Page 5

J ust thinking of the way Kaya takes me into her mouth is enough to make me hard anytime, anywhere. I’m sure my gait is changing as my jeans grow tight while I’m strolling down the streets of San Salvario on the way to my parents’ place near Piazza Madama Cristina.

“Be careful not to come out with tissue stuck to your pants.”

I throw a seething glance at Valentino walking next to me, a barely-restrained smile on his rugged face.

“You think I’m going to be jerking off anywhere my mother is also present in another room?”

He shrugs. “I’m just saying. Check for stuck tissue.”

A groan escapes me. Cazzo ’s not wrong. Every time I imagine being with Kaya, or just the woman herself, I grow instantly hard, and nothing but jerking off furiously will allow me to function until I can get to her and bury my cock into her willing body asap. I came out of the trattoria rest room a couple of days ago with a piece of white fluff stuck to my thigh. Thank goodness my cousin noticed and warned me before all the other soldiers and even capos I’d been treating to breakfast that morning got wind and turned on me to rile me for the rest of time.

One day, these men will be under my command. Don Giacomo will still be the head of operations, but as his enforcer, I’ll be carrying out all directives and ordering his crews around. It pays to remain on these men’s good side.

A shudder goes through me. What will these guys think when they hear I’m with Kaya? True, I’m not seeing us going for the long haul, but still—she’s one of the operations’ girls, and everyone knows she visits the Don’s offices on a regular basis.

But Kaya will also be free from the constrains of her indenture to the Borgata very soon. What’ll happen then? Can there be something between us? Does she want to? Do I want to?

“What’s stolen your thunder now?” Val asks.

“She doesn’t talk to me.”

I frown as the words resound around us. Where did that come from?

“Did you even pause from fucking her to talk to her?”

Yes, all we do is fuck every time we meet; I can’t get enough of her, and by the looks of things, she’s got a love affair going on with my cock. I’m not complaining. But a part of me wants…more. It’s rattling, to say the least.

“I talk to her all the time,” I say.

“Do you give her space to answer? You can be a bit…hyper.”

Anyone else would’ve earned a glare at the bare minimum. But my cousin is right. I tend to take over without realizing it. It’s just who I am, though.

A sigh flares out. “How do I do that?”

Valentino chuckles. “Take her out on a date, Stef.”

“I have.”

“Really? When?”

“Our first time…”

It dawns then. We’ve been fucking ever since. It’s just been two weeks, true, squeezing an encounter after her shift at Demos in her tiny studio on top every night, so there’s been no space for talking. Kaya is also very good at turning the tables on me and getting what she wants, aka my cock filling her in whichever way she desires as I’m not picky with how I end up inside her.

“I need to take her on a proper date again,” I say, the lightbulb going off in my head.

We’ve reached our destination by now, so the conversation is put on hold. Stiffness enters my whole being. It’ll be the first time I’ll be seeing my father since that cursed dinner when he introduced me to Lorena Bruno. I’ve been avoiding him in every possible way since, but Sunday lunch is sacrosanct to my mother, and an Italian man never lets his mother down. Plus she’s making tagliolini from scratch today, and no one would ever say no to her dish made with Alba truffles.

“Breathe,” Valentino says with a hand on my shoulder before we take the stairs to the second floor apartment my family has occupied since my father became the enforcer for Don Giacomo’s father.

Easier said than done. I am dreading this lunch. But he’s right—it won’t help anyone if I blow my top off in my father’s presence, and breathing will indeed keep me in check.

Mamma wraps us in effusive hugs when we enter her home. She’s a sing-song whirlwind of blessings and laughter as she hustles us around like we’re schoolchildren instead of grown men with at least a foot’s height on her diminutive frame.

I can’t help but laugh, too. It’s good to be home.

Until my father steps into the room, and a pall of darkness falls on all the light we’d been basking in. As if she can sense trouble brewing, Mamma hurries us to the table, where a large dish of pasta in truffle sauce makes it before we’ve even parked our butts in.

Val, bless him, keeps the conversation going around the weather, the upcoming Mercato of players for the Serie A and what Juventus’ status will be when the league starts up again in a few weeks. We thus breeze through lunch, a plate of cornetto frutti di bosco from a nearby bakery for dessert.

But it was too much to ask to come out of this meal unscathed.

“How long are you going to string Lorena and Cesare Bruno along?” my father asks.

My gaze narrows on him. We’re almost carbon copies of each other, with him having grown slightly bald with age. This is what I’ll look like in thirty years, except I don’t think I’ll have such a sour expression on my face at all time, my mouth no longer smiling and remaining puckered as if I’m biting into Amalfi coast lemons constantly.

