Sweet Prison: Chapter 15

I descend the ornate stairway and take a look around. Massimo mentioned that the temp workers from the staffing agency would be arriving at eight. It’s almost time, but he doesn’t seem to be anywhere in sight. The small sitting area on one side of the stairs seems empty. I turn in the other direction and head across the enormous dining room that’s occupied by a table long enough to seat sixteen people easily. The exterior wall is made up of floor-to-ceiling windows facing the garden. At one point, the view must have been magnificent, especially the winding vines of jasmine spilling from atop the iron arches over a quaint outdoor nook. Currently, however, the grounds are overgrown and filled with weeds.

The far end of the room leads to a small square space that separates the dining hall from the kitchen, which I spot past the open anteroom door. As soon as I cross the kitchen doorway, I stop dead in my tracks.

Standing by another wall made up of big windows, in the brilliant glow of the morning light shining through the glass, is Massimo. He has his back turned to me while he gazes at the backyard. And he’s dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and nothing else.

Every single inch of his upper body is covered in ink. A mix of black and colorful designs wraps over his impossibly wide back, then flows across his broad shoulders and down his muscular arms, all the way to his fingers. It’s hard to pinpoint where one image ends and the other starts, as each seems to bleed into the next.

My hand flies to my chest as if that would prevent my wildly beating heart from punching its way out of my ribcage. I haven’t had a lot of opportunities to see shirtless men. In school, occasionally, some of the guys would pull off their shirts after soccer practice, and there was that one time I helped Nera clean the blood off Kai when he was wounded, but that’s it. Generally, men never held my interest anyway. Men who aren’t Massimo, that is.

“Good morning,” I croak when I finally find my voice.

Massimo turns around, and I can see that his front is tattooed, as well. “Hey. Sleep well?”

“Yeah, sure,” I lie. I barely slept a wink, tossing and turning and thinking about him.

The hours we spent perusing reno companies’ sites in the parlor last night, almost left me tachycardic. My heart was racing rapidly the entire time as adrenaline coursed through my system. That stupid muscle inside my chest couldn’t deal with his close proximity. Just as it’s having a hard time doing now.

Massimo crosses the distance between us with slow, soundless steps. His feet are bare, and, for some reason, that only makes him hotter. “Do you want me to fix you some breakfast?”

I blink. Massimo Spada, the man who’ll imminently be crowned Don of Boston Cosa Nostra, is offering to make me breakfast? “Um… I’m not really hungry. I think.”

He lifts his hand, and, for a moment, I think he’s going to touch my face again, but he just braces it on the doorframe. His deep, dark eyes capture me, while the force of his presence seeps into my bones. Envelops me inside and out.

Unsettling me, all the same.

The few minutes I did sleep last night, I dreamed about him. We were alone in a parlor, and he was holding me tucked closely to his side. The roaring fireplace warmed my skin while Massimo whispered in my ear. Quiet words I have craved for so damn long. How I’m the only one who understands him. His kindred spirit. And how he couldn’t wait to be set free, all so he could come to me, and we could be together.

My gaze glides down his sculpted, inked chest, soaking in the sight. There is a faint tingling between my legs that I’ve never experienced before. Like… an aching need. Oh my God, I’m getting turned on. I press my thighs together, hoping it will make the feeling go away. It doesn’t. The ache only gets stronger.

I’ve never had sex, haven’t even wanted to, never so much as had a man touch me down there. But I want Massimo to.

I’ve been suppressing my feelings for such a long time. This yearning has plagued me for years. And also, the chest-tearing guilt for caring for him as I do, all the while knowing it’s wrong. Between my affection and my guilty conscience, there’s fear—dread that he’ll reject me if he ever finds out. The sheer torment of imagining what people will say when they realize I’m in love with my stepbrother. I’m already a pariah as it is.

Is it really that bad, though? After all, it’s not like we’re related through blood. How can something that feels so right, be wrong?

“Why do you do that?”

I freeze, while my heart hammers wildly. “Do what?”

“Pull on your sleeve.” Massimo cocks his head, lowering his gaze. “You were doing that the whole evening yesterday.”

I let go of the cuff immediately. “Just a habit. I… I don’t like my hands to show.”

