"Power is given only to those who dare to lower themselves and pick it up. Only one thing matters, one thing; to be able to dare!"
- Fyodor Dostoevsky
The first sensation that reached my still-slumbering senses was the irresistible smell of ricotta pancakes cooking in the kitchen. I blinked my eyes open, registering that my wife Barbara was already wide awake and moving about in her vibrant, morning glow.
"Buongiorno bellezza, (Good morning, beautiful)" I greeted and found my way towards her, nestling close to her warm body.
I peppered her exposed neck with a tender kiss, tasting the faint remnants of the vanilla lotion she loved to use.
Her smile came easily, the radiant light within her beaming through. "Buongiorno, amore, (Good morning, love,)" she crooned, her words gentle and musical to my ears. "Hai dormito bene la notte? (did you have a good night's sleep?)"
"Ho dormito come un bambino, (I slept like a baby)" I said, stretching for a final time before turning my attention to the newspaper spread on the table before me. My interest was perked, however, when I caught a glance of the scrumptious breakfast before me. "Non vedo l'ora di assaggiare quei pancake. (I can't wait to dig into those pancakes)"
"Oh, questi non sono per te. (these are not for you)" A flirtatious wag of her finger left me groaning.
"Per mamma? (for mom?)" I ventured, watching the concern flutter over Barbara's features at the mention.
"Yes, (sì,)" Barbara conceded, the honesty of her words undeniable. "Odio vederla così giù, mi si spezza il cuore. (I hate to see her this down, it breaks my heart)"
I knew why. "Gliele porterò, (I'll bring these to her)" I offered, eagerly hopping off the chair.
As I entered the room, I couldn't help but feel a sense of melancholy wash over me. My mother had been silent for as long as I could remember, her words stolen from her many years ago. Yet, she always seemed to hold on to a spark of life within her.
"Buongiorno, mamma, (Good morning, Ma)" I smiled warmly as I approached her. "Ti ho portato la colazione. (I brought you breakfast)"
I sat next to her on the floor and watched as she sipped her coffee, her eyes fixed on the rain that pattered against the window.
"Mi dispiace di non aver potuto portarti un po' di sole oggi, (I'm sorry I couldn't bring you some sunshine today)" I chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.
The silent stare she directed towards me was heavy with feelings she could no longer voice. But I understood what it conveyed.
Our unique connection meant no need for words. Her expressive eyes, I knew, told me everything I needed to hear. I cherished this.
The breakfast tray found its place on her nightstand, and as she indulged in her espresso, I rested beside her, intertwining my fingers with hers. Sharing each other's heartache, we sat in comfortable silence.
"Anche a me manca, mamma, (I miss him too, mom)" I finally let the words tumble out. "Ma bisogna ricordarlo con amore, non con le lacrime. (but we need to remember him with love, not tears)"
Looking back at me, she gifted me with the most cherished thing - her faint but apparent smile. Hope flared within me; we could heal through our shared love.
Leaving the room with the empty tray, I found Barbara watching me with concern.
"Lei sorrise, (she smiled)" I whispered.
"Bene, (good)" she affirmed, her arms winding warmly around me. "Questo è un inizio. (that's a start)"
Every year, on the eve of Gino's birthday, my mother would grow distant and sad. Gino was the life of the family, always quick with a joke or a kind word. He was an untamed soul, unafraid of pursuing his dreams and listening to his heart. His absence left an irreplaceable void in all of our lives.
──●◎●──
Earlier, I'd instructed my boy Severino to prepare our private jet; it was about time I visited Conor Jones.
Conor had been a good friend and a trusted associate for many years, someone whose reliability I was certain of. But, of late, unsettling rumors involving him had started to circulate, and I had to see if they held any truth. Rumors about a girl he had working for him, a girl that Sergei had mentioned before Conor shot him dead. I needed clarity, answers to the identity of this girl, and more critically, an understanding of how she figured in the scheme of our shared affairs.
