Текст книги "My sweetest oblivion"

Автор книги: Danielle Lori

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

“I see nothing in space as promising as the view from a Ferris wheel.”

–E.B. White

MY HEAD FELT LIGHT AS my second beer settled into a warm puddle in my stomach.

I was only tipsy and had already exchanged alcohol for water. I never drank too much in public; it loosened my tongue, to the point I feared what I would say or do. What if I told everyone what I was thinking? The Sweet Abelli and alcohol didn’t mix. I wasn’t ready to jump headfirst into the world as myself, didn’t know if I’d ever be. When you’re groomed and praised for being a certain way your entire childhood, sometimes there’s no escape.

Adriana didn’t share the same opinions on the matter. She was drunk, very much so. Thankfully, she was usually quiet while intoxicated, and appeared to only be eating much more and with less decorum than she did sober.

More family had shown up and filled most of the restaurant. Russos sat with Russos and Abellis with Abellis. Though, Adriana sat next to Nicolas and his uncles and their wives. I knew his mamma had passed when he was a teen, and his papà had been killed when the Zanettis shot up one of his nightclubs. Unsurprisingly, it was because Nicolas’s father had cheated them on a business deal.

It was strange not having Adriana at our table, but I guessed she was going to be a Russo in less than two weeks. A discomfort tightened in my throat.

I sat next to Tony, who seemed to be in good spirits. He had a bandage on his right hand, though, and kept asking me to get his drinks for him, to pass this or that, and to cut his steak. He always asked with too much enthusiasm, as if he liked his new condition. I was feeling for Jenny, cheater or not.

My parents, Nonna, Dominic, and Benito also sat with us. The men kept the conversation monotonous with talk about work—Papà owned many different establishments, from strip clubs to laundromats, though the latter was probably a cover-up for the packaging and distribution of drugs—or about their bets on men in their illegal fights.

Gianna ran the conversation in the room, making Abellis converse with Russos and vice versa. She looked like Barbie today. Thin-strapped pink dress, high ponytail, and light pink makeup. She was charismatic, independent, and now that I believed she’d slept with Nicolas, I watched her more than I should have. I was fascinated with the idea that she knew what it was like to sleep with him. Though, the more I thought about it, a foreign feeling—a wave of something unpleasant—slithered through my veins.

Envy.

That’s what it was.

I wasn’t only attracted to the man, I was jealous of the women he’d been with.

I groaned out loud.

All eyes at our round table came my way, forks of dessert halfway to their lips.

“Indigestion?” Nonna questioned.

“Yeah,” I responded without thinking, and pushed my chair back. “I’m going to use the restroom.”

I didn’t even realize what I had said until I was walking away from the table and heard my brother and cousins’ soft laughter behind my back. Men.

I had the bathroom door open three inches when I heard my name between the sound of the running faucet and toilet flushing.

“Look, all I’m saying is that she’s known to be this Sweet Abelli, but really it’s only because she gets sweet with a lot of men.”

A bitter taste filled my mouth.

The voice belonged to a Russo woman. Valentina. Married to one of Nicolas’s cousins, though I didn’t know which. She was tall, statuesque, with strong Sicilian features. Hard to miss or forget.

“You’re just jealous because Ricardo’s been staring at her all night,” another woman replied. It sounded like Jemma, Nicolas’s cousin. She was close to my age, maybe a little younger, with light brown hair and eyes. I’d only spoken to her once, but she’d seemed like a nice girl.

“I don’t care what Ricardo does. I have Eddie,” Valentina replied. I heard a rustle like someone was digging through their purse, then silence, maybe reapplying makeup. “They killed her lover, don’t you know? Some man from Staten Island.”

“They’re going to kill yours too if you don’t shut up about it,” Jemma said.

Valentina scoffed. “Ricardo and I hardly sleep together anymore. What does he expect me to do?”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear about you, my brother, and sex in one sentence.”

“Fine, prude.”

I let the door close quietly. I hadn’t known my nickname was so popular until I’d met the Russos. I wondered if that’s what everyone believed—that the Sweet Abelli was easy and sweet about it.

My stomach turned. I didn’t care so much about what others thought of me, but the rumor hit closer to home than I wished. A man was killed because I’d made the mistake of sleeping with him, and now I was lusting after my sister’s fiancé. Her comment struck the right nerve.

The girls exited the bathroom with a fresh wave of perfume and didn’t even notice me standing in the shadows.

I leaned against the wall as the past came to the surface.