“Why?”

“Because people tend to stare.”

I didn’t think my heart could possibly beat faster than it already does, but as his fingers wrap around my wrist, it nearly bursts inside its protective cage. Breath catches in my lungs as Massimo raises my hand, bringing it up between us for a close look.

“I see why they would do that.” His voice turns raspy while he lightly strokes the skin of my palm with his thumb. “You have beautiful hands, Zahara.”

A pleasant shiver rushes down my spine from just that slightest touch. And I want more.

I want to feel his touch everywhere. I want kisses… and everything else. To be close to him, and know him carnally just as intimately as I know his mind. I’ve been such a chicken for so long, too scared to ask for what I want. Not willing to take the risk of giving voice to my desires, all for fear of ridicule. That’s not who I’d like to be anymore.

Reaching out with my free hand, I press my palm to Massimo’s stomach. His nostrils flare as he draws in a sharp breath. Those stunning eyes peer into mine with such intensity, that my knees begin to shake. He doesn’t move a muscle, just watches me while still holding my other hand in his own, cradled in those huge inked fingers.

“Zahara?” A question. His tone conveys confusion as his eyes search for… something.

“Yes?” I bite my bottom lip and slide my palm a little lower.

Warm breath fans my skin as Massimo bends toward me. His nose nudges the hair at the top of my head, and I hear him inhale. This close, I can feel the heat of his body and smell the scent that’s purely his. Towering above me, he’s an imposing figure, still clutching the doorway with his unoccupied hand. Another deep draw of air, and then he releases his grip on the jamb and places his palm on my hip. Slowly, he starts sliding it down to my ass cheek and—

“Jesus fuck!” Massimo abruptly steps back, away from me. The look in his eyes is frantic. His chest rises and falls with jerky movements as he glares down at me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay, I—”

“It most definitely is not okay.” He grabs the back of his neck with his interlaced fingers and shakes his head. “Shit! What the fuck is wrong with me?” He takes a deep breath and meets my stare. “Goddammit. You’re my stepsister. I’m so sorry, Zahara. This won’t happen again.”

I squeeze the cuff of my long sleeve and look away. Yeah. Of course it won’t happen again. As if someone like him would ever be attracted to someone like me.

The ring of the doorbell breaks the silence.

“That must be your household staff. I’ll let them in,” I mumble and run away.

***

Sitting across from me and Massimo, the reno company’s consultant, Mr. Jeffrey King, looks up from his tablet and smiles.

“I’ve jotted down all of your requests and I’m happy to say we can take on this project. The timelines might need to stay a little flexible to accommodate all the variables, however, we should be able to finish the job within two months.”

I steal a quick look at Massimo. He’s leaning back with an arm laid over the back of the couch and glaring at the rep.

“I need it to be done by Thursday.”

The man nearly chokes and shifts uncomfortably. “I am truly sorry, Mr. Spada, but the earliest I can have someone here is tomorrow, and it’s absolutely impossible to complete the renovation of a house this size in five days. Even if I could bring all of our teams onto this project simultaneously, we will still need at least six weeks.”

Massimo’s facial expression transforms from bored indifference to a menacing scowl. He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and gets into the guy’s face. “I said, I want it done by Thursday.”

“I completely understand your frustration, Mr. Spada, we simply can’t—”

Massimo’s hand shoots out, and his fingers wrap around King’s throat. “I don’t think you understand,” he growls as he pulls the man toward him.

Grabbing Massimo’s knee, I give it a little squeeze. “Maybe they could push it a bit and get it done in a month. Would that work?”

Massimo’s hold on the consultant’s neck loosens, but he doesn’t release him. “No. The Council meeting is scheduled for Thursday evening.”

“Then, we’ll have the workers overhaul the ground floor first so it will be finished by Wednesday night.” I shift my focus to Mr. King. “Is that doable?”

The poor man is tugging on Massimo’s thick wrist with both of his hands, trying to free himself, while his eyes flit between me and Massimo. “Absolutely. No problem at all.”

“Thank you.” I squeeze Massimo’s knee again. “Let him go.”

