Nico slides me a surprised look as I plop down on the sofa next to him in the living room. Santo has been God knows where all day, and I find that I enjoy Nico's presence. He's quiet and relatively shy, similar to me. When I need a quiet moment, he's the one I prefer to be around.
I get the sense he feels similar. Sometimes I feel that he wants to ask me things but is holding back. Nico seeks me out at random times, sometimes to just sit in silence while I go about my business in the kitchen or playing with Pistachio. I hope I can become someone he confides in. This odd... care I feel for him is new. Maybe it's what I might have felt for Carlo if things hadn't turned out the way they did.
Ever since everyone became aware that Santo and I are involved—thanks to Tommaso making a lewd announcement and toast at dinner—the brothers' attitudes towards me have changed. When I join the men for meals, it feels more normal. The other day, Tommaso let me choose which restaurant they were going to order from. Massimo is a big fat question mark to no one's surprise, but Nico... he's been acting strange.
Sometimes I catch him looking at me with this upset look on his face. Part of me wonders if he just feels awkward with the fact that I'm fucking his brother, but there could be more to it.
"What are you playing?" I ask, observing him in the middle of what looks like a first-person shooter game on his Xbox.
"It's, um... you wouldn't like it, probably," he mumbles.
I raise a brow, holding a hand out for the controller. "Try me."
Several minutes later, Nico stifles a laugh in his palm as I die for the eighth time. "You're supposed to shoot back, you know. Not just run away."
"I know, but I can't focus on shooting and running at the same time!" I'm furiously toggling the controls, at this point just pressing anything. My character dies in a fiery explosion of dismembered limbs, and I throw up my hands. "What the hell?"
Nico's still laughing as he takes the controller. "You just need to practice using the controls. You'll get better in no time."
I smile, settling back on the couch. Now seems like a good time to try and talk to him.
"Hey, is everything okay? You know, with me and Santo..." I flush as he looks at me like a deer in headlights. "I just wanted to make sure that you're okay with everything."
He bites his lip, focusing on the game for a few moments. Then he throws down the controller and faces me with a frown. "It's just... I know how this family works and I'm not sure if you're okay with everything that's happening." He pauses, blushing, and finishes in a mutter so low I can barely hear it, "I think you're cool and I know you didn't want to be involved in all of this in the first place."
Realization dawns on me. "Nico, I really appreciate your concern. Really," I smile as he peers up at me, looking so horrified at what he's just said. "What's happening between me and Santo is... well, I'm not sure it makes sense to either of us, but we both want it."
He nods, looking relieved. "Okay. That's good, I guess."
I hide my smile, seeing that he feels awkward. "Has that kind of thing happened before? Your brothers holding women against their will?"
The prospect fills me with discomfort, yet I understand it's very likely. The mafia might protect their own women and families, but that doesn't mean the rest of them aren't fair game when blood needs to be spilled.
"We don't try to. There's been no one like... well, like you. After everything with our parents, Simo doesn't tolerate anyone who moves women in this city," Nico declares strongly, proudly. "There are certain things he doesn't allow because of that. But sometimes, it's just business."
"Everything with your parents?"
Nico shrugs. "You know, the way they met. How their father used to run trafficking rings through his casinos, and then he fell in love with Mamma. I don't think it was the good kind of love though."
My horror and shock must be plain as day on my face because Nico pales drastically.
"Um, Santo didn't tell you?"
Tell me that apparently, his father had trafficked his mother? No, he did not. There are certain things Santo shuts down about, and his parents are at the top of the list.
And what did Nico mean their father?
All I can do is shake my head.
"I-I thought he did," Nico rushes, wide-eyed, "I've just never seen him like this with a girl before so I thought—"
"Nico, relax," I interrupt, my smile strained but nevertheless attempting to get him to calm down. "It's okay. I won't let him know that you told me."
"Really?" Nico practically gasps out. The poor kid is horrified at the thought that he just betrayed the trust of one of his brothers.
"No. I promise." The look on my face must be slightly more reassuring because he settles back against the couch, pulling in his first breath in nearly a minute. "When Santo wants to tell me, he will. That kind of thing takes time to open up about and I'm fine giving that to him. Really," I tack on at Nico's skeptical look.
