He left Silvio to care for the dog, got back in his car and rolled up to the house, thoughts slowly crystal izing to intent. Of course, this would change absolutely everything, and he still balked at the thought of doing it.
He went straight to the kitchen and corralled the ingredients he needed from the fridge and cupboards and veggie baskets.
The sound of heels on the terracotta flooring told him Donata was approaching. He looked up just as she was coming around the corner.
She surveyed the food on the table with a critical eye. “Lasagna?”
“Well, it’s reasonably low carb . . .”
She looked at him, came closer, picked up some tomatoes as if checking their ripeness. “Who’s going to eat all this?”
“I’m hoping Silvio will help. It’s his birthday, you know.”
“I didn’t,” she said neutrally. Almost like idle curiosity. A good sign? She put the tomato down. “What did you get him?”
“A dog. Golden retriever. His was run over when he was young, so I figured . . .”
“You’re such a fixer.” She smiled at him, sadly and fondly, and it clenched his heart. “I always thought it was one of your best qualities, your fixing of problems.”
“I’m still a boss.”
“You’re also good at it.” She looked at him, expectantly. It was his cue, he realized. She gave him a moment longer, arranging knives and cutting boards and bowls to mix the various sauces around him.
“It’ll be easier if you help me fix this.”
Donata nodded and handed him an apron. He took off his jacket, hung it up and slipped the loop over his head, then tied the strings behind himself. “Are you okay with him coming to dinner?”
“Sure. If he’s going to be your regular lover.”
The offhanded tone caught him on the wrong foot. “I’m not planning to have any irregular lovers. It’s . . . I’m not going to go out there and have sex with random strangers.”
“If you do, I hope you’re wearing a condom.” She started preparing the tomatoes.
“What’s going on?” He glanced at her, but her gaze was on the tomatoes. “Are you really okay with all this?”
Or have you given up on
our marriage?
Was she pushing him away to sleep with men?
“I talked to my Uncle Davide. His partner is bisexual, but apparently lately hasn’t had any outside interests. But then, both are older than sixty now.”
Stefano’s heart was beating up to his throat. “What did he say?”
“He said, honey, enjoy your sexually adventurous husband.”
“You told him I’m . . .”
“I needed somebody to talk to,” she snapped.
“Fine. All right.”
“He also said that for bisexuals, it’s two totally different things, a man and a woman. According to him, you’re not actually cheating on me with a man, you’re just letting your other side have some play.”
Why, then, did it feel like cheating?
“He said that?”
“That, and that I shouldn’t force you to choose. Sometimes, you’ll feel more like this, other days, more like the other.”
“Yeah. I don’t know. I’ve thought a lot about it, and I’m not sure how other people handle this, but . . . yeah. I still lied to you. By omission. And I’m sorry.”
She pressed her lips together, her calm shaken for a long moment.
He wanted to pull her close and whisper to her all those things he loved saying. How she made his life so much better, that they belonged together, that he loved her and nothing would ever change that. But that would be pressuring her, and he doubted she’d accept that closeness now.
“I was a coward. I just couldn’t face it.”
She put her hands down on the work surface, arms stiff and shoulders pulled up, and looked to the ceiling, head tilted like she did when she was fighting tears.
“I’m sorry, Donata. You deserve better.”
She sighed and shot him a glance, eyes swimming, but clear. “I considered divorce, you know. But you mean too much to me.”
Stefano gulped down the lump in his throat. Thankfully, preparing lasagna gave them both plenty of opportunity to look at their hands or pause and think for a moment under the pretext of doing something else. They did make a great team, though, always had. “I’m glad you’re staying. I wouldn’t have been happy.”
“No, that’s what I understand now, too. It took me a while. You can actually love two people. And it’s not like I didn’t experiment with girls.”
“You did?”
“I went to a Catholic al -girls school. Of course my first crush was a girl. There weren’t any boys around.”
“What was she like?”
