. She walks over to me in her six-inch heels, which show off her legs to advantage, and all I can think of is that I want them wrapped around my waist while I take her right here.

"You know what?" I glance down at her. "Fuck what I said earlier; let's forget about dinner."

Just then, her stomach rumbles, and I can't stop my chuckle.

"Guess you should feed me first, after all?" She laughs as she takes her seat.

I pop the prosecco, pour the sparkling liquid into her glass, then into my own. I fold into my seat next to her and hold up my flute. "To us?"

"To us." She smiles and sips from the bubbles. "Mmm," she licks her lips, "is this also Sicilian?"

"You bet." I take another sip, relishing the fizz of the bubbles on my tongue.

"Didn't think Sicily was famous for its prosecco."

"This comes from one of our vineyards."

"Your vineyards?"

"We own them in Sicily. Also, in Argentina, Australia, and in the Napa Valley. In fact, we have had some interest from a UK-based investor, and we may be collaborating with them to grow the business."

"Ah," she takes another sip, "you mean, grow the legal aspect of your business?"

"Exactly." I take in her features. "You're really good at piecing things together to get a glimpse of the big picture, aren't you?"

"Thanks." She laughs. "You forget, I grew up in the lap of the Mafia; I know how you guys think."

"How we guys think."

"What?" She blinks rapidly.

I place my glass down, then reach for her left palm and turn it up. "How we guys think." I drag my thumb across her engagement and wedding rings. "You are one of us, Aurora; you always have been. You have the Mafia in your blood."

"I know," she whispers. "I ran from it for so long, and apparently, I was running to you all this time."

I link my fingers with her. "I know it's wrong of me to ask you this, and these last few days, I've come to appreciate just how good you are at what you do... Clearly, your patients need you, and it's so very wrong of me to ask this of you, but?—"

"Yes."

"What?"

"I said yes."

"You mean…" I stare at her. "You mean…" I don't stutter. I never do. But seriously, this woman, she's pulled the rug from under my feet. "You mean?—"

"I'll come with you." She smirks. "That's what you were going to ask me, right?"

I nod, unable to process what I'm hearing.

"So you'll?—"

"Leave my job and come to Palermo and be the medic for all of you undeserving Sovranos and your clan? Yes."

A hot sensation stabs at my chest. "But being here, living your life, finding your identity, all of it is?—"

"It's important," she nods, "but so are you."

"I could commute." I hold her gaze. "I'd spend alternate weeks here in London."

"But you are the consigliere," she points out. "I know that means you are not just their lawyer but often help to act as a liaison on the Don's behalf too."

"One of my brothers would have to step up a little more. I'd find a way to manage."

"But being away from the famiglia would put you at risk, wouldn't it?"

"I'd make sure to up my security presence, and that'd go for you too."

"You mean, instead of the two guards you have following me, you'd have four?"

"You noticed?" I laugh. "Of course, you did; in fact, I had made a bet with myself that you would."

"Yeah," she glances down at our joined fingers, "as you said, I grew up with the Mafia; it's in my blood. Like it or not, I picked up on the signs to look for when it comes to having someone tailing me. I also know that you have, at least, ten of them surrounding my apartment building, and that both of my neighbors have been replaced by your people who've moved in."

"Jesus, woman," I chuckle, "is there anything that slips past you?"

"I didn't realize the man who threatened me was related to you." She lowers her chin to her chest. "If only I had come to you first with it, I?—"

"Shh," I reach forward and rub my thumb across her mouth, "don't waste your breath on it."

"But I asked him to distract you, Christian. How could I have done that, knowing he could use my words against me? Knowing he could have easily decided to hurt you anyway? How could you forgive me for that?"

"Because," I hold her gaze, "it's what I would have done if I were in your position, and if I had been under so much pressure. Because I'm equally to blame. After all, I didn't think twice before believing him, despite my every instinct screaming that he was lying. Because"—I lean in close enough for our eyelashes to tangle—"we both have Mafia blood in us. It's in our DNA, and try as we might, we can't get away from it. Because you hadn't yet fallen in love with me, and what you did tells me that you can look after yourself when you are in a tight spot; it reassures me that you can take care of yourself. What you did shows that you were born to be a mob wife."

She winces.

"I meant that as a compliment."

"What's scary is that I understand what you mean, even though I wish I didn't." She draws in a breath.

"And most of all, because that part of our life is done, we're starting afresh, remember?"

"Yeah," she nods, "it's why I want to come back to Palermo with you, Christian."

"But your job?—"

"They'll miss me, but they understand. Also, they have agreed that I can consult with them, so?—"

"That's wonderful news." I grip her hand between mine. "I don't want you to feel like you are being pushed into this decision. Or that you are compromising more than I am in this relationship."

She stares.

"What?" I quirk an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

"Are you the same macho, misogynistic Christian who implied that cooking was a woman's job and that a man's role is to take care of her?"

"Hey, I still think so."

She tries to pull her hand from my grasp, and I laugh. "Just kidding. But no, seriously, I admit I have been an ass sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

"Okay, many times. I have been a jerk, a complete … what do the Brits say—a wanker," I quirk my lips, "but somewhere along the way, this fiery doctor wore me down and made me see the error of my ways."

She sniffs. "Now you're making me cry." She half-smiles. "Also, don't stop talking; it's good for my ego."

I throw back my head and guffaw. "Woman, you're one of the few people who can go toe-to-toe with me, you know that?"

"I enjoy it, though." She places her hand on mine. "I find it exhilarating when you challenge me and push my limits, in bed and outside. It's an adrenaline rush to stand up to you, take you on, knowing I can't possibly win, and then when I do"—she shakes her head—"I can never figure out if you let me win or if it was?—"

"It's you." I bring both of her hands to my mouth and kiss the backs of her palms. "You worm your way under my skin and figure out just what my failings are, and you take advantage of them, and you get your way. And you know what?"

"What?"

"I love you even more for it."