Consumed by Desire: A Dark Mafia Romance

I blink back tears and try to imagine how Papa has survived so long with this hurting him, but my papa, he’s made of ironwood and steel. He’ll continue on, so long as he can, but I understand why he never told me this story before. In his mind it’s a failure.

I leave his study and as I step into the hall, my back pocket vibrates. I’m surprised—I didn’t think I’d get service internationally. But then I remember I’m on Papa’s Wi-Fi, and when I take my phone out, my entire body feels like ice crawls across every inch of my skin.

It’s a message from Casso.

I’m coming for you, wife. Don’t move.

Chapter 24

Casso

I drive through the night stopping only to refuel the car, buy some food, and get more espresso. I’m wired when the GPS leads me along a bumpy stone-strewn road to a large gate guarded by four armed men. “Tell Senor Cuevas that Casso Bruno is here to see his wife.” The soldiers call up to the main house via handheld radio before waving me through.

The property is lovely, I have to admit it. Almost as nice as Villa Bruno, though different. Cuevas’s place is Spanish-style with whitewashed walls and tightly joined stones dotting the façade, sweeping arches and wind-blown trees. A fountain gurgles nearby sputtering water across a basin. I wonder how many days of rain they get and would bet it’s less than a dozen, and still it’s halfway to verdant.

I park beside an SUV I recognize: it’s the car Olivia must’ve taken. I try to imagine how the drive down here felt for her, but it only makes my blood boil with anger and I banish all thoughts.

She left me. She abandoned me when I needed her the most, and as much as I hate her right now, as much as I despise her, she is still mine and I will not give her up so easily.

Stones crunch underfoot. Her father comes out to greet me. It’s just past eight in the morning local time and I’m in a foul mood. I must look even worse, unshaven, rumpled clothing, bleary eyes. Senor Cuevas says nothing about that. He looks almost as bad as I feel, like he didn’t get much sleep either. “Hello, Casso.” He shakes my hand firmly, his face grim. “I just want you to know that I didn’t tell her to come. I had no idea she was on her way.”

“I know,” I say, nodding slightly. Gerardo Cuevas is a snake and a dangerous man, but he’s not a stupid one. He’d never willingly bring his daughter home and defy our arrangement, not when it’s so new and he’s already beginning to profit nicely. He needs this business more than I do. “But I need to see her.”

“She’s still asleep. I don’t think she slept at all between leaving your house and driving here.” He hesitates as if wondering if he should speak the obvious aloud. “You look as though you haven’t either.”

“My brother’s lying in a hospital bed in a coma right now, half dead. I left last night at half past two. No, Gerardo, I didn’t sleep on my way down here. I want to see my wife.”

He nods, keeps nodding, like that’ll appease me. “You’re welcome to her. I can show you to the room.”

“Coffee first,” I say because I need something to buoy me against the blackness that’s tugging at my heart, and because the stuff I drank on the way down here was like mud and left a foul taste in my mouth. “For the both of us. Please.”

He leads me in through a large entry hall and into a comfortable sitting room. An older woman comes with two large mugs of dark, rich coffee, and I take them both. Gerardo tries to convince me to sit and drink first, but I insist on seeing Olivia right away, and so he shows me to her room. It’s toward the back of the house with a nice light gray door. The place is quiet, hushed, but I feel the thrum of life nearby, like it knows I’m here and it’s hiding from me.

“Thank you, Gerardo. No matter what happens with your daughter, I won’t forget this.”

He looks almost grateful as he leaves. I prop a mug under my arm and get the door open before shuffling into the room and shutting it behind me.

It’s smaller than back home. A sitting area on the left, lots of books, lots of blankets, and several large windows. A dresser, a closet, a television, and the bed on the right. It’s a wide mattress, piled with more blankets and pillows, and her hair is a small dark spray toward the top. Her back’s to me and I stare at the line of her curves and her hips beneath the light top sheet, and I can feel her breath against my neck, her heartbeat against my back, and the warmth of her skin beneath my palms. I yearn for her body in my bed, but I’m shaking with anger and the coffee’s nearly spilling. I put her mug down on the bedside table and stand by the window, sipping mine.