I could've dispatched my men to Chicago to gather information on my behalf, but that wasn't my way of operating. Conor deserved more respect than that. He deserved the opportunity to introduce this girl to me and to provide his explanation.
As I nestled comfortably into the plush, leather seat on the private jet, an ominous sense of unease crept over me. What if Conor, my old friend and business partner, had been withholding something significant from me? The unsettling notion stuck in my head like an annoying jingle from a catchy commercial.
"Quanto tempo resteremo lì, papà? (For how long are we going to stay there, papà?)" my son Severino questioned, making himself comfortable on the seat next to me.
"È difficile dirlo, Sev. Lo sapremo quando arriveremo lì, (It's hard to say, Sev. We'll know when we get there)," I responded, my tone carrying an underlying uncertainty that wasn't usual for me.
As the jet lifted off the ground and soared into the sky, I pushed those thoughts aside. I had to have faith in Conor. I trusted him - our long years of friendship and teamwork were evidence that he would never willingly jeopardize our enterprise or the bond of friendship that we'd nourished all these years.
After a long flight, the plane descended into Chicago. As we disembarked, a gust of fresh air smacked my face, a pleasant relief from the stale air inside the cabin. This surprise visit was intended to be just that - a surprise. It was necessary to figure out this issue regarding some mysterious girl, preferably before things took a nasty turn.
"Vengo con te, papà, (I'm coming with you, pops,)" Severino asserted with determination in his voice.
I tried to reason with him. "Non ce n'è bisogno, figliolo. Conor è mio amico e posso occuparmene io. (There's no need, son. Conor's my friend and I can handle this.)"
But he wasn't budging. "Amico o no, sto arrivando. (Friend or not, I'm coming.)"
With that settled, we decided to stay at The Langham hotel seeking a few precious hours of rest before meeting with Conor. Despite it being only mid-afternoon, the stressful day and impending confrontation had me wanting to resolve this matter ASAP.
──●◎●──
As we arrived at Conor's North Shore estate, Severino stepped out of the car to inform the guards of our arrival.
Soon after, the gates opened and we were led down the driveway to Conor, who greeted me with open arms.
"Che bello vederti, mio caro amico! Sono davvero felice che tu sia venuto. (How wonderful to see you, my dear friend! I am truly pleased you have come.)" His warm smile was unmistakable.
"Mi dispiace di non avervi avvisato in anticipo del nostro arrivo, (I am sorry for not letting you know in advance of our arrival,)" I responded.
"Non c'è bisogno di scuse. Sei sempre il benvenuto a casa mia, (There is no need for an apology. You are always welcome in my home,)" Conor reassured me.
We were led inside the mansion and Conor graciously offered us each a glass of aged whiskey.
"I regret not having the chance to send my men to pick you up from the airport. They could have taken you to my lake house in Winnetka instead of making you check into a hotel," Conor remarked.
"We appreciate your kind offer, Conor, but our stay will not be long," I explained.
"Severino! How you've grown since the last time I saw you! I remember when you were still at college. You've become quite a gentleman. Time does fly indeed!" The pride in his voice was paternal.
"Thank you, Papà Jones," Severino said, respectfully.
"Do tell me, what brings you to my humble home?" Conor inquired, eyes gleaming with curiosity.
My eyes took in the living room around me, absorbing the silent atmosphere of the house. It seemed we were alone, which was the green light for me to dive into the heart of the matter.
"Who's the girl Sergei mentioned?" I cut straight to the point.
A visible shift ran through Conor's expression and his smile disappeared. He inhaled deeply, and it was obvious that I'd stumbled upon something he'd rather keep hidden.
"First of all," he began, "I appreciate you coming to me about this."
"You're my friend, Conor, I owe you that much," I responded.
He gave a grave nod of acknowledgment.
"Her name is Frank.. Frank Monroe, my lawyer," he disclosed.
"Frank?" I repeated, thrown off by the unconventional name.