The moment Massimo releases the rep, the man scrambles to his feet and hightails it. I wait to hear the telltale slam of the front door, then cross my arms under my chest and turn toward Massimo. He’s staring at the floor between his feet but otherwise appears unaffected by what just happened.

“I think we need to talk about the elephant in the room.”

His jaw hardens. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do. Last night, when you exploded at the cleaning crew, I thought you were merely stressed. Then, this morning, you lost your cool during the staff interviews. And now this.”

The fiasco with the job candidates that the staffing agency sent over was epic. Massimo started questioning them about all sorts of bizarre things, including how well they could handle firearms. Saying that most of the people were shocked, is an understatement. And when every one of them withdrew their application and asked to leave, Massimo exploded.

“I sometimes have a hard time controlling my temper. That’s all,” he says with a shrug.

“Well, you’ll have to start managing it better or the capos are going to bury you.”

His head snaps up, eyes finding mine.

“You know I’m right,” I continue. “No matter how good you are at handling the Family business, if anyone thinks that you’re mentally unstable, you’re done. All the work you’ve put in over the years will be for nothing.”

He doesn’t say a thing, just watches me with a haunted look in his eyes. And I… I just want to embrace him and tell him that everything will be okay. But he was more than clear this morning. He doesn’t see me the same way I see him, and there’s nothing I can do about that. I can’t make him fall in love with me. Still, I’ve chosen to stay with him regardless.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

“That I’m royally fucked-up? Would you have agreed to come with me if I had?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Because I’m in love with you. I can’t tell him that, so I aim to redirect. “I’m going to call some of the people who worked for us at Dad’s house and ask them to come by. There were a few reliable ones at Leone’s, as well.”

“No. I don’t trust them.”

“But you’d trust total strangers?” I lift an eyebrow. “I understand you’re being extra cautious, especially with Armando getting killed while locked up in Leone’s basement. However, you’re aware of what happened this morning. You need to hire people from our world. Those who know to keep their mouths shut. And who can handle complicated employers.”

“Fine. Only the ones you vouch for, though.”

I nod. “By the way, what happened with Armando’s body?”

“I had Salvo take care of it.” He throws me a sideways look. “What happened with the pantsuit you made for his mother? The one with the green velvet thing on the shoulder. Did she wear it?”

“I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Remember it?” His lips pull into a smirk. “I had nightmares about the blasted thing. The hidden zipper. The underlining that had to be sewn inside out. You wrote about that damn garment in at least three of your letters. Maybe even four.”

I laugh. I’m amazed he actually remembers all those details.

Massimo’s eyes drop to my lips. “You should smile more often.”

My body goes still. “Why?”

“Because it makes the world seem like a nice place, for a change.”

I suck in a breath. Our gazes meet, and, for a scattering of heartbeats, we just stare into each other’s eyes. The moment seems to last forever, but even if that was true, it still wouldn’t be long enough. We both look away a fraction of a second later.

“I need to head over to the North End,” he says, eyes fixed on the unlit fireplace. “It’s Saturday, so most of the foot soldiers will be hanging out at their usual watering hole there.”

“You’re going to talk to them before meeting with the capos?”

“Those coddled old cronies are the ones who need words to be convinced. The men who risk their lives and bear most of the actual burden required for the Family to flourish don’t need long speeches. They judge people by their actions. The oath the soldiers took when they joined Cosa Nostra promises their freely given loyalty to the organization. But if a leader wants their respect, that’s something he’ll need to earn.” He looks at his wristwatch. “We should head out now.”

I blink. “We?”

“Armando’s death wasn’t self-inflicted. I’m not leaving you in an unguarded house alone, Zahara.”

A mirthless laugh escapes my lips. “No one would ever go to all that trouble just to kill me.”

Massimo’s hand shoots out so quickly that I nearly miss the movement. He grasps my chin with an unyielding yet gentle grip. The hard lines of his face draw near, and there’s a murderous look in his eyes that does funny things to my insides. “You’re going to point out anyone who has ever made you feel inferior, and I’m going to separate their heads from their spines.”

“It’s just… I’m hardly a threat to anyone, Massimo.”

A corner of his lips curves upward. “Only because they don’t yet realize what you are.”

“What?”

He leans in until his face is right in front of mine. “Just point a finger. And see what happens.”