"Wow," he breathes. "You really are cooler than other girls. Tommaso was right."
"Tommaso thinks I'm cool?"
"Don't tell him I told you!" Nico sits up straight, cheeks coloring, and I can't help my laugh.
"I wish your brother could've treated you better," Nico whispers out of the blue. "Like mine did. The fact that I'm their half-brother doesn't matter to them, and it should've been like that with you. I'm sorry it wasn't."
My suspicions confirmed, I can only throw an arm around Nico and blink back tears as he returns my awkward side hug. I never would've guessed that he didn't share a father with the others, and the thought makes me so happy for him that I take a few moments to push back the emotion.
Despite what I told Nico, I can't stop the little voice in the back of my head, reminding me that the only reason I'm fine with waiting to hear about Santo's sordid family history is because I have a horrible feeling that it's tied up with a lot of other shit I don't want to know about.
If he wants to tell me about it, I'll listen. In fact, I'd rather he did confide in me. It's just that things with Santo are beginning to look a little like navigating a field littered with land mines, and I need to hope that I don't stumble over one.
+
Apparently, the mafia celebrates Thanksgiving.
Or at least the ones I'm shacked up with.
Leah sent me a plethora of excited texts about it—on my brand-new phone, courtesy of Santo. I almost feel like I don't need it; there's nobody I'd care to stay in touch with. But he insisted I have it in case I need to reach him, always concerned with my safety.
I'd almost forgotten about the holiday with everything going on. It seems that ever since Santo returned from whatever he was doing that day I talked with Nico, the tension in the house heightened like a switch had been flipped. I almost don't even have time to think about the secrets Nico revealed to me.
That night, Santo had shuffled into my room noisily, waking me up with his unhappy mutterings about the fact that I'd not been waiting in his bed.
"I didn't know that's where I sleep now," I'd murmured sleepily.
He'd just given a vaguely dissatisfied rumble as he manhandled my body exactly where he wanted it in his bed, sliding his thigh between my legs.
"This is where you should be from now on," he'd declared lowly. And then, as a slightly unsure afterthought, "if that's what you want."
"Of course it is."
He'd pressed a searing kiss to my shoulder and I'd mumbled, "only because your bed is so much comfier," before falling back asleep.
Waking up was another story. He's been distant again, but not so much that it worries me. Just enough that it makes me wonder if he's also realizing that this whole 'not thinking' thing is harder than we both bargained for.
It's not bad thinking, though.
Coming to terms with my feelings for Santo is enlightening. I don't like him because he's changed. He hasn't—he's still himself. Still that devil that turns heads on the street, that terrifies people with one look. He still comes home to me doused in blood sometimes. But it's just that now, I see the full picture. I see the way he intimidates people when we're out because he thinks my safety might be at stake. I see the way he uses his anger as a tactic to absorb the criticism from Massimo and redirect it from me. And I see that when he comes back all bloody, he's missing a part of himself.
No, I think I'm the one that's changing, and I've never felt so happy.
I'm so happy to be the person he seeks out when his mind is jagged from the life he lives. I'm happy to let him stay in the gym for hours on end punching his fists raw before he feels ready to come and be soft with me. And when he doesn't want to wait until he's soft enough to not hurt me, I'm happy to let him come back to himself by losing himself in me.
Sometimes we don't sleep because he's bottomed out inside me, making my desperate body arch into his and absorbing my cries into his hot skin before he reaches his own soul shattering end.
Santo isn't someone I would typically describe as pretty, but he's so pretty when he comes. He loses himself in it; there are no muffled groans and muted sighs. No, he lets his pleasure build in deep rumbles in his chest that, more often than not, are what bring me to my own end when he lets them out in unbridled moans into my mouth or my skin. His lips part and his face collapses into agony and ecstasy; he's unapologetic and passionate and I feel privileged that I get to see him like that.
Santo is intense in everything. In his temper, his annoyance, his dedication to his family and the business, and now in his happiness.