"Francesca," he clarified.
"And why was she kept under wraps? And what did Sergei mean when he mentioned that she's your heavy-lifter?"
His response was delayed as he thought carefully on his response.
"Frankie...she doesn't follow the conventional way of doing things. Big Solly, her value is far too immense to be revealed to the bastards we deal with," he explained.
It was a truthful answer but it felt evasive.
"Do you think you could invite her over now? I'd like to meet her if that wouldn't be too much trouble for you," I requested.
Conor heaved a sigh and agreed. "Alright, I'll make the call."
I found myself at Hector's penthouse, baffled by my own impulsiveness. I always prided myself on maintaining tight control of my life, but I hadn't given my sudden decision to come here a second thought. As someone used to managing every aspect of my day-to-day, this lack of planning unnerved me.
As I was led inside by one of Hector's men, Logan, I had a chance to take in the lavish surroundings. The refined dark furniture and tasteful classic decor was undeniably representative of Hector himself.
After Logan left, I took a seat on a brown leather couch in the living room, waiting for Hector's arrival. He took long which only confirmed my belief that he was taking his time on purpose.
Eventually, I took the liberty of going in search of Hector. First, I looked in the bedroom but found it empty. His penthouse was enormous, and there were numerous other places he could be.
As I navigated the sprawling corridor lined with doors, I heard an unmistakable noise. It was the rhythmic pounding of someone boxing. It was coming from the room at the end of the hall.
Deciding to take a look, I paused in the doorway, stunned by the sight of Hector taking his frustrations out on a punching bag. His typically serene exterior was replaced with raw fury, making me momentarily forget how to breathe.
Sweat poured down his face, darkening his hair which clung to his forehead. His strong arms moved with lethal precision, each punch punctuated by a strained grimace. I could see just how vexed he was.
I understood the cause of his fury, but I just couldn't admit it to myself.
I mustered enough courage to step into the room, somehow managing to utter his name, "Hector."
My voice echoed through the room, the only sound apart from the hard slapping of the punching bag. Suddenly Hector paused mid punch, looking up to meet my eyes.
I was startled by the icy gaze he leveled at me.
Gradually I closed the distance between us, yet he avoided my gaze, the blows on the punching bag growing stronger and more intense.
"Why are you here?" His voice, devoid of warmth, not once looking my way.
"To see you," I answered softly.
My gaze remained glued on his perfectly chiseled body, his well-sculpted, exposed torso and his strong arms; bulging veins snaking their way over his muscles, slipping out of sight beneath his boxing gloves. It was almost too much to take in.
"Well, you've seen me, you can leave now," Hector dismissed me curtly.
I reached out to put a hand on his drenched shoulder and suddenly, he stopped attacking the bag and turned towards me, the look in his eyes was chilly and emotionless.
I was confused about my own actions, but I knew I was the trigger for his tension. I kept my gaze firm on him, my dark hazel eyes matching his intense stare.
Hector moved towards me, closing the space between us, sweat dripping off his handsome features, down the jawline; his eyes took on an even darker shade. But his intensity didn't frighten me, rather, it ignited courage in me.
He edged closer and closer to me till there was no distance left between us, all the while maintaining intense eye contact. He cornered me and even though I tried to squeeze past him, the wall at my back trapped me and I found myself caged by his towering figure. I was caught in his piercing gaze.
Resting his forehead against mine, Hector released a groan mixed with frustration, rage, and a sliver of... desire. My heart raced, pounding against my chest as I took in the scent of his cologne. My mind swirled with a mix of confusion and attraction.
"What are you trying to do?" Hector's voice was husky, tinged with annoyance. "You're playing with fire, Frankie."
I couldn't deny it. The moment I walked into his home, I knew I was tempting fate. I didn't know what I was hoping to achieve, but I couldn't resist the magnetic pull that drew me to him.
Before I could answer, Hector moved away from me. Kicking off my high heels, I circled around his gym. I pulled on a pair of boxing gloves and then strode back towards him.
