"If anyone comes in here..."
I hold my breath, listening for the telltale sound of footsteps or voices lingering outside the room. I could've sworn I heard something a moment ago, but at the moment, it's the last thing on my mind.
"No one's coming. Just keep going." I flex my neck, wishing I could turn my head to see the look on his face. The sharp edges of the book spines pressing into my cheek make me wince.
"I don't think you're really in a position to make demands," comes Santo's low voice, and I shiver. Any movement brings pain shooting down my arms—he has them wound behind my back with one hand crushing both wrists at the base of my spine. Regardless, I try to move, seeking out the warmth of his body that he pulled away from me when he thought there was someone outside.
He chuckles tauntingly. "Needy little thing. Do you think you can tell me what to do? Huh?" I press forward into the bookshelf he has me against but there's nowhere to go. "Think you're calling the shots?"
A low moan manages to escape past my clenched teeth as I feel him, hard and pulsing against the sensitive skin of my ass. I lost track of the amount of times his palm has made rough contact there, but it's enough that any touch sends spikes of pain shooting through the abused area.
"Please." My head swims and I'm dizzy, limbs exhausted from being held in this singular position on the brink of pleasure for so long. Every single muscle screams in protest, but worse than that is the desperate knot of tension and pressure between my legs that he refuses to satisfy.
I practically sob in frustration as he teases me again, right over where I need him, dragging the head of his cock through the evidence of just how fucking bothered I am before pulling away again. I'm not left alone long, however. He releases my wrists, and the pain is blinding for a second as my limbs scream in relief. Then he's turning me around.
Now that I can see him, I can tell he's affected. His chest glistens and his hair is doing that thing where it waves slightly when it's damp. His eyes are all dilated and black, and they glint in satisfaction as I helplessly drag my gaze down his body.
Like every time I look at him and his inked mass of muscles, butterflies flutter in my stomach. But now they drop lower as I take in the sight of him and how hard he is, how much his body craves mine. The look on his face is passive and cruel, like he couldn't care less, and the contrast practically leaves me breathless.
"Please what? Use your words and I'll give you what you want."
"Please fuck me," I say breathlessly, watching him tilt his head in that cold, assessing way.
"No. I changed my mind," he dismisses, and I squirm helplessly against his hold. At this point, I'm not sure I can take this for another fucking second.
In the dim light of the corner of the library we're in, I see his face gain a fraction of warmth. His lips twitch, hands trailing to my hips. "Later, sweet girl. Let's play with you a little first, yeah? So fucking pretty. Need to worship you."
Then he lowers himself to his knees before me. Somehow, even in this submissive position with his face level with my navel, he still manages to look in control. My thighs quiver at the rough scratch of his beard as he presses kisses from the inside of my knee, up towards where I need him. And when he finally buries his face in the mess he's created, my knees buckle. I grab desperately at whatever's around me, knocking a few books off the shelf before I find a sturdy hold.
He's finally not holding back, and I could fucking pass out at the relief. I can already feel my orgasm beginning to crash down on me, tingling numbness starting to tremble at the base of my spine. I can hardly manage to look down at him, at the sharp point of his jaw and the way it flexes as he fucks into me desperately, because the next second he does something with his tongue that has me positively seeing stars. My orgasm washes over me like a tidal wave, leaving me shaking and breathless in its wake.
When I can see and hear again, he's grinning up at me from his spot on his knees, and I playfully tug at his hair.
Samuel chooses that moment to walk into the library.
My reaction time is utter shit, my limbs still useless, but Santo is up like a shot, his bulky body hiding mine from view.
"Fuck!" Samuel cries, sounding close to tears. I peek around Santo's shoulder to see him with his eyes clamped shut, blindly groping the air as he attempts to find the exit.
"I told Leah we'd fucking be there!" Santo snaps.
"Well, she keeps yelling at me like it's my fault you two aren't present. Jesus, we've been waiting for twenty minutes!"
"Get the fuck out!"
"Fuck off, I'm trying!" Samuel stumbles into bookshelves across the room, still refusing to uncover his eyes.
Santo quickly picks up my clothes, helping me slip them on before dressing himself. His jaw pulses in pain as I watch him struggle to zip up his pants over the very present bulge there. He looks pissed.
"We're fucking moving out," he growls, busying himself with fixing the terror that I'm sure is the state of my hair. I smile, letting him manhandle me.
"I think you'd miss them, though."
He looks at me like I just told him I've been fucking other people.