I’d met him at the carnival.

Warm breeze, sun, and laughter from the Ferris wheel high above. Smells of fried funnel cakes, popcorn, and cotton candy. At least, that’s what I imagined it to be in the heat of summer. Instead, it was as empty as a Sweet Abelli smile. Nothing but snow, concrete, and the whistle of cold wind.

He worked at a mall nearby as a security guard, as well as two other part-time jobs to support his mother and younger sister, who I could only imagine were struggling to get by while mourning a son and brother. The awful truth was, I didn’t even know his name. I wouldn’t tell him mine, so with a smile he’d told me he wouldn’t share his until I shared mine. Now, he’d never get to tell another anything.

He was blond, charismatic, and easygoing. I hadn’t known such light-heartedness existed, and it had charmed me in a way. However, I was raised and deeply embedded in a different world altogether. A world that ended his life.

The most bitter part was that the guilt was fading, like the image out of a rear-view mirror as the car drove away.

I leaned my head against the wall, tilted it up, and twisted the ring on my middle finger. He gave it to me as a lark. However, now it had become a promise to myself to make restitution for my mistake. And I wouldn’t take it off until I had.

A familiar awareness brushed my bare skin.

I rolled my head to the side to see Nicolas standing at the end of the corridor, his hands in his pockets and that lazy stare all mine.

“And here I thought I’d never see you out of pink.”

His deep voice touched my ears, and I shivered from the sound filling the silent hallway. Never see you out of pink. My mind took that to a dirty place, where I wore nothing and he looked on. My breasts tightened as warmth ran a languid path between my legs. I swallowed and pushed the breathlessness away.

I hardly ever wore black, but I was feeling edgy tonight. Maybe because I knew he would be here and I needed the strength black could offer to pretend he didn’t exist. He’d only ever seen me in white or pink—it wasn’t a surprise he looked at me like I was a ridiculous girl most of the time. But that was for the best. If he had returned this fascination, I could only imagine the chaos it could bring, and I wasn’t starting another scandal. Ever.

Still leaning against the wall, I pulled up the hem of my dress until my hot pink heels were showing.

A hint of a smile pulled on his lips, and he wiped at it with a thumb before sliding his hand back in his pocket. Butterflies erupted low in my stomach. If I ever cursed—really cursed—it would be to describe how handsome he was. It deserved a salacious word, otherwise no one could understand the magnitude of it.

“What do you know Sweet Abelli to mean?” I asked, my expression thoughtful. I had to know if I was considered a whore to the entire Cosa Nostra. Living in naivety wasn’t my style, no matter how much I disliked the truth.

He raised a dark brow, maintaining a ten-foot distance. “You want me to say it?”

I gave my head a slow nod, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth.

How bad was it?

His gaze sparked with dark amusement, though a small amount of bitterness leaked through. “One of the sweetest pieces of ass in New York, easily.”

I blinked. Swallowed. Made a hmm noise to hide my breathlessness. That’s just what he knew it to mean, not necessarily what he believed, right? Still, I couldn’t help a weight from forming between my legs. My dress from feeling abrasive and hot.

This attraction burned, and before it scarred me forever, I needed to treat him differently. If I regarded him like family—which he would soon be—maybe then it would fade away.

I pushed off the wall and walked toward him. The old restaurant’s atmosphere held a charge. I suddenly wondered if the feeling was merely a reaction between two combustible forces, or if my crush had sunk so deep into my skin the air was thicker to breathe in his presence.

With an exhale that could be construed as relief, I said, “Well, that’s not as bad as I was assuming.” I stood in front of him, within arms’ length. A feeling of significance rushed me whenever I was in his company, like I had the attention of the most popular boy at school.

The past still gripped me, enough that the present seemed easy, courage not difficult to find. I stepped closer and ran my finger across the edge of his jacket button.

His voice held a variety of his natural darkness; this one was rougher, not in the least amused. “What did I say about assuming?”

Somehow, his demanding, bossy nature only made my cheeks warm. How easily this man told people what to do and expected immediate obedience. A silver spoon must have fed him his entire childhood.

“I had good reason to believe it was something else.” I pushed the black button through its hole, undoing his jacket. He watched me, and every inch of my skin burned like I was standing too near to a fire.

“I’d love to hear your half-baked reasoning.” His tone told me the opposite.

“So, what do you want?” I opened his jacket, revealing the black vest beneath that hugged his stomach. “Just checking up on me?”