“A tomboy, a can-do kind of person. Short hair. Very self-confident. She did tell me she loved me, but that was when things got a bit too much for me. I liked all the rest well enough, but I didn’t want to get all serious about it. I always wondered if she moved on to become a lesbian, whether she ended up hating me, or thought me a coward for not giving it a shot.” She leaned on the counter. “So, in some ways, maybe I do understand you better than I thought. I still think a woman is a beautiful thing, but I always figured you’d bring up the idea of a threesome with another girl first.”
Stefano chuckled. “I didn’t want to piss you off with that.”
“You wouldn’t have. I’m totally game.”
Stefano put his knife down for a moment, because he’d definitely chop his fingertips off it the conversation continued in that vein. But not only that. She wouldn’t be telling him this if she was planning to walk out on him. They were sharing things again; the wall she’d put up was gone. She’d forgiven him, and this was her way of showing it.
“If there’s a girl you’re into, feel free to bring her home.” Did that sound like he was indulging her? He’d love watching her with another woman, no doubt about that, and if she enjoyed that too, no reason not to do it. But really, he couldn’t think of any better way to tell her how grateful he was that she’d forgiven him.
They continued to prepare food while the silence lingered between them. By the time they’d started layering the ingredients in the lasagna pan, he was calming down a little and felt a lot more optimistic about the whole thing. As long as his marriage would be all right, he could face whatever else was going to happen. “You know, I didn’t think I could love you more, but I do.”
She sighed and put her arms on his shoulders. “We’re all not perfect, Stefano, but that’s why we talk. I’m lucky that you’re good at talking, rather than keeping all this hidden.”
“It would have eaten me alive.”
“I know. Do you sleep better now at least?”
“Ah. There’s . . . other stuff we need to deal with.”
“How bad?”
“Pretty bad. I mean,
really
bad.” He sat down on a stool and placed one hand on her hip. “There’s a US Attorney on my back, and he has enough to work it.” He’d keep it to the sanitized version.
Neither Silvio nor she needed to know that the man was working the gay angle. “I could fight him. I’d have to fight him with an outfit that’s already mutinous anyway. Silvio’s heard talk of them getting rid of me.”
“Oh my God, really? Who’s behind it? Augusto?” She looked worried, disturbed, but not scared.
“He’s the ring leader, yes.”
“And he has enough support?”
“Well, he’s feeling secure enough in this that he’s attempted to hire Silvio to kill me.”
Her lip curled in disgust. “Traitor.”
“Quite.” Stefano touched her hand. “I could invite him over and shoot him myself. Or have Silvio do it and get rid of the body. But that might not resolve it. I know it’s what I should do and what my father would have done . . .”
“Stefano, you always loathed your father.”
Those words cut deep, right to the marrow, and he reeled. His father had pushed him into this position, had prepared him for it, had turned him into a made man, him and his friends. And he’d just accepted it, desperate not to disappoint and more desperate to be seen as a real man, because that was what real men did. They became criminals, wrote their own rules, killed people.
Stefano stared at his own hand for a moment, remembered what it had felt like: the shock from the pistol, the way the kneeling figure had col apsed, a bag over his head.
Now you are a man.
“God, you’re right.”
She looked at him with an ironic curl to her lip. “You’re only realizing that now?”
“No, about . . . everything.” The Marino clan. Absolutely everything he’d lived for, killed for, devoted himself to and would get killed for unless he found a way out. It wasn’t even his family. It was very much what his father had built, and
his
father before him.
“We could be free of all of this, Donata. If we were prepared to let it all go. There’ll be still enough money I legally own. We’d be all right, definitely for a while. We’d just walk away.”
She nodded. “I married you, not your job or your friends and associates.”
“What about your family?”
She shrugged but inhaled deeply, betraying the difficulty of that decision. “I’m not going to watch you get murdered.”
Which was a very real possibility. The attorney had given him a week. He’d call him tomorrow. He could do this now; as long as Donata had his back and stood by him, he’d be fine. He felt guilty that he’d tear her from her family and friends, but so relieved she’d chosen him over everybody else.
He started when Silvio appeared in the archway. No footfalls, just Silvio’s silhouette manifesting in the corner of his eye. He squeezed Donata’s arm and stood up. “I’ll go fetch some wine.”