"Miss that?" He raises an eyebrow as Samuel sends an entire shelf of books careening to the floor. "I don't fucking think so."
"Samuel," I call, because Santo is too busy glowering, "we're decent now."
He slowly cracks open both eyes like he doesn't believe me, his face slackening in relief. "Please come eat before my wife wrings my neck."
Santo pinches my ass as we both exit the room, and I look up at his predictably dark scowl. "Oh, relax. He didn't see anything."
I'm pretty sure he did, but I'm not going to mention that.
Santo shuts his eyes as if he'll find restraint behind his eyelids, and I tug him to a stop to fix his hair. I must've had my hands rooted in the onyx strands at some point because it's a fucking mess.
I have to shift closer to reach, and a groan dies in his throat as my stomach brushes against his groin. He stands utterly still and rigid, letting me tame his hair, but I have to hop around a little on my tiptoes to reach. Every time I brush against him, his breath hitches, until eventually, he grabs my waist and holds me in place with an exhausted glare.
"Oops," I smile.
He just grunts.
"Mad you didn't get to cum in my mouth?"
He scoffs, but his eyes are glued to my lips. "Watch it. I'll fuck the sass out of that mouth."
"That's supposed to be a threat?"
His eyes delicately trace over my features, and a smile seeps across his face slow and thick, like honey. "Filthy fucking girl. Do you want me to fuck your face?"
"I want—"
"I don't think you two understand that my wellbeing is at stake! My fucking livelihood. Please!" Samuel shouts at us in utter despair, popping his head around the corner.
In a snap, Santo's face is cold and angry, and I press my hands to his chest. "C'mon. We should go before his wife murders him."
"That motherfucker is on thin ice. If he shouts at you again, I'll—"
"Santo, it's fine. He's fine. Let's go, okay?" I wrap my hand around his arm, trying to placate him as we finally head to the kitchen. I'm not quite sure what's up with him today, but he has seemed more on edge.
His stolen orgasm surely isn't going to help that.
"Maybe in the future, we should have sex somewhere more... private?" This is the third time this week we've been caught in a compromising position.
Santo huffs. "The library is private. Until you came, nobody fucking entered that room. Ever. I'm getting a lock for that goddamn door."
"Okay, baby," I laugh. He wraps a hand around my waist, tugging me back into him.
"I like it when you call me that." I hear the smile in his voice, all traces of his foul mood gone for now.
Warmth trickles from my chest and I twist to kiss the point of his jaw. His eyes are soft, like his smile. That smile—it's just for me—and every time he lets me see it, I pray I can remember it until I see it again.
"The food is getting cold!" Leah screeches, and I jump.
"Christ, she has some lungs on her," Santo grumbles as we both enter the kitchen.
It's bustling with activity. Leah is running around grabbing dishes and bringing them to the table, Samuel trying to stay out of her way but only managing to nearly get trampled everywhere he pivots. And Tommaso—I slap a hand over my mouth at the sight of him, unable to stop the laughter.
"She put him to work," Santo snorts, and I have to agree. After one too many sexist jokes, Leah insisted he do something useful for once and learn to cook. I offered to help but she insisted I leave it to her and Tommaso. So that he could really learn. Meaning, so Leah could yell at him without me there to be the buffer.
Tommaso wears an apron that says, "Mr. Good Lookin' is Cookin'," and I'm pretty sure his cheek is graced with the flour imprint of a hand. His hair is wild, eyes panicked as he stirs something on the stove and Leah yells at him from across the kitchen. He stirs faster, causing the food to splatter onto the stovetop. I take pity on him, extracting myself from Santo to go help.
"I like the apron," I chuckle, and he breathes a sigh of relief as I take the spoon from him and turn down the heat.
"It was this or one that said, 'I Like My Butt Rubbed and My Pork Pulled.'" We chuckle, but the mood becomes somber quickly. "He always... he made fun of me whenever I wore this one. Said I was ugly as shit and just as full of myself. It made him laugh."
Tommaso blinks at the stovetop, lost in memories of his younger brother. Sadness twists like a knife in my chest but I let him have the moment.
Despite the busy and distracted atmosphere, there's a certain melancholy that hands in the air, beneath the surface. Today is Nico's birthday. But instead of retreating to different corners of the house to grieve in silence, so the painful edges of our loss won't cut into each other, we're making it into an occasion.
Santo's the one who suggested it. I think that, had he not mentioned it, Nico's birthday would've come and gone with not so much as a comment. It would've been heartbreaking, realizing they'd let themselves drown in regret and loss on a day Nico would've wanted everyone to be celebrating.