His words were laced with harshness. “Your sister is drunk and you encouraged it.”

“Oh, so I’m in trouble, then?” I reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the cigarette I knew would be there. I’d seen him put it between his lips or roll it between his fingers like he was trying to quit. “Take it up with my papà. I’m an Abelli, not a Russo.”

I went to turn around, but he grabbed my wrist.

“You’re not going outside alone.”

“I saw some kitchen staff go out there.” I tried to shake off his grip, but that only brought his attention to my hand. His gaze darkened on my ring like he wanted to pull it off. I curled my fingers protectively because I believed he might just try it. When his grasp slipped from my wrist, I headed toward the back door.

“You’re not going outside with the kitchen staff.”

Treat him like family, right?

“Nicolas, go find someone else to boss around—”

I froze, my heartbeats slowing like they’d been dropped in molasses. He held me by the ponytail and kept me from taking another step, like it was a leash. My breath stopped when his front pressed against my back. He felt so warm, so good, I could have groaned if I had the air to do so.

With a small tug on my ponytail, my head tilted to the side and his lips brushed the hollow behind my ear. “Tell me what to fucking do again.”

My neck would be the most sensitive part of me if the obvious didn’t count. Goose bumps rose on my skin. His gravelly tone ran the length of my nape before trailing down my spine and between my legs. My back arched on reflex.

“You’re not going outside alone. And not with the kitchen staff either.”

With half-lidded eyes and a hazy mind, it took a moment to comprehend his words. I blinked, trying to clear my head.

“Do you have a lighter?” I was going outside, whether he liked it or not. My question left the suggestion open that he was invited, though I didn’t know why. This moment here proved I couldn’t treat him like family.

He gripped my waist and pushed me forward a step. He must have let my hair go and I hadn’t even noticed.

When he opened the alley door and humid August air brushed my face, I hesitated.

With his back pressed against the door, he held it open, his hands in his pockets. His stare was edged with something heated—maybe annoyance. He didn’t want to be out here with me.

The Sweet Abelli would have considered his feelings. I didn’t have to be her around him, though.

I stepped out to smoke with Nicolas Russo.

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“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched—they must be felt with the heart.”

–Helen Keller

THE PAST HELD A SIMPLISTIC charm in my heart, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t see the beauty in my complicated present. Urban development stretched to the sky, its pollution blocking the stars, but beneath it the magic of humanity lived on. There was good in the world, and I couldn’t understand how the blonde newscaster only focused on the unpleasant.

The alleyway was still, the kitchen staff having already dispersed. Tire noise, honking, and sirens were steady in the background, but even louder than that was the soft, harmonic lilt of a saxophone.

My heels clicked on the asphalt as I took a few steps toward the music. A certain reality settled on me: I didn’t have a spellbinding love story to bring to this world. The honest truth was, I only forced myself to enjoy tragic endings because I knew mine wouldn’t be far apart.

Warmth brushed my bare back, the whisper of a thrill trailing behind. I turned around to find Nicolas standing so close I had to tilt my head to meet his gaze. He took the cigarette from my fingers, put it between my lips, and then, with the metallic clink of a Zippo lighter with an ace of spades on the side, the mesmerizing glow of a flame flickered between us.

“This is the last cigarette you’re smoking, so enjoy it.”

I smiled, and as he lit the cigarette, I puffed slowly so I didn’t cough and come off as a rookie once again.

“Something funny?”

A soft laugh escaped me. “Yeah. You.”

With a pensive stare, he pulled the cigarette from my lips, brought it to his own, and inhaled.

I tilted my head, regarding him. “So, can I call you my fratello now?” I didn’t know why I’d said it, but it had just slipped through my lips as easily as air. Nicotine ran through my veins and lightened my tongue.

He looked at me, blowing out a breath of smoke above my head. We were standing so close his sleeve touched my arm. So close his presence obliterated mine. And there was nothing that felt familial about it.

He handed me the cigarette. “No.” It was a hard no, not one you debated with.

“Why not? You will be.”

His jaw ticked. “I’ll be your cognato, not your brother.”

“Same thing, really. You already have the controlling brotherly act down.”

His expression told me he wasn’t amused and he wasn’t going to participate in this conversation.

“You can call me your sorella. Maybe a sibling is what you need to realize the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

He let out a breath of amusement, but it sounded like he wanted to choke me. “Smoke your cigarette and shut up.”

