Page 23 of Loss and Damages

“Twenty-seven.” Her eyes harden in a way I’m starting to become familiar with. “Does that matter?”

She’s younger than Leo by five years and I’m older than he was by seven. “I’m twelve years older than you.”

“You’re saying I’m too young for you. I wasn’t serving myself up on a platter, you know. I offered to help you change your bandages. Forget it. I have to get ready to open the gallery.”

She twists, trying to find a way off the counter, but I’m blocking her escape. I grip her chin in my hand and force her to look at me. “You and Leo were never together.”

“No. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

I ignore her exasperated annoyance. “And you’re not pregnant.”

“Dominic, for God’s sake—”

“Just answer the question.” I squeeze her chin harder, my fingertips sinking into her skin. Her pupils dilate and I loosen my grip. She’s scared of me.

“No, I’m not pregnant. That’s difficult to do when he didn’t put his you know what you know where.”

I scoff. “I’m familiar with the idea.”

She smiles, gently takes the coffee cup out of my hand that I forgot I was holding, and sips, her eyes never leaving mine.

She lowers the mug and I do the only thing I’ve wanted to do since the day I met her.

Slowly, giving her all the time she needs to stop me, I kiss her.

“Oh,” she breathes against my lips.

It spurs me on, and I hug her to me, her warm cleft snug against my belly. “Okay?” I mumble, my hands framing her face, tilting her head to gain better access to her mouth.

“Yeah.” She sets the mug down on the counter and wraps her arms around my neck, her fingers forking through my hair.

Her breasts push against my chest, and if I weren’t in such a precarious position—and I’m not talking about my gunshot wound—I’d carry her to bed and have my wicked and wild way with her whether she had to open the gallery later or not.

She mews into my mouth, and I push my tongue between her lips, demanding she let me in. The acrid taste of coffee fights with her sweet flavor and our tongues tangle together as I try to find a way to get closer.

I need more and slide my hand under her pajama top, my fingertips grazing the bottom of one of her lush breasts. She doesn’t stop me and I go farther, cupping the glorious weight in my palm, my thumb teasing her nipple into a hard peak.

“Christ,” I mutter, “you feel good. We need a bed. Please, Jemma, for the love of God, let me take you to bed.” I don’t give a shit about the trouble I’m in. I need this.

She jerks away. “Dominic, I don’t—”

“Jemma! Yoo-hoo! There’s a strange truck in your driveway. How have you been?”

A chubby woman I’ve never met steps into Jemma’s cottage uninvited, and she freezes in her tracks, her mouth a wide O as she processes Jemma on the counter, her legs wrapped around my waist and my hand shoved up her top.

“Oh. I see you’ve been quite well.”

Jemma drops her legs and her heels hit the cabinet door by my knees. “Gloria. This is, ah, Dominic Milano. Leo’s brother. Dominic, ah, Gloria Billings. My mother’s best friend. She owns a shop down the road.”

I try to be discrete and ease my hand out of Jemma’s pajama top, but the woman’s eyes follow my every move. “Mrs. Billings. Good morning.”

“It is for you.” She pauses. “I was sorry to hear about your brother. Leo was a permanent fixture around here. He’ll be missed.”

“Thank you.” I clear my throat. “Jemma was helping me change my bandage. I’ll get out of her way.

” This old biddy had impeccable timing. In which way, I’m not sure.

I don’t know if I should be grateful she stopped me from doing something I’d regret or angry because now I’ll never know if bedding Jemma would have been the best decision of my life.

No matter the outcome, I can’t let what we have between us go further, but still, I rest my hand on the nape of her neck and kiss her forehead. “Thank you again for all your help.”

“Yeah, sure.”

I yank on my shirt and Jemma hops off the counter. My pill bottles are where she left them on the breakfast bar and I shove them into my pocket.

Gloria watches me step onto the porch, and Jemma follows. I don’t have any reason to see her again. I can wrap gauze around my own arm, or if need be, I can ask my PA. I’d been confused, woozy, and in pain, and I hadn’t wanted to be alone.

Jemma belonged to Leo. She belongs to Leo’s memory now. We need to try to move on without him in our lives.

A little brown chihuahua sniffs at my feet and I resist the urge to kick the mutt in frustration. It’s not his fault Jemma and I would never work. It’s not the ugly dog’s fault that today I’m saying my last goodbye.

Something about that deflates me. It’s the same feeling I had as a young boy when the harsh truth planted in my heart that my mother would never love me. Disappointment. Anger. Hurt.