Air gets trapped in my lungs as I watch the dangerous glint in Massimo’s eyes. He’s so close, and I battle the urge to stretch and press my lips to his. The distance between us is so small, that in a fraction of a heartbeat, I could be feeling the heat of his firm mouth on my own. I pull my lower lip between my teeth, biting it to stop myself from succumbing. Massimo tenses. His gaze drops down to my lips and lingers. Then, as fast as if he’d been burned, he releases my chin and straightens.

“We need to make a pit stop at the gas station on the way. I’ll go get my wallet.”

***

To celebrate birthdays and weddings, the Family usually prefers high-end restaurants around the city. However, for more intimate occasions, one of the cozy Italian-owned places in North End is usually a go-to choice.

The narrow alley where Massimo has parked his car has nothing in common with the colorful neighborhood I’m familiar with. There are no stores with trinkets in the windows, no happy people laughing as they walk by, and no enticing smells of Italian cuisine. Just a somber-looking taverna at the end of a deserted, dark lane. An old wooden sign above the door, so weathered by the elements that the name of the establishment isn’t even visible, is hardly a welcoming sight. The windows of the place are so grimy that even if the light inside was on, I still probably wouldn’t be able to see through them.

Standing on a sidewalk before this rather sketchy joint, I tuck myself closer to Massimo. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?”

“I’m not certain. Let’s check it out.” A mischievous grin pulls at the corner of his lips. “Can you whistle?”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Whistle?”

“Yes.”

“I guess. Want me to do it now?”

“Please. A long one, followed by two short bursts.”

I snort. Then, feeling like a complete idiot, I look at the door and whistle. One long, and after, two short, just like he said.

Nothing happens. Not that I expected anything different. “Now what? Should I try saying abracadabra?”

That grin lights up Massimo’s whole face, making him look much younger than he actually is. It happens every time he smiles. “Give it a few moments. Everyone usually uses the back entrance.”

“Give wha—”

A single low whistle comes from somewhere up above; a second-story window, I imagine. I glance at the upper level but see no one. After another few seconds, an audible click from the door makes me jump.

Massimo grabs the somewhat rusty knob and pushes the door open. The hinges protest with a strange, screeching sound.

“Watch your step,” he says and walks inside.

As soon as we enter, the door behind us shuts, sealing us in near-total darkness. Only faint light filters in through the dirty windows. The air is so stale that I can almost taste it on my tongue. It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust to being able to make out the interior. My heart pounds as I contemplate what we’ve gotten ourselves into. There is a bar to our left and a bunch of tables pushed against the wall on the opposite side of the room. The place looks like no one has been here in years.

Dust swirls in the air as Massimo moves to stand right in front of me. My nose itches from the particles floating around us and the faint smell of mold and… cigarette smoke.

“Scared?” Massimo asks, taking my hand in his.

“No. Should I be?”

I can’t really see his face, just a general outline of his body towering over me, but I hear his quiet chuckle. He takes a step back, pulling me with him. More dust rises as he urges me across the room, toward another door that comes into view in the far corner. I sneeze.

“Sorry about that.” His thumb brushes my pulse point, setting off a race of goose bumps up my arm. “Two more steps.”

The heel of my shoe catches on something, and I stumble forward. Immediately, two thick arms wrap protectively around me.

Warmth. It surges within my body like a current. Massimo’s chest rises and falls under my cheek while I listen to the steady beating of his heart. In the span of a thought, though, the rhythm changes, until it sounds like a runaway train. I close my eyes and simply take it in, all the while marveling at the sensuous heat coming from his body. And this sensation of being held in his embrace, even as I know it’s only accidental. A stolen moment. It lasts barely a few seconds, and then he steps away. Leaving me feeling cold without his arms around me.

“Everything okay?” His voice sounds clipped in the darkness.

“Yeah.”

I see him nod. He walks up to the door, reaching for the handle in front of him. Another click. Then, a sliver of light bursts through the gap, along with the noise of raucous conversations and ecstatic laughter.

“I know you believe that Cosa Nostra is all about lavish parties and intrigue,” Massimo says, sliding the door open and letting out more sounds and smells with every inch. “But it’s so much more, angel.”

