Alessandro DeLuca

CHAPTER TWELVE – MILA

Four days. Four days since I screwed up and moved too fast. Anxious to get the names of the men responsible for destroying my life, I acted out of desperation.

Tears prick my eyelids as I think about what I’ve done. Yes, it was physically satiating and, at the time, emotionally too. But when we finished, Alessandro wasted no time getting dressed and disappearing.

He left me so confused. On the one hand, he talked about owning a woman and making her his, yet, on the other hand, when I gave myself to him, he pushed me away. Resentment floods me as I think about how I threw myself at him and got nothing in return.

At least, not what I anticipated. Answers. That’s what I sought. There was no pillow talk afterward or deep conversation. Alessandro quickly dressed and left because he had some “business” to take care of.

I haven’t seen or spoken to him since then. I haven’t missed a night at his club, but he has, or he’s remained hidden. Several shopping excursions and wandering the area near his villa yielded no sights of the elusive man.

Every afternoon, I return to my rental and work out, preparing for the moment when I will meet my enemies. I fueled my anger by looking at pictures of Carlo and Zoe. I watched old videos, called Carlo’s phone, and listened to the sound of his voice again.

All things that I’d been told in therapy were unhealthy. But what was I supposed to do? The people I want to take my anger out on are faceless and nameless.

My father taught me early on the importance of teaching your enemies a lesson when they cross you. I’ve seen him torment men and women for crossing him up, and I’ve even witnessed him murder a man unbeknownst to him.

I’ve even seen my mother kill a man. I was just a teenager when our home was broken into. The man was a member of my father’s crew and knew my father would be out of town.

When his robbery turned violent towards my mother, she pulled out a knife she kept sheathed on her thigh and stabbed him to death.

That was when my parents decided to hire a man to train me in combat and the use of weaponry. They were both terrified that something could happen to me if they weren’t around. I’ve never had to use those skills, but somehow I imagine they won’t fail me when I do.

I miss my parents, but I know I cannot visit them or contact them until my enemies die.

I just want to hear their voices, kiss their faces, and feel their arms around me one more time. That would be enough. But I can’t. I have to remain in hiding a little while longer.

Soon, this would all come to an end.

I can’t imagine my parents' pain, thinking they had lost me, Carlo, and Zoe. Losing the three of us in one blow had to be devastating to them.

Tears gather in the corners of my eyes as I think about this.

Alessandro’s absence has reminded me that I’ve left myself vulnerable, which was never a part of the deal. I realize that I haven’t thought much about my husband since I was with Alessandro, which bothers me.

Closing my eyes, I try to conjure Carlo’s face. I desperately need to recall the moments we shared. Treasuring those memories is all I have of our lives together.

I remember the last time my husband, Carlo, and I made love. I think about how it was three nights before he was so viciously murdered on the night of what was our seventh anniversary. I had so much planned for us that night, including sexing my husband out of his mind. He needed something to get his mind off the issues with the vineyard.

Pushing those thoughts from my mind, I recall how Carlo always took his time kissing me from my forehead down to my eyelids, nose, and then mouth. He always took his time with my mouth as though he were making love to it.

I feel the faint stirrings in my belly as I remember how he touched my breasts, my clit, and how he would slide himself inside of me. I slide my fingers across each breast, taking time to caress my nipples tenderly.

My hands trail down to my belly and then between my legs. I’m wet, and it has nothing to do with the bath beads or water.

Carlo was such a gentleman when it came to making love. He was always tender and gentle with me. Alessandro is the complete opposite.

A man like him is incapable of tenderness. He can only satisfy his own needs and not give a damn about a woman's emotions.

I slide deeper into the tub, parting my legs as I slide my fingers across myself again, teasing me, causing my breath to hitch in anticipation the moment my fingers cross that sacred barrier.

And when they do, I moan loudly. I am not embarrassed at the sound I make because I know no one can hear me.

Thrusting three fingers in and out of me, I jerk my hips forward awkwardly in the confines of the tub. My pleasure hikes up a couple of notches as I rub my thumb against my clit. My speed picks up as I add another finger inside me until my hand is fisted, bumping against my vulva.

The deeper my fingers go, the more difficult it is to stop as I imagine Carlo driving himself inside me. I recall how his breathing would ramp up, and he’d grit his teeth when he was just on edge. I remember how his strokes would smooth themselves out and become an even tempo with a steady rhythm near the end as though he were pacing himself.

I rock my hips back and forth as I pinch my nipple with my other hand, but the deeper this intense feeling grows, the more Carlo’s face fades, and in its place is Alessandro DeLuca’s.