She can do better than a greedy, selfish, bastard like me.

“Goodbye, Jemma. Take care of yourself.”

“You do the same.”

She leans against a support beam and I walk to my truck.

I can feel her eyes boring into my back.

I climb in, throw my sling and my prescription bottles onto the passenger seat, and start the engine.

She’s still staring as I back out of the narrow driveway and onto the street.

I shift into Drive, and starting down the narrow road that will lead me to the highway, I lose sight of her.

I want to forget her blue eyes and the sadness that pulled down the corners of her delicate lips.

There’s no reason to see her again.

Absolutely none.

My mother doesn’t call to ask how I’m doing, though by now news of the shooting has been blasted on every TV channel and online gossip site in the country. It wouldn’t have hurt her if that asshole had shot me straight through the heart.

At Leo’s, I fasten a couple strips of packing tape over my stitches and stand under a hot shower.

I’m exhausted, though I must have slept at least twelve hours last night, knowing even in sleep Jemma would be there if I needed her.

I finish, dry off, and clumsily reapply the gauze myself.

It doesn’t look great but it will get the job done.

My wound still hurts like a son of a bitch and I swallow a pain pill and my antibiotics, choosing something a little stronger than the water Jemma insisted on last night.

Fingering the gallery’s brochure Leo had laying on his desk, I think of what to do next.

I should go to the office, and it’s what I’ll end up doing.

I need to apply more pressure to Mayor Wilkins and Pitts.

Things are getting hotter, and I need the sale to go through sooner rather than later.

Their pussyfooting is giving people time to get riled up and it’s a pain in the ass to look over my shoulder every second.

No one but me and my father will be happy when the sale goes through, but they’ll stop thinking they can do anything about it once I sign on the dotted line.

The usual picketers are marching on the sidewalk outside the building, waving signs about equal rights and poor people are people too. Nothing I disagree with, but poor people can be poor on someone else’s land. I want the 1100 block, and it’s going to be mine, no matter the cost.

The reward is too great to throw away.

I step off the elevator onto the executive floor and let myself in through the security door. My father’s low voice carries to me from down the hall and I step into his office.

He slams the phone down when he sees me, and rises, his legs shaky. “Dominic,” he rasps. “Those sons of bitches think they can get away with that. They don’t know who the fuck they’re dealing with.”

I nod and accept the drink he pours me. The one I drank at Leo’s and the pain pill made me light-headed and I don’t need any more alcohol, but I can’t show my father any weakness. “I’m fine. A flesh wound.”

“Good, good.” He regards me, his eyes sharp, and I know that will be the end of our personal talk. “You need to lean on Wilkins and Pitts. You’re giving them power, Dominic, and that won’t do.”

“I’ve talked to Wilkins. I’m buying up Oakdale Square. I’m going to clean it up and I won’t let him have any of the credit.”

“Forget about Oakdale Square, it’s full of nothing but druggies and whores. Focus on what matters. The 1100 block is on prime land. We need it.”

We don’t need it, but we want it, and Milanos always get what we want.

“I know. It will happen. Pitts won’t do anything without Wilkins’s approval.”

“Fuck that. If he’s forcing you to play dirty, play dirty. You’ve done it before without blinking an eye. What’s different this time?” Dad sips his drink.

“Nothing.”

“Something. A deal like this would have taken you days, a week at best. Has your brother’s death gotten to you? You’ve been spending time with his girl.”

I frown. “How do you know that?”

“You brought her to the benefit and let your mother have a look at her. You came from her house this morning. You didn’t fuck her, though.

I know when you’ve dipped your dick, and you didn’t last night.

Don’t do something and think I won’t know.

The city has eyes. You won’t be able to get away with it. ”

“I wasn’t hiding.”

“Keep your head in the game and your cock out of her pussy, Dom. Now’s not the time to fall for an innocent. Leo was soft, all moonbeams and whatever the fuck.” He scoffs and sips his drink. “You know better. Make me proud, son. Wrap up the 1100 block this week. We’ll go out and celebrate.”

Dad’s version of celebrating is a VIP lounge, the most expensive champagne money can buy, and pussy attached to a woman no one will remember in the morning.

After kissing Jemma, I find the idea unappealing, but I can’t let my father know.

It will be another strike against me, and I’ve already struck out twice this morning: the sale hasn’t gone through and I was caught wasting time with Leo’s girlfriend.

A Milano never fails in business, nor does he want sloppy seconds.