"Let's fight," I challenged.
Hector turned around, eyeing me sternly before beginning to walk away. My pulse quickened at his rejection.
"Don't walk away from me," I commanded, my tone firm. "Come on!"
Hector ignored me, continuing to strip off his own gloves and move towards the door.
I quickened my steps, stopping him before he left the room. Landing a solid punch to his side, I forced him to stop and turn back towards me. Anger roiled in his dark eyes, and then suddenly his arms were around me, pinning me in a vise-like grip I couldn't escape.
"YOU'RE. PLAYING. WITH. FIRE!" Each word came out as a groan, pronounced with a lethal intensity.
I delivered another strong punch to his left side. This time, Hector winced in pain, his eyes narrowing as he glared at me.
But I could see a spark of something else in his eyes, a primal hunger that matched my own.
"Don't lose focus. That's rule number one," I smirked, getting into position.
In a swift move, he closed the distance between us and wrapped his arms around me. I could feel the heat of his breath on my neck, his powerful frame pressing me against his chest.
"You're tempting fate," he repeated, his words emphasized by the fierce grip he held on me.
I struggled to break free, but Hector's strength was overwhelming. He was in control, and I couldn't help but feel a thrill at his dominance.
In a swift motion, he broke away from me and reached for his own pair of boxing gloves. He met me on the sparring mat, his eyes dark with a mix of anger and desire.
This was the only way I knew how to vent his frustration... the frustration I had stirred.
I launched a series of punches at Hector, but his agility and finesse were so remarkable that it made me, a seasoned professional, feel like an amateur. I was beyond impressed by the way he effortlessly dodged my blows.
Hector's every movement on the mat was poised and precise. He met every one of my punches with a sleek block, heightening my frustration. His eyes glittered with amusement at my failed attempts, only spurring my determination.
Even though he had yet to land a punch, I was starting to feel exhausted.
"What's wrong? Tired already?" Hector taunted me with a smirk.
Riled up, I aimed a lower punch at his right side, knowing his towering height would make his face a hard target, only for him to elegantly evade it and instantly exploit a weak point in my stance. His punch toppled me over but in the tumble, I yanked his shorts, dragging him down alongside me.
I landed hard on the mat, Hector sprawling on top of me.
Our bodies intertwined, we lay panting, chests heaving in a rhythm echoing the echoes of our violent match. Hector was as dominant as I had imagined, dark grey eyes intense and hard.
Suddenly, I could feel the adrenaline wane, giving way to another palpable energy. Our lips met, my senses sparked, his scent of sandalwood and something uniquely him swirled in my nostrils. His warm skin against mine and his powerful arms around me sent shivers down my spine, the sudden shift in the mood filling me with intense longing.
He claimed my lips, demanding and harsh. Every moment with him was fire and thunder. His hard body against mine sent delicious tingles across my skin and when he started leaving fiery kisses along my neck, I gasped and tangled my fingers in his dark hair, urging him closer.
Slowly, with one hand still pressing down against me, he pushed away my disheveled hair and whispered into my ear. His deep voice sending chills running through my veins.
"You play dirty... and I love it," he growled, igniting an overwhelming desire within me.
My heart pounded in my chest. No longer because of our spar, but due to his closeness. Hector pinned me to the ground with ease, one strong arm keeping me from breaking away. Yet I didn't want to escape anymore.
"I can feel your heart racing. I can feel your desire for me and it drives me wild," he murmured in my mouth, hands gripping the sides of my waist.
I smirked, my tongue lightly grazing his teeth. "Is this fiery enough for you?" I whispered, pulling away just enough for him to feel my words.
He chuckled against my skin, seemingly enjoying my sudden eagerness.
With each breath, each kiss, each burning touch, Hector awakened something within me that made my blood rush in my veins. And as his dark, alluring gaze bore into mine, a realization hit me - this wasn't a game anymore.