his confessions

FRANCESCA

MY HEAD RESTS on his chest as we lie in bed. It’s past midnight.

“Antonio,” I murmur into his chest.

He hums in response, his fingers gently playing with my hair.

“Do you know how the FBI found me?” I ask, my worry for our family seeping into my voice.

His hand stills for a moment before he answers. “Let me handle that.”

I don’t push him for more details. I understand him and I trust him to keep me out of it. I don’t want to be involved anyway.

“Should I be worried?” I ask, tracing circles on his chest.

He shifts under me, getting more comfortable. He wraps an arm around my shoulder. We’re not exactly dressed modestly.

He’s shirtless in sweatpants and I’m in my short red nightie.

“Just stay away from your friend Sophia,” he advises.

My hand freezes at his words. “What’s going to happen to her?” I ask.

“There is always a warning first,” he explains.

I’m not naive enough to ask more. I understand that I need to stay away from the business. That’s how it’s supposed to be. I take care of him, he takes care of the business.

Still, I can’t help but worry for Sophia. I really hope she doesn’t take the warning lightly. Warnings in the crime family can take many forms.

They might shoot at the house, break in, beat up the son of the family, or something similar. I guess it would be beating up Chris, her older brother, if they don’t back off.

“I don’t want you worrying about that. Have you had any contact with her again?” he asks, his hand rubbing my bare back, making me shiver involuntarily.

“No,” I assure him. “Not after she called me the last time.”

He pulls me closer. “The Magrittes won’t be spared if they don’t back off soon.”

“Are you mad?” I tilt my head up to look at his face. There’s a hint of stubble on his jaw that he’ll need to shave in the morning.

He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “No, just annoyed. But I think we underestimated the Magrittes. Sophia’s dad is a cop.

“He thought bugging your phone would help him. That’s illegal without a court order and he knows it.”

“Did you get him fired?” I already know the answer before he says it.

“Yes. I just blacklisted him. If he still doesn’t back off, there will be severe consequences,” he says calmly.

My eyes widen. “What about his family?”

Antonio’s face is impassive. “His wife and son can still work, and from what I’ve gathered, Sophia graduated university with a degree.”

I nod solemnly. At least they won’t end up on the streets. “Do you want me to tell Sophia to back off? I don’t want her involved,” I suggest, hoping he’ll agree.

Right now, I’m not just talking to my husband. I’m also talking to the Don of the Family. His opinion matters and if he says no, then I won’t object.

He’s not a fool and I trust his judgment.

“She’s already involved, especially since she helped her father pull that stunt. I must say, her acting was terrible.” I’m not even surprised that he heard my call. I expected him to.

“But I don’t want you involved and I mean it, Francesca,” he tells me seriously. I’m about to nod in understanding before he continues. “But if it comes to that, then yes, you will see her on our terms.”

A smile blooms on my face as I look up at him. “Thank you.”

He nods. He places one of his arms under his head while using the other to gently trace patterns on my spine. “How was your chat with ~N~onna~?” he asks, changing the subject.

I had forgotten about that. “It was good. I like her,” I tell him, smiling.

“What did she tell you?” he asks. Even with the peaceful look on his face and his casual tone, I know that he’s completely alert and carefully evaluating each of my answers.

“She talked to me about how to be a proper Donna. She gave me some tips,” I reply.

I want to ask him about his mother and why he killed her, but I decide against it. I know it would be a sensitive topic for him and I don’t want my curiosity to hurt him.

It’s in the past and I don’t want it to affect our future. He’s the Don. He must’ve had a good reason that I have no business knowing. And I don’t want to ruin this moment.

We matter more than mere curiosity.

“What is it?” he asks again. “What else did she tell you?”

I purse my lips. “Nothing important.”

“You’ve stiffened, ~bambola~,” he observes.

How does he notice everything?

“She told me you killed your mother, Bella,” I blurt out, knowing better than to lie. I can lie to anyone but him, because lying to him just feels wrong.

He opens his coal-black eyes and shifts to a sitting position. I sit up as well and prop myself up on my elbows. He leans against the headboard.