I turned around to hide the ridiculous warmth that rushed to my cheeks and walked a few steps from him. The soft clicks of my heels in tune with the saxophone’s lilt was hypnotic. The nicotine must have been mixing with the alcohol in my system. Or maybe I was just drunk on his presence.

Spinning around, I leveled my gaze on him. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know. I don’t usually get assaulted twice in one weekend.”

He leaned against the back door, his gaze sparking with sarcasm. “Just once, then?”

“Just once,” I repeated, a smile pulling on my lips.

“I’m not your babysitter.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

His expression darkened around the edges. I didn’t know why I was practically poking him with a stick, but the filter that was usually in place had drifted away with the last saxophone note.

His tone was rough and dry. “Keep opening your mouth, I’ll assault you.”

I didn’t believe he meant the sexual variety, though that’s how I regrettably decided to take it. I brought the cigarette to my lips and inhaled. His gaze met mine through a breath of smoke.

“I’ll be sure to tell my next attacker that only my cognato gets to assault me.” Somehow, a suggestive nature filled the alleyway so heavily a passerby couldn’t miss it. My expression was thoughtful, though my heartbeat played the conga in my chest. “I’m sure you’re running out of ways to ruin men’s lives, anyway.”

“It’s called a repertoire, Elena. They can be used again.”

“Hmm. And what’s next on the list?”

“Who’s being assaulted?” His voice was bland, like we were talking about the weather for the third time.

I lifted a shoulder. “Me.”

His gaze went cold, but his tone stayed impassive. “The entertainment for tonight would be watching him bleed out.”

Nothing about his expression told me he was exaggerating. “Well, it wouldn’t be a normal evening with you around if there wasn’t some blood involved.” I paused. “Though, I guess you did all right at our last supper.”

The smallest yet darkest smile pulled on his lips. “Guess I did.”

Butterflies erupted in my stomach. That mischievous, wicked smile was the exact reason women liked bad boys.

Cazzo.

I needed some air.

Bending down, I put the cigarette out against the concrete before tossing it in the restaurant’s dumpster. Butts and trash already littered the alleyway; I didn’t want to contribute.

Nicolas still leaned against the door, and so I stopped in front of him and waited. He held out his phone to me. “My list. Write it now.”

I frowned at the cell phone and then looked at him.

His expression was serious, and truthfully, with this attraction spiraling out of control, zinging under my skin like electricity, I didn’t have it in me to argue with him. I grasped the phone and took a few steps back. There wasn’t any way I could think with him standing so close.

I opened his notes and typed in Adriana’s dress size, shoe size, and even bra size. He didn’t look like a man to skirt around details. When it came to her hobbies and likes, I couldn’t help myself.

Acting

Cult horror films

Gardening

Not you

I smiled, but then his phone pinged and it fell from my lips.

I stared.

Who was he? Benito?

The image was of a woman, naked. Blond hair, coy smile, big breasts.

Jenny.

I glanced at him to see he was only waiting for me to finish. I turned the phone around. His gaze stayed on mine for a second before giving it a glance. Not a blink.

“This is Tony’s girlfriend,” I accused.

“Is it?”

I couldn’t tell if he was amused or annoyed. Couldn’t tell if he didn’t know who this was, or if he was playing stupid. Did he get so many random pictures of naked women he couldn’t tell them apart? Anger sparked in my chest.

“Stop sleeping with her,” I said coldly.

Now his darkness was the amused variety.

My grip tightened on the phone. “It’s wrong.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Tit for tat.”

I paused. “You don’t have a girlfriend.” You have a fiancée . . . though that usually didn’t mean much to a man in this life.

“Did.”

Oh.

A strange discomfort curled in my chest.

I blinked, trying to sort this out. “You guys are sleeping with each other’s girlfriends to, what? Get back at each other?”

Not a word from him, and his gaze told me there wouldn’t be one.

“He loves her, Nicolas, whether he knows it or not.”

His expression turned to ice. “You’re a champion for love, are you? Personal experience, maybe?”

What?

My eyes narrowed. I didn’t know what he meant, but I was too angry to care. “You’re marrying his sister, so it’s not fair anymore.” I had no idea what I was saying, but I wasn’t taking his side.

His laugh was dark.

He didn’t like me taking sides. Did he think I’d pick his?

A sudden thought, a need to know, came to me, and it escaped my lips before I could stop it. “Are you going to be faithful to Adriana?” My heart thumped to an awkward beat. That was the most invasive thing I’d ever asked anyone, and it left a foreign and regretful aftertaste on my tongue.