At least that's what I think this is. This quiet but steadfast way he keeps me close, the heavy and unbridled passion he fucks me with. The committed consistency he exhibits in checking in on my wellbeing. Ever since the time I injured my ankle, he's kept a collection of painkillers by the bed. I had a headache one morning and had to practically stop him from physically shoving the pills down my throat.
"It's a headache; don't be dramatic. I'm going to go make some coffee," I told him, leaving him standing there with the pills and a helpless expression on his face.
It's easy, being together. So easy that I don't find myself thinking of the worrisome stuff, the loose ends. Like our parents. Even Santo's seem to hold some relevance beyond the grave. That's often the way it goes.
Thanksgiving morning, I wake up to Santo staring at me in a way that suggests he's been awake for a while.
"What are you looking at?" I frown, wishing he wouldn't look so close. I probably look like a monster.
"Come shower with me," he says, his eyes still soft with sleep.
"I still can't believe you guys celebrate Thanksgiving," I muse as we head to the bathroom. "That's kind of weird."
He flips on the water and I become lost in the sea of muscles and ink as he slips out of his clothes.
"We started the tradition when Samuel started dating Leah. She made us. It's really just an excuse to spend some time together."
I hum, thankful for the presence of my new friend. All thoughts of her are soon banished as we step beneath the water and Santo brings me to him. I can already feel myself becoming wet as he grazes a rough hand over my nipple, trailing it down my torso.
"Can I taste you, amati? Please."
I can only nod and gasp as I'm pressed against the cool tile of the shower wall and Santo's large body kneels before me. He looks up at me, and my heart bottoms out at the sight of this powerful man kneeling for me. He guides one of my legs over his shoulders, I grip his sopping hair tightly, and he keeps a domineering palm spread across my hip and stomach as he licks into me enthusiastically.
He brings me to orgasm beneath his tongue, and I'm deliciously, sinfully, and hopelessly addicted.
"You guys took your time getting ready this morning," Tommaso glowers at us when we enter the kitchen.
"Ignore him," Leah rolls her eyes. "He's pissed because he's hungry and we haven't started on the food yet."
"No, I'm pissed because they're disgusting," Tommaso corrects with a scowl. "I hope you two find out you're related."
"Okay, get the fuck out. All of you," Leah orders, and they listen to her with zero hesitation.
At our request and since Leah insisted on making a three-course meal, Massimo sent someone to get us all the groceries we need. I never celebrated many holidays growing up, but I must admit, I always wondered what it would be like to do that sort of thing with a family.
"I'm so glad you're here now," Leah tells me. Her face is shining as she comes forward and pulls me into an unexpected hug. "And I promise it's not just because those men can't cook and I've never had any help with this before."
"I'm so glad I'm here now too," I mumble into her hair.
Once she pulls away, I busy myself with the food so she won't see my damp eyes.
We chat, sip on wine—just one glass this time—and thanks to the four ovens in this kitchen, we manage to have everything ready right on time. I tell Leah about my favorite thing to cook—my mother's famous carbonara, a recipe I found stuffed in the back of a drawer at Luciano's house a couple years ago—and she convinces me to make a huge pot. I'm plating it as Tommaso wanders in, looking hungry.
"Out! We're not ready!" Leah scolds, smacking him with her dish towel until he backs up.
I bite back a smile. If there's one person who can get Tommaso in order, it's Leah.
My new friend and I talk as we work. She doesn't ask me about my childhood, about Luciano, or even Santo. We talk about things like clothes, sex, our hopes and dreams—things every girl needs to talk to another girl about at some point in her life. Leah and her friendship seem too good to be true; I tell her this and she ends up hugging me again over the mashed potatoes for ten minutes as we both start getting emotional.
After we finish setting the table, I realize I left my phone in Santo's room. I run up to grab it, wanting to take a picture of our spread.
Suddenly, the breath is knocked out of me. I stumble back, having slammed into a bare chest. Gasping, I steady myself with a hand on the wall as I'm met with Massimo's cool gaze.
"Shit, sorr—"
He cocks his head at me when I awkwardly cut myself off. But it's right there in front of me, his bare chest. And the scar, right over his heart, practically identical to the one Santo has.