My own silly heart skips a beat. Momentarily, I allow myself to believe that, what must have been a slip of the tongue, actually has a special meaning. That the endearment he casually threw out was just for me. That, maybe, that’s how he sees me.

“Come on.” Massimo pulls the door back completely and steps aside, revealing a view of total chaos. And life.

Dozens of people—mostly men—are gathered at small round tables crowded around the huge room. They all seem to be speaking at once. The noise is nearly deafening. Two waitresses wearing little white aprons over their short black skirts weave in and out among the seated, setting drinks down and slapping an occasional wandering hand away. At the center of the room, a group of six is playing cards, while several people stand around them. Laughter rings out from the lot as one of the men points to a laid-down hand. Next to the players, a couple of gray-haired old-timers engage in a verbal brawl. Their voices rise and rise as if trying to overcome the levels from the other tables. And in the middle of this all, a dog lies sleeping at the old guys’ feet, completely unperturbed by the noise.

The left side of the room has two pool tables, and there’s a crowd of about twenty huddled around them. The women seem more interested in flirting with the men than watching or playing a game. A classic jukebox occupies a nearby corner, and a middle-aged couple is dancing right beside it. Off to the side is a small bar top with four stools, yet there’s at least double that number of guys jammed in the space, doing shots and yammering excitedly at the woman making the drinks. All in all, it’s a typical Saturday evening at a neighborhood pub, but with one major difference: Every single man, including the old guys with the dog, is wearing a gun holster.

One of the men near the table playing cards looks up and his gaze zeros in on us standing at the threshold. It’s Peppe. I didn’t recognize him without his full suit and tie. His eyes flare in surprise when they register the huge presence standing at my back. Slowly, he straightens and lets out a short, shrill whistle. The conversations and laughter immediately die down, and someone kills the music. Dozens of eyes snap to Peppe, then follow his gaze back to us.

Massimo comes around me and steps inside the room. The sound of chairs scraping the floor fills the sudden silence as almost all of the men spring to standing. A few young guys remain in their seats, not for long, though. The more mature men nearby pull them up by the scruffs of their necks.

Massimo’s hand lands on my waist, drawing me into his side as his eyes rove over the hushed crowd. The awestruck eyes of nearly a hundred people stare back at him. The young guys seem confused, throwing quick glances around as if wondering what this abrupt commotion is about. The rest of the men, however, those who appear to be older than their midthirties, don’t shift their eyes from Massimo. Based on their expressions, they know who he is.

No one utters a word. The silence is so absolute it’s almost palpable. The air itself seems to crack as if charged. Massimo takes one last look at the men gathered in this room, then slowly nods. The motion is deliberate and seems to carry a message. What is it? Then, every single man who recognized him responds with a nod of his own. Dozens of heads move in unison, their timing is perfectly aligned.

Recognition. Loyalty. Respect. It’s written all over these guys’ faces. I can see the conviction in their eyes. No doubts, as if the certainty they feel is etched in stone. Regardless of who was in the official position of power all these years, these were—and still are—Massimo’s men. I can tell by the way they look at him. The sight is so astounding that it gives me chills.

“It’s good to see you all again,” Massimo says, then focuses on Peppe. “Eighteen men, split into two shifts. Armed with automatic weapons. I need them at my house within the hour.”

“Understood,” Peppe responds.

“Good.” Massimo’s hold on my waist tightens. “I’ll see the rest of you again next week.”

He turns us around, and a moment later, we’re heading once more through the dusty anteroom toward the exit, silence stretching at our backs. Still completely overwhelmed by what I witnessed inside that room, I don’t even notice as we step outside of the building.

“You still haven’t officially taken over,” I say as he opens the car door for me. “Capos won’t like that you’ve commandeered men to be your security detail before you’re sworn in as don.”

“Those damn cunts can suck my dick. And the security isn’t for me.”

“Then, what are they for?” I ask as I slide onto the seat.

Massimo squats beside me in the open car door. With his height, his face draws nearly level with mine. The look in his eyes appears almost feral. “You.”

My pulse shoots north of the stratosphere—my heart thunders in my chest so wildly it could burst from being so happy and full. Could he be—

“My stepsister’s safety will never again be endangered, Zahara.”