I can’t help but let my eyes trail down his naked chest before our eyes meet again and I feel my lips go dry. I have the sudden urge to lick his chest.

~What is wrong with me today?~

He beckons me closer with his eyes. I lay my head on his chest again and my hand falls on the nape of his neck.

He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me closer, so close that my whole body is leaning against him.

“I did.” He doesn’t deny it.

Now that the topic is already brought up, I ask my next question. “Why?”

The silence thickens. I can even hear the raindrops outside.

“Francesca, you never ask about my business. You stay out of it. You see, you hear, but you keep quiet,” he says, his words slow and deliberate. “Do you get that?”

I catch my breath. “I understand,” I reply. For some reason, I don’t apologize, even though I know I should. It’s strange. Not too long ago, I wouldn’t have dared to question him, but here I am, doing just that.

“Bella was my mother,” he reveals after a moment, catching me off guard. “She gave birth to my brothers and me. But she didn’t raise us. That was Rosemary, Alessia’s mother.”

I tilt my head up to look at him. His face is relaxed as he meets my gaze.

“I was only fourteen, Francesca, when I killed her,” he continues, his voice rough around the edges.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“She couldn’t take Father’s abuse or his scandalous behavior anymore. She was tired of it all, but I didn’t understand,” he says, his voice stiff. “Rosemary was like a real mother to me.”

My heart tightens in my chest. I can’t bear to see him like this. I reach out and take his hand. I know he’s strong, but I want him to know that I’m here, that I’m listening.

“Mother and Rosemary were best friends. She trusted Rosemary to raise us right, and she did. But everything changed when Mother found out Rosemary was pregnant with Father’s child—Alessia.

“Mother was a smart woman. She figured it all out and she’d had enough of being betrayed—of feeling stupid and weak,” he says, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. I see his Adam’s apple bob.

“Mother found a gun in the house. When I got home from school, she was pointing it at Rosemary. I grabbed another one from a nearby drawer. The guns were always loaded in our house.

“I don’t know if I knew that or not, but I knew I had to choose between Mother and Rosemary. Mother was about to pull the trigger and I had my gun aimed their way.”

“And then what happened?” I ask.

The rain outside stops. The yellow lamp next to us is the only light in the room. It casts shadows on his face as he looks down at me and sighs.

“Mother’s gun was empty. She was never going to kill Rosemary.” He looks me straight in the eyes as he says his next words. “She wanted me to kill her.”

“Her?”

“Rosemary. Mother was so sure that I wouldn’t kill my own mother, but I did. I was naive,” he admits.

“Why?”

He pulls me closer until I’m practically sitting in his lap. I adjust my position so that my legs are wrapped around him. If I move any closer, I’ll be pressed against his crotch.

“Rosemary left us soon after she saw me kill Mother. She was scared of me. That’s when ~Nonno~ and ~Nonna~ stepped in to raise us,” he says, his hands gently rubbing my arms as he looks deep into my eyes.

“To be the Don, you have to kill your best friend, who’s usually your rival. Rosemary and ~Nonna~ somehow convinced everyone that Mother was my best friend and I killed her to follow the rules.

“It worked out perfectly for Father. With Mother gone, he was free to parade his women around the Family. He didn’t bother looking into it any further, but he probably knows the truth.”

I rest my hands on his chest. “Why didn’t your father raise you?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

“He was a terrible don. He had no sense of time management. He was the one who let men disrespect women and messed up the codes.

“Why do you think your father treats you the way he does? He wasn’t put in his place when he should have been, and it gave other men the chance to assert their dominance.

“The people follow the king, and Father was the king,” he explains.

I can’t help but smirk at his words. I know he shouldn’t be criticizing the previous don, even if he’s not wrong.

I lean in and gently brush my lips against his ear, feeling goosebumps rise on his skin.

“And now you’re the king,” I whisper, my voice dropping to a breathy murmur.

He pulls me closer, tugging at my hair. I hiss at the sting, but it’s quickly forgotten as I lose myself in him.

This time, his touch is different.