At the direction of my gaze, his face hardens and he continues on his way, likely coming from the mini gym down the hall. Each wing of the house has one for when the guys don't want to go all the way downstairs to work out.
I return to the kitchen with my mind preoccupied, wondering what that scar means. And how they both have the exact same one.
"Turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, your carbonara, two different salads, bread rolls, and—Oh! The green beans are done. You think that's enough?" Leah asks me as we survey our handiwork.
I light the candles and feel my chest well with pride as Leah places the last dish on the table. The food looks amazing, and I can't wait to see what the guys think of it. I'm excited to cook and perhaps make more than just sweets loaded with sugar. I like the methodical routine of preparing a meal, the idea that it's going to satisfy and provide for people.
Leah tells me that's very Italian of me.
"If this isn't enough, I'll be concerned. We also have three pies for dessert, remember?"
Leah huffs. "I have no doubt they'll manage to finish it all. They're a bunch of garbage disposals, I swear to God."
The men come in as soon as they have the okay, and I know they're starving. Santo sends me an impressed look when he sees all the food, nuzzling a kiss to my temple.
"I don't think this is enough food," Tommaso jokes.
"Maybe not for you. You've been putting on some weight lately," Nico says, and laughter follows. If there's one thing that's obvious, it's that the Romano brothers are more in shape than most men.
"Nina made that carbonara. Wait till you try it, it's absolutely amazing," Leah gushes as we all sit down. Everyone immediately begins filling their plates, and comfortable chatter floats around the room. Business has no place here. Everybody is focused on the food and the company.
It's beautiful.
I kick Tommaso's leg under the table as he tries to feed Pistachio a piece of ham that's almost as large as the puppy's body.
"If you poison her dog, I'll poison you," Santo grumbles.
I glow as I watch the food we worked so hard on being enjoyed. Massimo, sitting at the head of the table which happens to be on my left, tells me, "the carbonara is good, Nina," and I feel like I'm in an alternate dimension.
Unless I'm mistaking it for something else, there's an understanding in his eyes, a sort of acknowledgment between us, and I know it has to do with what I saw earlier. That scar.
Santo, on my other side, runs a hand down the back of my head, leaning over to kiss me. "You did well, tesoro."
And again, I wonder if this is what home feels like.
I see it, looking around the table at the faces of these people—people who are accustomed to the world like I am, but are clearly used to the companionship of each other in the midst of, and despite, everything. It might seem silly to be here, to spend an evening eating and relaxing, celebrating a holiday we may very well never experience again given the nature of the world we live in.
But that's the whole point, and I watch fondly as Nico steals a bread roll from Tommaso's plate, the two brothers bickering like the most pressing matter in their world is how they're going to consume all this food without getting too full.
It's one of those evenings where nothing feels out of place. It's perfect, like a scene from a movie that fills you with that warm sense of nostalgia for something you might not have ever experienced. For me, it's always been something I'm looking in on, wishing that could be real. But now, for the first time, I'm not an outsider. I'm a part of it all. It's a warm plate of cookies on Christmas Eve, drinking hot chocolate with those tiny marshmallows on a cold day, coming in from the cold to a blanket and a bowl of soup—all these things I saw in movies. I always imagined that feeling of contentment, when you know you wouldn't trade that one moment for anything in the world. And I think I feel it now, lounging around the living room with these people, our bellies full after dessert. Everyone is satiated and relaxed, knowing there's nothing left to do today except go to sleep.
Santo traces a hand over my hip as I lean into him, feeling my eyes becoming heavy with the soothing sound of chatter around me. Tommaso and Samuel even got a fire going, and the soft crackles add to the ambiance.
"That was my first ever holiday," I murmur, and he hums, showing me he's listening. "It was so nice. I'm sorry for calling it weird earlier."
Santo strokes my hair back from my face, and his voice rumbles deliciously in his chest. "If it makes you that happy, we'll do it every day."
I'm leaning up to kiss him when the shrill sound of alarms pierces my eardrums. The men jump into action immediately, right as I hear the muffled pops of gunshots from outside.
---
Yay for filler that was HOPEFULLY not too boring! Things are about to get fun.
Remember to vote if you liked it (:
- G