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INTROVERTED EXTROVERT

SANTINO

A nother three years after the end

He took a sip of hot coffee from Zabatta & Sons from the old nabe where Dom still lived, following it up with a bite of his breakfast sandwich.

Bacon, egg, and cheese on a grease-soaked biscuit.

Tasty but terrible for your health. He swore, as usual, that this was his last one and he’d start eating oatmeal and berries or some shit for breakfast. But like most of his other bad habits, these sandwiches were fucking hard to quit even though they were no substitute for the excellent breakfast his wife used to make for him.

The list of his other bad habits that his family, friends, and colleagues reminded him of often flitted across his mind while he passed the time on this cool morning in mid-June. To hear them tell it, most of those vices were only slightly less deadly than this sandwich.

He cursed in front of his nieces and nephews without thinking and now the toddlers yelled out “ vaffanculo! ” in their adorable voices when they saw him, like it was his name.

Sometimes he forgot when he had something cooking on the stove, which was ironic because fire safety was literally his job.

He left unfinished glasses of water on nearly every surface, which he argued was doing his part for said fire safety.

And he usually failed to remember to take his shoes off when he came into the house and put his feet up on the coffee table. Vanessa had really hated that last one.

A sleek, much nicer black car than the one he sat in caught his eye as it turned the corner up the street and rolled at a slow pace in his direction.

It idled across the street from the house.

On alert, Santino watched it but relaxed when a dark-haired woman emerged.

She lived in the neighborhood at that address.

When she leaned in to kiss the dark-haired driver, her face split into an embarrassed, yet teasing smile and she rushed into the house wearing what looked like last night’s rumpled outfit.

“Good for you, Ms. Walker. You finally got some.” He saluted her with the coffee cup.

He turned his attention back to the white house when the black car got into gear and drove past him.

The driver, a man who looked like he was in his forties like Ms. Walker, gave him a head nod as he did, but his gaze was curious.

It was as if he was asking, “What’s that guy doing in that car out here, just waiting? ”

What the fuck was he doing out here? Why did he feel compelled to look out for a woman who wouldn’t let him in that house, who refused to take his calls or even sit in a room with him without lawyers present? He did it because she needed looking after, whether she knew it or not.

Vanessa had served him with the papers two years ago, but he’d refused to sign. Under the seal of the Great State of New York and by the power of the ring he still wore on his left hand like motherfucking Sauron, she was still very much his wife.

Never mind he’d never cheated with his ex-girlfriend Antoinette, not once, not in his thoughts or his actions.

Every ounce of love he had in his heart, in his bones, to the depths of his soul, he’d devoted to Vanessa.

From the second he’d laid eyes on her, he’d loved her and had known that love would never fade or find a home in anyone but her till the day he died.

But none of his assurances about his devotion had been enough. Love hadn’t been enough.

“You see, what your problem is,” Angelo would always say without being asked. “…what your problem is, is you have the best intentions but the worst fucking way of showing it.”

Whatever. Nico wouldn’t be a husband to his beautiful wife or a papa if it hadn’t been for Santino’s “worst ways” of showing how much he cared.

All his siblings could get fat and happy with their little families while Santino shared his little house with fucking dust bunnies and unrelenting agony.

Sure, he made a good showing in public like he wasn’t still hurting over how things had ended but the wound…

the wound had gone too fucking deep to heal.

None of them knew what had really happened between him and Vanessa that had resulted in the final breakdown, except Gina, who never judged him.

Nico and his other brothers still believed it was solely because of the app thing and a few too many phone calls from Antoinette.

He’d known what he would hear if he told them.

Not that it would make anything different for him now.

His life had broken three years ago. The only thing that would fix it? The woman in that house. Sharing that home with her, taking care of her. Loving her like a husband should.

He wiped his mouth after finishing the sandwich and took another sip of coffee.

Just then, the kid who lived in a similar house next door came out with his bike.

That was Santino’s signal that it was just about magic time.