Watching Santo step up in these past weeks and take ownership of his family has been both beautiful and painful. The look on his face before Tommaso chimed in with his support for a birthday dinner was heartbreakingly vulnerable and uncertain. It's new territory for them all.
And I'm so proud of them, especially Santo. It's taken everything from us, especially the brothers, just to heal. And even that is still challenging and uncertain. Anything beyond getting through the day, through the next five minutes, is incredibly difficult for them to think about.
But this is what we've been missing. This warm bustle to the place. We've been so focused on the mundanity because it's much simpler than the alternative.
The alternative—this chaos and togetherness—we need it.
You can't let pain keep you from living after you've survived something unimaginably difficult. You can't let the bare minimum drain your energy when there is so much more life to live. It's taking us a little bit to get there, but we are.
Most of us, at least.
Massimo left last week, and he didn't come back this time. It was the same exact day Santo told me he loved me. We left our blissful little bubble to find the house in a panic, Tommaso on the verge of a breakdown and Samuel frantically making calls to find out where the Capo had gone. But he'd really left. All we had was a simple note that said not to contact or try to find him.
Santo was the only one who remained calm. I can tell he worries for his brother, but he seems to have accepted the fact that he can't fix things with Massimo the way he wants to.
And even though my heart would hurt every time I'd look at the Capo—seeing the way he walked around like he was a ghost, the way he was starting to get paler and thinner—I can't help but still feel some level of anger towards him.
It's clear I don't know anything about what he's gone through, and it's not my business. But what I do know is everything Santo has gone through. And everything he's going through now, forced to step up to fill his brother's shoes.
Although I can't deny that Santo fills this new role with beautiful ease. He keeps everyone together. When it comes to keeping us a family, there's a sense of calm that emanates from him and bonds us together. It's reassuring for all of us, and there's a renewed effort on all sides. Consequentially, a new closeness.
It helps that Santo is not expected to be Capo. I wasn't sure how that would work, but wherever Massimo is, he's not giving up his duties. He just seems to be giving up his family.
And of course things still go the way you'd expect them to—one of the things we do more often is play board games, and Monopoly can get a bit heated. Tommaso ended up shooting a hole in the ceiling one time. We play outside now. Often after the sun has gone down and emotions start unraveling with the approach of night. Those nights are full of laughter, but laughter turns into tears sometimes when we look around and take note of the gaping hole where the youngest Romano should be.
It's the kind of healing that rips you open more first. Sometimes it doesn't even feel like healing—we just have to trust that it is.
We manage to all be sitting at the table with the food miraculously still warm. There's an air of trepidation and a look of nervousness, fear, and sadness on everyone's faces as I quickly look around the table. Nobody seems to know what to do now that all the preparation is done.
I'm about to say something when the door slams open. Leah flinches like a gunshot has gone off, Tommaso knocks his fork off the table, and Santo yanks my chair behind his body.
"Damn, guys," Mantus grins, strolling into the room. "My bad."
Samuel winces. "Shit. I forgot to mention he's coming."
Muscles relax, and Leah shoots up to get another place set up for him at the table. Because yes, Mantus is alive.
He's the only other person who survived the gas and fire in that bait shop. He managed to crawl back through the rafters and drop to the ground outside, sustaining minor injuries. It's an incredibly sore subject for all of them, how many died that day, but it helped that he survived.
Mantus claps Santo's shoulder on the way to his seat. They've managed to grow closer since that day, and I sense a friendship brewing there.
"Hey, Nina." He slides into his seat, which happens to be next to me, with that megawatt smile. I give one back easily, not so put off by him anymore.
He grunts in surprise as I wind my arms around his neck in a quick hug. "Thank you," I whisper, "I'm glad you're okay."
I'm thanking him for risking his life, for what he did that day, and he seems to understand. He softens, hugging me back. "Does this mean I don't freak you out?"
"You never freaked me out," I protest, pulling away.
"That's a bold faced fuckin' lie, girl."
"Okay, yeah, it is. But you don't freak me out anymore. I dig the whole look, actually."
Mantus smirks at Santo, wiggling his brows. "Hear that, big guy?"
Santo scowls in response, and I see that it's taking all his restraint to not pull me back into him.
"You know, none of you were that happy to see me alive," Mantus announces to the table, throwing an arm around my shoulder. "Why is that?"