He walked past Silvio, who wore black jeans and a black running top that clung to him so tight Stefano could see his six-pack underneath. “Sit down, relax. It’s your birthday,” he said low, but still loud enough for Donata to hear him, and touched Silvio on the shoulder. “It’ll be all right,” he promised, and to prove it, he tilted Silvio’s head toward him and kissed him on the lips. Silvio frowned, questioningly, but didn’t do anything else.
Stefano hurried down to the wine cellar and came back up, worried what might have happened in the meantime.
Apparently, nothing much. Donata was setting the table. Silvio stood near, but not too close, observing, like he often did, seemingly aware of everything, ready to respond at any moment. Looked like Donata hadn’t made an attempt at conversation, either.
Stefano set the bottles down on the table. “The food will take a while. How’s the dog?”
“Ate so much he almost col apsed in the bowl.” Silvio grinned, oddly boyish, and way too cute for a killer. “I . . . was surprised when you brought him, but . . .” He shrugged, as if wrestling for words.
“Thanks.”
“Glad you’re okay with doing walkies for the rest of the dog’s life.” And, damn, but that also chained Silvio to the house more than before. He couldn’t just up and leave, unless he took the dog with him. It made casual hookups not impossible, but maybe short-lived.
He hadn’t considered it, but the thought was more than welcome now.
Silvio nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on him.” Something solemn about those words—did Silvio blame himself for the death of his previous dog? So much he didn’t know, didn’t yet understand about Silvio, but the more time he spent with him, the more human Silvio became. Sometimes, he even fooled himself into believing he might know what Silvio would do next.
Donata put together a quick salad, just green leaves and oil and vinegar with salt and pepper, barely enough to wake up the taste buds.
“How old are you now?” Donata asked.
“Twenty-five.” Silvio frowned. “Not sure if I like it yet.”
“That’s when I started to doubt just about everything in my own life. Things like what I wanted to do and who I wanted to be. First midlife crisis. Once I hit thirty, I’d left all that behind me.”
Silvio half-smiled. “Never expected to get that old. Thirty is old.
Twenty-five feels old. I’ve always felt old.” He stood in the center of the room, looking unspeakably forlorn.
Stefano stepped up and put his hands on Silvio’s shoulders. His muscles were all hard and locked. “Relax.”
Silvio leaned closer, murmured close to his ear, “Can you tie me up?”
Stefano’s heart almost jumped out of his chest; his grip tightened.
“Later.” Now. He wanted that, his own tension responding to Silvio as their bodies built that charge that was nearly always there. Impossible to look at him, to touch him, to see any openness or vulnerability about him without thinking of sex. What he looked like when he came, when he lost himself, chasing pleasure with the same intensity and single-mindedness that he pursued a mark. “I’ll take care of you.”
Silvio sighed.
Stefano pressed up against him, held him tight across the chest with one arm, then reached up and covered his eyes with one hand.
He felt Silvio’s arm muscles tense and flex and relax, as if he were weighing his options to break free. This was something that always stood in the room, that Silvio not only knew how to kill, but would do it in an instant to protect himself, like he had with Diego Carbone.
Stefano looked over Silvio’s shoulder to Donata, who looked intrigued, then gave him a nod. And even a smile. He gulped against the lump in his throat, then kissed the side of Silvio’s long neck, a sucking, gentle kiss with just a scrape of teeth. Silvio shivered with pleasure. Stefano tilted Silvio’s head back until it rested against his shoulder, and noticed Donata coming closer on her toes, no clack-clack of heels giving her away. From the tense vibration in Silvio’s body, he figured Silvio was aware, too.
Touch him. Touch him all over. Touch him like you own him.
Stefano paused to watch her, but he wasn’t prepared for the jolt when Silvio started at Donata kissing him on the lips. Stefano held him tighter, aware of how helpless he’d feel, restrained and blinded.
Silvio’s hands were free, though, and he felt Silvio’s palm cover his groin and rub his dick. Maybe that gave Silvio a bit of control back, the fact that he could tease while being teased. Or maybe Silvio was just into giving pleasure.