His gaze leveled on mine, not liking my question either, but he kept his words deep and smooth. “Does she expect me to be?”

Of course she didn’t.

Not one woman expected that in this world—not when work for a man was considered going to a strip club. Not when money and power corrupted. And not when women like Jenny threw themselves at rich and attractive men. It was why I didn’t want a husband as handsome as him. He didn’t even have to work to be unfaithful—it would sit right in his lap.

I shook my head, this conversation chafing me with frustration. “You’re evading. Answer the question.” Maybe if he said the words, showed me how disloyal, dishonest, he was, then I could put this fascination for him aside. I was more interested in his reply than even my sister would be.

He pushed off the door. “You answer mine.”

My response was calm and suicidal. “You can have your phone back after you answer my question.”

His condescending stare burned me, and then, with the tiniest shake of his head, he came in my direction.

My heart leapt and I backed up, but then my bare back hit the alley wall and the cool concrete sent a shiver down my spine. I was trapped, cornered, and frazzled enough I couldn’t think clearly. Didn’t think at all.

I dropped his phone down the front of my dress.

He froze two paces away. Stared at where his phone had gone. And then ran his tongue across his teeth in a type of roguish disbelief.

“You honestly think that’s going to stop me from taking it back?”

I had no idea why I’d done it. For once in my life, I wished for the Sweet Abelli to save me. Her calm, collected ways wouldn’t have gotten her into this mess in the first place. I swallowed down my breathlessness.

“That would be inappropriate.”

Both of our gazes dropped when the phone fell from my breasts to my stomach, before catching on the tight fabric near my hips. His phone was stuck below my navel.

His eyes came back to mine. “From what I’ve learned, kissing is platonic these days. Reaching up your dress can’t be much worse.”

My stomach fluttered. “You’re not reaching up my dress.”

“Three seconds, Elena.” His words were short, pissed. I knew he meant I had that long to give it back to him.

I didn’t know what I was doing or when I’d suddenly acquired a death wish, but my gaze met his for a consecutive three seconds. Quietly and maturely, I said, “You haven’t answered my question.”

His stare flicked to the concrete, and when it came back to me burning hot, I knew I was in trouble. A surge of expectation leaked into my bloodstream but was doused with unease when he took the remaining steps toward me.

His shoulders blocked the alleyway, his heavy presence slowing my breaths. He wasn’t gentle. With his amber gaze on mine, he gripped a fistful of my dress near my thigh and tugged it up, jerking me in the process.

He fisted the fabric, skimming it up my legs. Every inch of my skin sizzled, and an empty ache formed low in my stomach. When he made contact with my bare thigh, I had to bite my lip to hold in a whimper. His palm was rough and hot enough to burn. And God, a man had never smelled so good. I wanted to nuzzle my face in his neck so I could get more of it, all of it.

It wasn’t lost on me that I was criticizing him for being unfaithful to Adriana while fantasizing about him doing the same thing with me. The thought was only fleeting because his presence, his warmth, brushed it aside.

I didn’t know if he had slowed, or if this moment was so significant I was experiencing it in slow motion, but it quieted, the sound of my ragged breaths filling the alley. A slight breeze made its way through the sliver of space between us, making me aware of how hot I was. I’d never felt warmer in my life.

He pressed closer against me, his jacket brushing my arms, his watch cold on the smooth skin of my inner thigh. One hand was braced on the wall beside my head, trapping me, but what he didn’t know was that I didn’t want out.

Once he’d touched bare skin, his gaze hardened, before flicking down as if in reluctance. The empty ache between my legs pulsed. I couldn’t help but to part my thighs, to imagine him slipping a hand between them. Cupping me over my thong. Pulling it to the side and pushing a finger inside of me. My palms lay flat on the cold, concrete wall on each side of me, and a buzz sounded in my ears.

His jaw tightened, and his fingers gripped the inside of my thigh. Sparks ran from the heat of his hand straight to my clit, all my blood drumming in that area. He’d only have to run a palm across the fabric to realize how disturbed I was, how wet this was making me. How much I wanted him.

But he didn’t do any of that.

He only grabbed his phone.

His thumb brushed over the thin string of my thong on my hip, pulling it down a bit before his hands left me. As my dress fell to brush the asphalt, his voice was rough against my ear.

“You already know the answer.”

He stepped back and tilted his head toward the door, in a way of telling me to get there, now.

Too breathless to do anything else, I headed in its direction, a whisper of an ache trailing behind.

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