Now is so not the time. It’ll never be the right time, though.

“I’m not doing this with you,” I bite out.

He could at least respect the lunch table, for God’s sake.

My father’s eyes narrow on me. “Is it because of that puttana you’ve been seeing?”

“Gennaro!” my mother gasps.

Valentino cuts me a look, warning me not to engage.

Too late. The viper’s nest has been stirred.

Of course he’d know about Kaya and me seeing each other. One part of an enforcer’s job is keeping on top of all the happenings and gossip. It’s what helps him accomplish his job perfectly for his Don.

“Kaya’s not a whore,” I say softly.

“Started in a brothel, had no qualms staying there even when offered alternate employment.” He leaves the rest unsaid: that’s the very definition of a whore .

I’m not going to win this argument. Moreover, I don’t want to drag this on. Let’s face the real issue, shall we?

“What on Earth will I do with an eighteen-year-old?”

My father lifts a hand as if I’m being petulant on top of obtuse. “Marry her. Have children with her. She’ll be good for you.”

“Says who?”

His face goes thunderous. “Stefano, you dare…”

I’m not a kid who’ll cower. He’s still an enforcer, but he’s getting old, losing his edge. Respect is due to his status, but respect must also be earned somewhat.

“I’m not doing this. It’s my final word.”

My father roars and stands up from his seat, hands landing flat on the table and making the china rattle.

“Look what you’ve done!” he shouts at my mother. “All that coddling. See what your precious son has turned into.”

My mother winces, taking the verbal blow silently.

That’s it, he’s taking this too far. I get up, too, as does Valentino. Reaching for my mom, I wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her to me.

“You do not speak to my mother like this,” I growl quietly.

I’ve never addressed my padre in this tone, and it registers, I think, when he stares at me for long, silent seconds then turns on his heel with a huff and exits the flat with a loud slam of the front door.

That’s when I feel my mother breathe out and sag against me, the tension leaving her.

All I want to do is berate my father and curse him, but I won’t do this in front of her, ever.

Mamma puts on a brave face, her smile watery as she looks up at me. “Espresso, amore mio ?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer, already heading to the kitchen to switch the machine on.

I breathe out hard watching her leave.

Valentino places a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll stay over today.”

I wouldn’t have asked, and I can’t stay because my father and I would come to fists at best and at each other’s throat at worst. Someone needs to look after Mamma , and he’s volunteering to stay in my old room and keep an eye on her.

“ Grazie .”

My cousin nods, then he’s off to the far end of the apartment, no doubt making a beeline for the grand piano in the small conservatory at the back. It’s his way of coping, and to each his own.

My steps are leaden as I make my way to the kitchen. The espresso machine is already rumbling, a tiny cup appearing before me not long after. I take it more to give myself something to hold on to than really desiring coffee right now. Enough adrenaline is coursing in my veins that I don’t need the extra boost of caffeine.

“Tell me about this girl,” Mamma says.

“She’s not a whore.”

I don’t know why these are the first words to come out of my mouth.

“I know.”

“You do?”

She smiles softly. “Don Giacomo has told me about her.”

It still surprises me to reckon these two are peers—they went to the same local school, grew up alongside each other. No wonder she dared go up and ask him to be her son’s godfather.

“She doesn’t talk to me much.”

Again, the same words I uttered with Valentino make it out. What is wrong with me? I’ve never been so hung up on a woman before.

At this, my mother laughs. “Do you give her an opening to talk, Stef?”

Same response here, too. Guess I am too gregarious sometimes.

Her face softens. “You like her.”

Wait, what? Well, yes, of course I do. I wouldn’t be craving so hard to fuck her every single chance I get if I didn’t like her. But it sounds like she’s referring to something else.

She laughs and waves a hand at me. “A mother knows.”

I rear back, miffed. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?” She cocks her head and nods toward where the piano is making music. “He’s thinking of her again. Can’t you hear? He’s playing Debussy’s La Fille Aux Cheveux de Lin . What girl does he know with flax-colored hair?”

I shrug. Beats me if I know. Valentino and I aren’t peers—he’s almost five years older than me. We mainly got close when he came here a couple years ago. He’s never spoken of any girl, flax-haired or otherwise.

Mamma runs a gentle hand along my cheek. “ Tesoro . The heart wants what the heart wants.”

“Did your heart want Padre ?”

I want to take the question back as soon as it’s out, but that’s impossible now.

Her face grows pained, then that quiet Mona Lisa smile is back on. “Very much so. It still does.”

I’d venture a guess he doesn’t feel the same. He wouldn’t treat her so much like shit if he did. One more reason I don’t want to be anywhere near him right now. And speaking of, he could come back anytime. It’s his home, after all.