Santo grunts, tugging me back into him, and I laugh against his chest. His tensed muscles relax gradually as I run a soothing hand over his thigh in circles, but he still keeps a close hold on me. I frown at him questioningly, again getting the sense that something is off, but he refuses to look at me.
Regardless, it's an unexpectedly joyful evening. Nobody seems to want it to stop, either because it's good to finally start laughing together again, or because the thought of going back to our quiet rooms where whispers of sadness can start creeping in is just too scary.
Whatever the reason, once it's late and another Monopoly game has ended without another bullet hole in the ceiling, Santo stands behind me in the bathroom mirror as I finish twisting my hair up so it's out of my face for sleep.
He looks like my grumpy bodyguard, hulking behind me silently and zoning out at the wall with a dark glare.
"Okay, what gives?" I arch my brow at him as he meets my questioning gaze in the mirror.
"Hm?"
"You've been off all day. I thought it was because it's Nico's birthday, but that's not it, is it?" I turn, letting him see the gentle look on my face. I know I can read him better than he thought when he masks his look of surprise. "Is it what happened earlier? In the library?"
I trail my hand down his chest, and he stiffens. His eyes blaze and his chest rises on a heavy inhale as my hand trails lower. It's clear he's in the mood, his sweatpants doing nothing to hide the way he's already anticipating my touch. I begin to lower myself to my knees, eager to make him feel as good as he made me feel earlier, but a hand at my elbow stops me.
"Stop," he shakes his head.
Oh.
Not one to get offended at being told no—because who says that guys have to always be ready for sex anyway?—I give him an easy nod. I can't, however, stop that feeling of embarrassment. It comes from the fact that I'm usually not the one to initiate something between us, so his rejection makes me second guess myself. Did I do something wrong? Was it that bad?
Since I recognize it's an insecurity I have, and has nothing to do with him, my instinct is to move on from the situation. Immediately.
"I'm sorry, I just..." he tries to explain, painfully dragging out the moment. Something passes along his features before he grimaces and sends me a sort of helpless look. The seconds tick by, and now it's just getting plain awkward.
Okay, what the fuck?
"Santo, it's okay. You really don't have to apologize. I'm just gonna go make a cup of tea. I'll be right back." I send him what I hope is a reassuring smile and then I'm trying not to walk out of the room too quickly.
I laugh at myself as I head to the kitchen. It's not a big deal, I'll just make my tea and hopefully he'll be in bed when I get back, so we can just go to sleep. Maybe he didn't want a blowjob on his dead brother's birthday—oh God, of course that was it. He'd been in the mood before, but he's probably thinking of Nico now, feeling his absence particularly hard, and I just tried to suck his dick.
"Oh!" I nearly drop my mug when I turn from the cabinet and come face to face with an annoyed Santo.
"Why'd you go?"
"I just wanted a cup of tea." I busy myself with heating up some water and picking out my tea bag. We wait in silence until it's ready, and every second that passes makes me hate myself more and more.
At this point, I feel like I need to apologize profusely and then just take myself to bed. The awkwardness of the situation gives me the urge to laugh, and now I'm stifling a smile into my hand and Santo probably thinks I'm clinically fucking insane.
"Are you okay?"
I clear my throat, turning to find that he actually thinks it necessary to wear a concerned look on his face. "I'm fine. I'm sorry for earlier. I thought—but obviously it's fine that you're not... I mean—"
"Nina," he sighs. "Don't. You don't need to apologize either. I just didn't know how to tell you that... I mean—"
"I know. I get it, don't worry." I don't know and I don't get it but I would like to move on from this conversation.
He runs his fingers through his hair, and his rings glint in the sparse light. He nods his head towards the counter. "Can you just go sit down?"
"You want me to..." He wants me to sit down so we can have a serious conversation about the fact that he didn't want me to suck his dick? "We do not have to do that," I strangle out.
"Just please sit down."
Oh my God.
I grab my mug and, in a daze, lift myself into one of the stools. Okay. We're really gonna do this. It's probably my imagination, but I think his hands are shaking as he picks out his own mug and tea bag. Regardless, the vibes are too weird for me right now, and I scald my tongue on my tea that hasn't even finished steeping just to give myself something to do.
"Look, I'm sorry," he sighs, leaning against the counter right next to me. I can't read the look on his face. "I'm... just struggling with something and I'm being an idiot. I want you to suck my dick. Not now," he clarifies unnecessarily, and I roll my eyes.
"Well, I wasn't gonna just drop to my knees this second."