As the kid hopped on the bike and sped off, Santino straightened in his seat, zeroing in on the front door.

It opened and there she was, like clockwork, Santino’s favorite Bad Habit #1.

His heaven and his hell fused together in human form.

“ Buongiorno , tesoro ,” he said softly.

His treasure. His little wifey. That’s what he’d called her, back when she’d owned every piece of his heart. Back when he still had one, whole and pure, not like the wrecked thing sitting in his chest now.

The wrecked thing still at least pumped blood where it needed to go. His heartbeat picked up its pace as it always did at the sight of Vanessa. Six years after meeting, almost to the day, she was as beautiful as ever.

With his body tightening, blood stirring, he greedily drank in the sight of her incurved waist and round ass as she locked the door, a familiar surge of lustful resentment overtaking him.

She’d been his first and his last, even if she clearly and painfully didn’t believe that.

It had been impossible to touch anyone else after the experiences he’d had with her.

Three years of stroking his own dick and coming into his own fist while replaying their “best of” moments in his head could never compare to the sweetness between those thighs.

She turned back around to proceed to the driveway after literally pausing to smell the flowering roses on the bushes close to the brick walkway.

Her smile at their delicate fragrance was white and brilliant even from this distance.

It was a tiny moment of pleasure she allowed herself in her daily routine of morning meditation, followed by a workout and a healthy breakfast. He rarely saw her smile at any other time of day.

Salivating, Santino’s gaze slid down from the mouth he was dying to kiss to behold everything else he was missing.

Her style was cool, modest and professional.

This morning, as always, she was dressed in her workday best. The smart, sensible red blouse with short fluttery sleeves was respectable but couldn’t completely hide her full, round breasts.

He could practically feel them against his palms, feel the shape of her small nipples.

The memory of how hard they got when he rolled them with his tongue flooded his mouth, overtaking the taste of coffee.

Navy pants hugged the delectable ass that had been his for the biting and smacking and ended at the ankles to expose the smooth skin.

From here, he couldn’t see the paint on her toes, but he knew they’d be pedicured and pretty in those high wedge sandals.

Even though her junior associate’s salary was more than decent, as he knew from her financial info during their battle, she was getting support from him.

She didn’t need his money. She was claiming it out of spite.

She’d switched out the old worn backpack for a stylish leather briefcase a year ago.

The sandals were most likely Louboutin’s.

He could hear his mother Lina’s voice in his head, sarcastically commenting that his ex was doing rather well for herself off his dime, without having to actually be his wife.

“Good for her not signing a prenup, I guess,” Lina had said drily.

In fact, it had been Vanessa who’d strongly suggested they get one, but he’d been in such a hurry to make her his wife, he hadn’t wanted to wait for useless legalities. In his mind, there was never going to be a divorce, so it simply wasn’t necessary.

Did he care that at least some of those things were purchased with his monthly support money?

He was fighting her tooth and nail over shit like this simply to be a pain in her ass but secretly, he wanted this.

Santino wanted her surrounded by him, everything she wore, the beautiful house she lived in, the big bed and the sheets she slept in.

He wanted nearly every good thing in her life to serve as a constant reminder to her of the bond they’d shared, the one she’d severed so abruptly, like it was nothing.

Sometimes he wished he could break that bond after three fucking years of living without her.

Watching her and not being able to touch her was torture. Not being allowed to say a word to her outside of their settlement meetings or court hearings was brutal.

He didn’t want to want her like this.

He didn’t want to need her like this.

Nevertheless, he’d promised her safety. Made a vow to protect her, and he didn’t go back on a vow once made.

He waited until she was in her car, his wedding present to her. Then he put his empty cup in the holder, and as she exited the driveway and drove off, he pulled out of his spot and followed from a careful distance.

Santino listened to his playlist as they drove in tandem, almost like a synchronized performance. Some song came on, a man singing about how his woman accused him of cheating and left him without any proof whatsoever. That was a fucking coincidence if there ever was one.