“I should leave.”

Mamma hugs me. She knows her two men best avoid meeting each other for the foreseeable future.

“Take her out,” she says at the door. “And Stef, listen, for once.”

I kiss her on both cheeks and decide to take her advice in stead as I make it out onto the street. The nearby Madama Cristina market is closed, but it gives me an idea. I check my phone to confirm and let out a whoop when I see it’s a special market day in another part of Torino today. My finger finds itself opening the messaging app, sending Kaya a text asking if she’s free this afternoon.

She is. We agree to meet on the outskirts of the biggest flea market in town on Via Vittorio Andreis. I arrive well ahead of her, and she’s a sight to behold as she approaches the Gran Balon unaware I am watching her.

She’s got her hair in a high ponytail again. I’ve come to love slipping my hand beneath the band holding it in place, sliding down the long locks to then fan them out over her chest to cover her breasts like she’s a mermaid come out of the water to lure unsuspecting men with her voice.

Kaya definitely lures me with the husky tone she uses in the bedroom—or all over her studio or my apartment when we make it there, really—but here I am thinking I don’t really know what she sounds like outside of a sexual sphere. I suppose that’s what Mamma and Valentino both mean by letting her talk and listening.

“ Ciao, ama ,” I greet her when she reaches me.

Her smile is wide and free, uplifting her from mermaid to ethereal sprite in the loose linen shirtdress she’s got on, a wide leather belt cinching at her waist. A cross-body bag is slung across her chest, the dark purse a contrast against the pale pink of her dress. She lifts her big sunglasses when she reaches up to air-kiss me on both cheeks.

I grab hold of her waist and press our cheeks together before actually kissing them soundly.

She peers at me with a small frown. “What was that for?”

I shrug. “Missed you, is all.”

She chuckles. “We saw each other just this morning.”

“And it’s been at least seven hours since.” I didn’t want to leave her bed, but I had to go back to my apartment and get ready for this family lunch. It wouldn’t have done to go with mussed hair and wrinkled clothes while doing the walk of shame.

A harrumph leaves her mouth, and she’s looking at me with narrowed eyes. That’s not how I want or even need the afternoon to go, so I wave around.

“Do you like antiques?”

I’ll be toast if she doesn’t. But there’s tons of other stuff we can do around town, too.

However, I see the moment her eyes widen, the surprise lighting them up with a spark I’ve never seen before in her. There’s literally a light burning in her gaze now, a small flush of color on her cheeks painting it the same delicate candy floss pink as her dress.

“I take it that’s a yes?” I ask. “Welcome to the Gran Balon of Torino, the largest flea market in town. Every other Sunday, it’s the spot to be at if you’re into antiques and vintage collectibles.”

Kaya frowns a little. “But do you like it?”

“Not the point, ama . Today is all about you.”

She blinks. “Really?”

I nod. “Really.”

That light in her eyes? It spreads onto her whole face. I swear it’s the most brilliant smile she’s ever given me as she laughs out loud and then saunters to the market to marvel at the pieces in the very first stall she comes across.

“Look at this!” She beams at me. “How pretty is this?”

Then she’s flittering like a chirpy butterfly to another stall selling furniture that looks like it should belong in one of the many palazzos around town. It’s a joy to watch her. She’s so open, expansive, effusive. So unlike the woman I’ve known so far, and even the one all of us in the Borgata know about. It’s common knowledge it’s due to her that we’re making busts on the Albanian’s network every other week. Don Giacomo isn’t one of those Dons who loots and keeps treasures for himself. As such, we’ve all been getting a piece of the pie, all thanks to Kaya Norton.

“Stefano, look at this,” she sings from where she’s inspecting a low console table. “Wouldn’t it be perfect in a vestibule?”

I smile and nod. It would be indeed, a perfect place to drop keys and other paraphernalia when getting home, leaving shoes underneath before swooping into the house to find my wife in the kitchen opening a bottle of crisp white, a throaty laugh pouring from her long throat as I wrap her in my arms from behind, my erect cock already poking at the crack of her ass. She’d rub her buttocks against me before bending forward and spreading her legs wide. After bringing my zipper down, my cock would find her wet pussy begging to be filled, and Kaya, she’d make this little sound she does when I impale her…

Fuck me! Kaya…and my home? I can see it all too clearly.

She’s not here for much longer, though, and ultimately, she’ll want to leave for the States again.

She’s not for me.

But can she be? All things considered, that’s what I want, it appears. My mother’s words also flit in my mind. The heart wants what the heart wants. I’d thought it was my cock doing all the wanting— bastardo got one up on me, because it let my heart slip in unnoticed right behind.

Question is now, what the fuck do I do about this?