"Really?" Amusement gleams on his face. "Because ten minutes ago, you—"
I toss a balled-up napkin at his stupid smirk, and we both chuckle. "Is this your way of telling me you want to try something new?" As long as it isn't golden showers or something equally bizarre...
"No, this is my way of asking the woman I love to marry me."
My brain stutters to a halt. "Excuse me?"
"We can talk about it later," he says offhandedly, removing his tea bag.
"What?"
He lifts his mug to take a sip, his eyes laughing at me over the rim. And I'm fucking spiraling. "Did you or did you not just propose to me?"
"I did."
"And you thought saying 'we can talk about it later' was a good idea?"
"Well, you're making things a bit difficult, so I thought I'd wait," he shrugs, setting down his mug.
I stand, poking his chest. "You'll propose to me properly or not at all!" I would be laughing at how ridiculous I sound if I wasn't negative three seconds from losing my shit.
"Okay. Later then."
I gape at him for a second, watching his grin stretch to adorable levels, but I will not be swayed by the pureness of this man's smile right now. With a huff, I abandon my mug and the man at the counter with the intention of... I'm not quite sure, because I don't get to find out.
"Wait," he says breathlessly, tugging me back into his warm chest. I'm about to protest when I realize I can feel his hands shaking. I turn in his hold, and sure enough, all humor is drained from his face, replaced with the vulnerability of someone about to hand you their heart.
"I've been shitting myself about this all day," he admits, and everything is starting to make sense now. "I've been fucking—I have no idea how to do this, I don't know how people ask other people to marry them and I felt like a fucking idiot. I'm sorry. Will you please just fucking be my wife? There's no other way I can imagine living out the rest of my life than by being your husband, mia amata."
His eyes search mine desperately and his fingers dig nervously into the fleshy part of my hips, looking like I've already taken too long to answer him by not interrupting him and saying that yes, of course I'll marry him.
My heart's pounding out of my chest and I feel like I'm about to burst into tears, but I can't stop myself from toying with him. "You know, this is so how you'd propose. Be a total grump all day, create such an awkward situation up there, and then ask me like you're annoyed I haven't said yes yet."
He breathes shakily as I wind my arms around his neck, plastering my body to his and grinning up at him. There's no hiding the joy that's bursting out of me, I feel like it's pouring from my face and my cheeks already hurt from smiling.
"Are you saying yes, tesoro?"
"Hm," I squint thoughtfully. "Do I get a ring?"
His eyes bug out of his head, and I yelp in surprise as I'm suddenly hoisted over his shoulder. The ground beneath me blurs as he hightails it up the stairs and straight to our room.
I'm completely out of breath from laughter, my face surely red from being held almost upside down, and somehow it just makes sense that he'd make manhandling me part of this proposal.
"I left it up here," he murmurs breathlessly, setting me on the bed, "because this was where I was supposed to do it but then instead I made you think I wasn't attracted to you. Gesù Cristo, che cazzo di idiota—"
Knowing enough now to understand that he just called himself a fucking idiot, I hurry to finally answer him. "Jesus, yes I'll fucking marry you. Of course I will."
He stops violently rooting through the pockets of his pants he left lying on the floor, his shoulders sagging in relief. His eyes are liquid amber, that smile stretching from ear to ear and dimpling both cheeks. He's never looked so carefree and joyful. It makes my heart go fucking haywire in my chest.
"You will?"
"If you hurry up and find that ring."
"Fuck, I love you so much."
I smile and cry at the same time, gesturing for him to hurry up. Cursing, he finally grabs the little box, and tears fill my eyes as he gets down on one knee with a little lopsided smile, murmuring, "I didn't do this part either."
I laugh, sniffling back more tears.
"Nina, my love, la mia preziosa gemma, will you do me the honor of marrying me? I am already the luckiest man alive for just knowing you, but I'd like you for the rest of my life, too," he smiles, dark eyes twinkling. "I'm quite selfish like that."
"Yes. Yes, I'll marry you," I cry.
I throw myself off the bed and into his arms, sending us both toppling to the ground. We're a mess of laughter and tears and Santo won't stop thanking me, speaking so reverently in muttered phrases of English and Italian that blur together into one great, big declaration of love and I know, more than I've known anything before, that this is where I'm meant to be.
---
IT'S OVER STOP. They finally got their happy ending ffs. As you can see, I love a chaotic proposal. Gotta shake things up sometimes.
Epilogue coming next! And then the much awaited sequel announcement. Brb screaming.
- G