Callahan
He also told me about Antonio, about him possibly being a product of rape. He’s already sent DNA to a lab for a paternity test. We’re waiting on the results.
“Petrov has disappeared. Diamente thinks he’d arranged the explosives to detonate after he left.” I’d assumed the explosions were from Callahan’s men, a distraction, but this makes much more sense.
“Why would he have done that?”
Callahan shrugs a shoulder.
“Maybe he knew Felix and his fondness for cameras? Maybe he just hated the assholes present? Who knows? Who cares?”
“Who is he?”
“Russian businessman. That’s all I’ve been able to get so far. But I’ll find him.”
“We will find him,” says a low, raspy voice from the bed.
I gasp, turn my head. Callahan is beside the bed in an instant.
“Brother!”
A doctor and two nurses rush in. They must have been alerted by the machines to Antonio’s waking.
“Well, it’s good to see you’re awake, Mr. Scarfoni,” the doctor says, smiling.
“I’d have opened my eyes earlier but these two were declaring their undying love and I thought I might puke.”
We all smile even though I know they all hear the effort it’s taking Antonio. Even though we all see the extent of the damage.
“I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” Callahan says, but there’s an edge to his voice, relief but not quite. Antonio isn’t out of the woods just yet.
The doctor takes a few minutes looking him over and the nurse adjusts his bed so he’s sitting up a little. I can see it’s painful.
I see his eyes move to me through the holes in the bandages around his head. “Are you okay?”
“I’m in better shape than you.”
It’s quiet. “How bad?” he asks.
“You’re alive. Well deal with the rest,” Callahan says. “You step between me and a bullet ever again I will fucking kill you myself, do you understand me?”
“You’re welcome,” Antonio says with what I think is a strained chuckle.
“Thank you but don’t do it again.”
“Mara?”
“She’s alive. That’s more than we had a few days ago. Like you said, we’ll find her. You get yourself healed and out of here and we’ll go get her.”
“She must be terrified. All these years she’s been out there on her own,” Antonio says.
“I was telling your brother that she’s strong. Tough.” I leave everything else out.
He nods. “Felix?” he asks Callahan.
“Back to his hole.”
“I’m going to kill that son of a bitch.”
“You’re going to have to get in line. And you’re going to have to get out of here first.”
“I want to go home, Brother.” He glances out the window at the gray sky, the rain streaking the glass. “This place doesn’t agree with my spirit.”
“As soon as the doctor gives you the okay, we leave. I’ve already arranged for doctors – ”
“How bad?” Antonio asks.
“You’ve got your arms and legs, you’re fucking alive.”
He moves an arm, fingers touching the bandages wrapped around his head. “What do I look like?”
“I don’t have a mirror,” Callahan lies. He’d made the nurse take out the single mirror in the bathroom just in case.
Antonio is quiet, eyes on his brother. He understands. Nods.
“Fuck. That stink. Have you had a shower?” he asks Callahan.
“Fuck you,” Cristiano says as his phone rings. He looks at the display. “It’s Diamente.” He walks toward the door to step into the hallway but stops a moment later and turns to me with a wide smile on his face.
“That’s great news. Just a minute.”
He looks at me. “We found Nathan.”
I gasp, smile. “Where is he?” But then my mood darkens. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. He recognized one of my men at the square in Naples.”
“So, he found you?” my eyebrows rise up on my forehead. So much for my cousin disappearing like he promised. For the first time, I’m glad he didn’t listen to me.
“I guess so. He’s on the island now. You can call him when I’m done.” He excuses himself so it’s just Antonio and me in the room.
There’s an awkward moment of silence before Antonio speaks. “I’m sorry I let David take you. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been to you.”
“You were protecting your brother. I know that. I’d do the same for Nathan.”
“Still. I’m sorry, Portia. You didn’t deserve anything you’ve had to deal with. I know that. I knew it all along.”
Warm tears fill my eyes. “It’s forgotten. Just get better so we can go home now.”
Home.
We both smile.
–
Callahan
Eight weeks later and Portia and I are back home. I moved Antonio into a private facility where they can deal with the burns. Cerberus won’t leave Portia’s side.
When we told Lenore about Mara, she was momentarily beside herself happy. But only momentarily. Because she understands the kind of life Mara could be living. The life she’d have been made to endure to survive as long as she has.
I visit Antonio daily. I think his singular task – no, his obsession – is keeping him from depression.
Maybe keeping him alive.
Find Mara. Bring her home.
