Page 33 of Confession (Constantine Brothers #2)

TWENTY-EIGHT

Vitali

Emerging from the bathroom, I halt at the sight of Quinn sitting on my couch. He’s wearing the jeans and t-shirt he wore to the DiMaggios’ club, but his weapons are gone, his boots are off, and he’s holding a glass of whiskey in his lap.

I’m reminded of the night I waited in his room while he showered. The first night, when everything really started. But he’s not here to seduce me.

I think he’s here to talk to me, but I don’t know if I’m ready. I’m calmer now and I’m aware that the problem is me, but that’s about as far as I’ve gotten.

“I’m still sorting my shit out,” I tell him, sliding my hands into the pockets of my warmups.

“I know,” he says. “I just thought … maybe we could work on it, a little bit, together.”

My throat tightens. I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t know what to do.

I wait for him to lose patience with me, to get annoyed with my silence and refusal, but his eyes are soft like he understands something that I don’t. And he holds out his hand.

I’ve pushed his boundaries. I’ve chased him, again and again. But every time I’ve really needed him, he’s been there, ready to meet me where I’m at.

I need him now.

So I take my hands from my pockets. I walk down the two steps into the sitting area. I take his hand and lean down. I press my forehead to his and stay there for a moment before I draw back.

Quinn has one leg folded on the couch. His other is extended, his foot resting on the footstool. That’s where I sit, cross legged, my knee against his leg.

“I want to fire you,” I tell him because that’s where I’m at.

His eyebrows draw down. I brace for him to say, Fuck no , or Fuck you , but instead he asks, “Why?”

“Because you’re not my employee anymore. You’re my … hell, I don’t know. You’re mine.”

“And you think that would keep me out of shit like what happened with the DiMaggios? You think I was there because I work for you? You think Sasha was there because she works for you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

I look away, frustrated.

Quinn says, “We’re allowed to love you too, you know.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“Yes, it is, Vitali.”

“Why’s it hard for you to understand that I don’t want you in danger?”

“It’s not hard for me to understand that.”

I glare at him. He’s so damn stubborn. “Then why won’t you accept it?”

“For the same reason Sasha won’t. For the same reason Roman won’t. We love you too.”

Frustration twists me up inside. “It’s not about that.”

For some reason, I can’t make myself say what it’s really about, what’s been eating at me to weeks, months. Years.

“Vitali … being the head of this family doesn’t mean doing everything alone.”

My throat tightens as I see how much he’s paid attention, how well he understands me. He just doesn’t agree.

But this isn’t something I know how to yield on. It goes too far back. It runs too deep. It comes from something that I don’t know how to talk about.

But if there’s anyone I can talk to, it’s Quinn. It’s always been that way.

“I’m just trying to—” My throat closes up, cutting off my words. I can’t say it. I just can’t.

But Quinn, even though we’ve never talked about this directly, knows. He says, “You’re trying to live up to your father.”

I close my eyes, hating how they sting, hating how ashamed I feel.

“He would be proud of you,” Quinn says.

Anger lashes up inside me. “No, he fucking wouldn’t. Look what happened to Roman. Look what happened with my uncle—”

“None of that is your fault.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand that you feel guilty. And I understand that I can’t talk you out of feeling guilty. But—”

“Roman hates me. And he should.”

“Roman doesn’t hate you, Vitali. He’s self-conscious around you.”

That makes no sense. “What are you talking about?”

“You make him aware of how he’s changed, and it’s hard for him. You want to fix him—”

“I want to make things right.”

“But you can’t . Because you didn’t make things wrong in the first place.

You’re so hung up on your own role in all of this that you’re not giving enough space for people to just exist as they are and for this family to evolve.

You want to run it like your father did when he had a wife and two underage children, but that’s not what this family is anymore. ”

Quinn falls silent, giving me time to really hear him. And I do. A bit.

When he sees that, he goes on, “You have to let us care about you like you care about us. I’m sorry, but you just fucking have to.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“That’s okay, Vitali. You don’t have to do it all at once. You don’t have to do it tonight.”

At that, I curl my hand around his calf where it’s resting against me. His expression softens at the gesture.

“I love you,” he says, and there’s weight to it, pressure, like he’s pushing those words into me, like he wants me to feel them. I don’t think I did before, not really. I was more focused on what I feel for him.

“I love you too,” I answer, but I let my words be softer. I let myself be the receiver, the reciprocator. It’s hard, but I feel something balance between us when I do. Maybe Quinn is right.

“Can I stay?”

When he asks that, I know he understands that my head is too full for sex right now. I need time to let all the words settle, to think. Or maybe, to stop thinking. I need silence for a while—but I need it with him.

I get up from the footstool. I hold out my hand. He gets up and takes it. He walks with me to the bed.

We undress and lie down together. Quinn lets me fit my body against his from behind, lets me hold him.

I don’t know how much time passes. An hour. Several. I doze off and on. I let everything sink in.

None of it settles comfortably. I’ll have to rearrange a lot of things inside myself to make that happen. It’s not going to be smooth. It’s going to take time. Quinn and I will argue again.

But he can handle it, and so can I.

I start kissing the back of his neck, grateful that he’s here, in this moment, in my life. He murmurs and shifts, pressing his firm ass against me. I slide my hand from his ribs down to his hardening cock.

As I stroke him, he reaches toward the bedside table to grab the lube. I expect him to hand it to me, but he doesn’t. He pumps some out into his hand then reaches behind himself, between our bodies. I nibble at his neck as he slicks my cock and guides me to his hole.

I push in slowly, stretching him a little at a time with my cock, letting him adjust. I do want to be rough with him again in the future. I want us to play and experiment. There’s so much I want to do. But right now, I need this, his softness. And mine.

So I make love to him.

We find a rhythm and ride it. I pump into him as he pushes back against me. I reach around his hip and stroke him until he’s moaning and whining. I make love to him until he comes.

When his cock kicks in my hand, spilling hotly and quietly, I bury myself inside him. My release is quiet too. It’s easy and comfortable.

I’ll fuck him harder in the morning, dominate him, let him scream.

But right now, being with him like this, loving and quiet and accepting, is exactly what I need.

When Quinn sighs and settles, I know it’s what he needs too.

So I press my face against the back of his neck and breathe with him until we both fall asleep.