Crushed. His words obliterate me, grinding my stupid hope into a pile of dust.

I look away, staring through the windshield but not seeing a thing.

***

“You don’t like it?”

I resume picking at the noodles in the takeout container. “It’s fine.”

Massimo arches an eyebrow at me from the other side of the dining room table. “I can have one of the guys go pick up something else, if you want. I thought you liked Chinese?”

I do. I told him about my favorite foods in one of the letters, just like I spilled nearly everything else about myself.

My hand drifts to the chain around my neck, and I start fiddling with the links, twisting and running them through my fingers. It’s one of the platinum necklaces Massimo sent me. I was so damn excited when I opened the package, discovering it was jewelry and that it was from him. My God, the joy I felt, figuring it had to be proof that he does care for me. And he does, just not in the way I want him to. And it’s high time I accept it.

“The food is fine.” I gesture around the room with my chopsticks. “So, this space is really huge. Maybe you should consider modifying the floor plan?”

“Actually, I was thinking of using it as a meeting room. We can even leave this table and it’d double for formal dining. What do you think?”

“Um… it’s your house. Why would it matter what I think?”

A large tattooed hand enters my field of vision. Massimo’s thumb lifts my chin, tilting my face up. “Your opinion matters a great deal to me, Zahara. Or I wouldn’t be asking for it, would I?”

“I guess?” I mumble, fighting the pull of his magnetic gaze. It’s sucking me in, making me wish for things that will never be.

His forefinger lingers at the edge of my lower lip, the contact so light and gentle. My resolve crumbles, and I tilt my head to the side just a tiny bit, causing his finger to brush along my mouth.

Immediately, Massimo withdraws his hand and looks down at his food. “Did you chat with your sister? Where are the lovebirds hiding now?”

“I called her last night. They’re at Kai’s apartment for the time being. At least until they find somewhere they can keep ducks and horses.”

“Mm-hmm. I’d ask why, but I don’t really care. I assume she’s a bit perplexed over your decision to come with me?”

“Very. She questioned me about it.”

“And what did you say?”

I stare into my carton of food as if it holds the answer I need. Should I tell him the truth? That I’m in love with him and I want to be as close to him as possible. Even knowing these feelings are one-sided. No, I can’t. I don’t want him to think of me as pathetic. It’s enough that it’s how I see myself.

I push the food away and meet his eyes. “I told her that my life is my own and I don’t owe an explanation to anyone.”

That’s not actually true. I simply said I had my reasons and I’d explain everything when we meet face-to-face. There’s no point in lying to her any longer. I want to come clean, yet I need to do it when we’re alone. I miss when I could tell Nera anything.

“Ah. Then it was you who must have riled her up. Now it makes sense.” Massimo smirks.

“What do you mean?”

He takes out his phone and slides it across the table toward me. “Have a look at the email Salvo forwarded to me this morning. It’s Nera’s goodbye message to him and the other capos.”

I open the app and quickly locate the email he mentioned. It’s the latest in his inbox. There isn’t much in terms of the message content, barely two paragraphs of text. Once I’m done reading, I can’t decide if I should laugh or be horrified. Not only had my sister referred to the high-ranking Family members as whiny asshats, but she also told them to smarten up and follow the orders of their true leader. She declared her overwhelming excitement about passing the reins over to Massimo and proclaimed that it was actually he who had made every decision in the last two decades while the rest of them sat on their asses and got rich. With that, she expressed her deepest wish to never see their ugly mugs again and signed off with: Fuck you all! Nera Mazur.

I shake my head. As shocking as her message is, I’ve never been prouder of my sister. “Well, she was definitely fed up with all the crap they kept giving her. Especially Brio. What was the reaction after the bomb she dropped? Specifically, about you ruling from the shadows?”

“My phone started going off at six o’clock this morning. It’s hardly stopped since.”

“Oh, that’s what it must have been. I think I heard it. Were you passing by my bedroom door when they called?”

Massimo’s eyes dart away, and he peers intently at something that caught his attention out in the hall. “Yeah. I was… checking the interior access points.”

“Are you still having trouble sleeping?”

He looks at me then, his eyes boring into mine. “Nope. Not anymore.”