He was her protector when she was little and I’m worried about him. Maybe because he’s like I was about Fernando Mancini. Like I was before Portia.
“He’s just a big softie,” Portia says as I shove Cerberus out of our bedroom.
The dog is reluctant to leave and I hear him settle down directly outside the door.
“That’s exactly the opposite of his training,” I say, turning back to my wife. I look her over. She looks good. She looks happy, brushing out her long, dark hair. She’s wearing a soft lilac tank top and matching sleep shorts. She’s put on a couple of pounds finally so she’s not all skin and bones.
I walk toward her, pulling my shirt off over my head.
Her smile fades, and she puts her brush down.
“I need to talk to you,” she says her tone more serious than I expect. “After.”
She licks her lips when I wrap my arms around her waist. I didn’t tell her I know what her uncle did to her. It serves no purpose. I have a feeling she left out some things about Mara, but she probably did it for the same reason.
I look down at her, into her soft caramel eyes. She is so beautiful, my wife.
Walking her backward to the wall, I kiss her, taking her wrists from around my neck and dragging her arms up over her head.
“I don’t like these,” I say against her mouth, pushing the silk shorts down with one hand. “Skirts and dresses only.”
She kisses me back. “I’m not wearing underwear. You like that, don’t you?”
I cup her sex, feel the soft hairs that have grown back in since the terrible night of the auction.
“I do. Very much. But I’m still burning any jeans or pants you own.”
Her lips stretch into a smile as I kiss her. When I flick a finger over her clit, she gasps into my mouth.
I take her mouth in a deep kiss.
Then dip my head to kiss her neck, releasing her arms only to pull the tank top off so she’s fully naked. I stand back to look at her, take in her fuller breasts with their darkened, hard nipples.
“Fuck,” I say, shaking my head, dropping to my knees before her.
This woman, my goddess, my Fury, she deserves to be worshipped.
“Spread yourself open for me.”
She puts her hands on either side of her lower lips and spreads herself open.
I look at her, at her swollen nub, her glistening pink pussy. I dip my head down and flick my tongue over her hard clit before taking it in my mouth. I need to catch her when her knees buckle as she wraps her hands around my head.
I stand, lift her with me and carry her to the bed. Drawing the blankets down, I lay her back on the pillows and spread her legs open.
Feasting first with my eyes, then with my tongue and mouth, I taste every inch of her. Hearing her gasps, her cries, feeling her fingers in my hair, twisting it, curling into it, drawing me to her as she pulls her knees back offering me all of her. She’s mine. All mine. And I’ll never let her go again.
I dip my head down to taste her again and listen to the sound of my name on her lips as her body jerks, as she fists handfuls of the bedsheets, arching her back, giving me everything.
I stand, draw her to the edge of the bed, wiping the back of my hand across my lips as she watches.
“You taste so fucking sweet. I could eat you for breakfast, lunch and dinner.” I push my jeans off, step out of them.
Her gaze drops to my cock. She licks her lips and slips to her knees before me, touches the tip of her pretty little tongue to me.
“Fuck,” I mutter as she wraps her lips around the head and sucks just a little. Just enough. “That’s so, good. So fucking good.” I brush the hair back from her face. She looks up at me and I think about how much I like her mouth on me, how soft and wet, but that’s not what I need tonight. I need to be inside her.
I draw back. She groans as I lift her to stand. I bend to kiss her before bending her over the foot of the bed. She keeps her legs spread wide and arches her back.
“You’re perfect,” I say, dipping my head to lick the length of her, hole to hole, before straightening, bringing my cock to her entrance.
She looks back at me as I push into her. I slip one hand under her to play with her and lick my thumb before laying it against her back hole.
She likes this, arching her back for more. I’m happy to give it to her and I’m harder as I look at her like this, stretching to take me, offering herself to me. I press my thumb into her, and she lets out a deep moan. I draw out and flip her onto her back before sliding into her again. I lean in for another kiss, all teeth and tongue now as the fucking grows more frantic.
Before long, she’s moaning against me, clutching me to her as she shatters around me, making me lose control as I lose myself inside her.
When I finally open my eyes, I find her watching me.
A tear slides down the corner of one eye as she cups the back of my head and leans up to kiss me. I think this is ecstasy. Not the orgasm. Not the physical. But this. My wife beneath me, filled up with me, her hands on me, her smile, her tears.
My heart belongs to her. My soul belongs to her. And hers to me.
That’s the real ecstasy.
“I love you, Portia.”