Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
It’s late and I’m beyond tired, but I want to keep delaying this for as long as I can. I never thought I’d end up actually sleeping in the same bed as him, even if we were married, but now it’s looking like I have no other choice, and that scares the hell out of me. Not because I think we’ll have sex tonight, but somehow this is even more intimate than that first time we met at the club. I’d rather him shove my underwear in my mouth again than have to try to fall asleep side by side.
I force myself out into the bedroom—or the enormous main room, or whatever the hell I’m going to call it—and busy myself putting things away. I’m partially unpacked though my suitcase is still at the foot of the bed, and I’m too aware of Davide’s eyes watching me. The room’s dark and moonlight drifts in through the windows on the back side of the house.
“Are we going to talk about this weird floorplan you have going on?” I ask just to have something to say as I climb into bed.
He’s lying on his back with his hands behind his head. I stare at his forearms and his biceps, aware of a steady thrum of desire and excitement beating in my core, but I am absolutely not going to give in to my horniness right now. My lady boner must remain fully flaccid.
“I don’t like enclosed spaces. They make me uncomfortable.”
“Huh,” I say, a little surprised. “We met in that crowded club though. I didn’t realize it bothered you.”
“Your brother’s club was in a very large building, which helped, but yes, I was extremely uncomfortable every time I was in that place.” His lips curl like he’s remembering something distasteful.
“Then why did you hang around?”
“I was hoping I’d run into you.” He stares at me as I groan and close my eyes.
“You’re such a freaking creep,” I whisper, not sure if I’m annoyed or flattered. “And what was that downstairs? You went totally quiet and your mom acted like something was wrong.”
“I told you. Enclosed spaces. When I feel trapped and there are too many people, I can have a panic attack.”
“You were having a panic attack?” I roll onto my side, staring at him in surprise. He seems so calm and put together all the time—and even his little moment earlier was nothing more than a few very deep breaths. I find it hard to believe that a man like Davide suffers from panic attacks, much less that he’d be willing to come out and admit it to me.
“Not the way you’re thinking. I used to have very traditional attacks when I was younger, but now I can control myself better.” He closes his eyes and stretches his neck. “Is there anything else you want to know, baby? Are you going to ask me how I got the burns next?”
I chew my lip and glance at his left hand and the melted skin covering his entire arm. “I was wondering, but I figured that was rude.”
“I’ll tell you the story one day, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea to talk about it right before we go to sleep.” He’s completely deadpan when he adds, “I don’t want you to have a nightmare.”
I shiver and can only imagine what must’ve happened to him. I know what the men in these families do to each other in the name of honor and money, and sometimes that drifts from simply cruel into something much more horrifying. My brothers aren’t innocent, even though I don’t like thinking about the terrible things they’ve done to people, and I’ve benefitted from the violence that underpins the whole mafia world. I have no place to judge anyone.
“My brothers used to protect me,” I say softly and stare up at the ceiling. “I’m a lot younger than they are and when I was born, my parents had basically given up. Renzo took over raising me practically, but he was also dealing with all the shit my father dumped on him.”
“It’s not easy being the oldest in a mafia family,” Davide says softly. “My brother Simon carries a heavy weight.”
“Renzo did everything he could to shelter me from the worst of it. Dad didn’t take much interest in me because I was little and I was a girl, but sometimes I saw things and heard things—” I stop speaking, because what does my trauma mean to a guy who has clearly gone through worse? So what if I’ve seen my father beating my brothers? If I remember vividly one night where my father and his capos dragged a bloody man through our house and locked him in the basement.
“You can tell me,” he whispers and moves closer. His shoulder presses against mine, but he doesn’t touch me beyond that. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart, because I can’t think about my childhood without getting a sudden burst of anxiety, like a shot of pure horror straight into my veins.