Bellissimo Lotta (Beautiful Struggle): Companion Novel to Bellissimo Fortuna (The Family Trilogy Book 2) (24 page)

Chapter 22

Bianca

My mom moved . . . she deserves the happiness after losing her husband. She wasn’t happy leaving me, but I assured her it was fine. I was in Miami a weekend a month anyway; neither of us could keep from spoiling Angelo. His second birthday is coming up, and I wonder how long Callie is going to hold off marrying Bronson. He’s chomping at the bit to get her ring back on her finger, get her down the aisle, and pregnant again. He wants to capture everything he missed the first time, and I know Callie wants to give it to him.

She’s not pursuing teaching, instead settling into the role of mom and pseudo-wife. The adjustment wasn’t hard for her, and she’s able to sit back and enjoy the life she sacrificed herself for. I’ll be there next weekend, and my brother informed me ‘come hell or high water my ring will be back on her finger.’ We’re all going to dinner, and I have no doubt he’ll get his way. I don’t know why she’s holding out, other than the scars haven’t fully healed and she wants to guarantee he forgives her completely. I remind her there are no guarantees in life. He loves her; the day he almost lost her he gained some sense in his thick skull.

I’m substitute teaching at a high school in Tampa and hoping next year they’ll have a full-time position open. The beach house is perfect for me, and I enjoy coming home, sitting outside, looking at the waves, sipping a glass of wine. It’s solace, and it’s what I need. Slowly, the past is being carried to sea by the waves, and I find when I’m in Miami and see Dakota the memories aren’t suffocating me. I’m able to remember the good times more frequently and why we worked. I’m not there yet, and Heath may be the reason. He’s wormed his way inside, and even though I like him, I haven’t been able to shut the door on my past. On Dakota.

He pulls into my driveway. I promised him a meal in tonight. He jogs up the steps and bends down and kisses me. In six months, his kisses are never the same. They still manage to excite me, giving me butterflies each time I see him leaning down. I wrap my hand around his neck and tangle my fingers into his hair. My other hand goes to his chest, and I love being able to sink my fingers into the hard, unyielding muscles that contour there. He presses his tongue against my lips, and I immediately submit and allow him entrance.

Pulling back more quickly than I like, he says, “What’s for dinner?”

“It just got here. I got chicken, pasta, and vegetables.”

“Got here? You didn’t cook for me?”

The bubble of laughter escapes before I can stop it. He looks perplexed with his eyebrows raised and staring at me. “Oh, I don’t cook. “

“You said a meal in.”

“Not in a restaurant. That’s what I meant by eating in.” He looks completely devastated. “It’s just food.”

“I thought you were cooking for me. That says something when a woman cooks for her man.”

“It should say more when I don’t cook for you. That proves that I like you; I want you to live. I swear you’re dodging a bullet here.”

“You don’t know how to cook?”

“I have a Keurig so I can have coffee. That’s it.”

“You’re Italian.” Like this statement should answer his confusion.

“Who was the daughter of a Mob boss, Princess to all, had a mom who loved the kitchen and didn’t care if I learned to cook or not. They were more concerned with me being a kid, living life, not in the confines of stereotypes. I can’t even scramble eggs. Frozen pizza is questionable for my culinary skills.”

“Fucking hell, I’m going to starve.”

“Learn to cook.” His face makes me fall back in my seat. The sheer terror covering his face, nostrils flaring at me, is enough to bring back my laughter.

He waves his hand at me while tilting his head. “You’ll learn.” His smirk firmly in place.

“I have learned. Learned to order in. Learned to drive to a restaurant. Learned to bring leftovers from my mom’s. Simple. No case of accidental poisoning or the fire department being called.”

He stands there with his arms over his chest, not believing a word I’m telling him. Oddly, thinking of myself in an apron, welcoming him home with a home cooked meal isn’t as unsettling as I thought it would be. “Come on, dinner’s served.” I walk in front of him with an extra pep in my step.

“How was school?” Our conversation flows as we eat.

“Good. I’m subbing tomorrow and Wednesday. I leave Thursday for Miami.”

I see him cringe. “You’ll be home Sunday?” He knows some of my past with Dakota.

“Yes.”

“He’ll be there.” It comes out as a statement, so I don’t answer. “We need to talk after we finish eating.”

The dreaded words
we need to talk
. We aren’t serious, or I didn’t think so. Seeing each other a few times a week, I don’t ask what he does when I’m not with him. Not that I don’t care, but I’m not ready to make those demands when I can’t offer the same in return. At least I don’t think so. “Do you have to go back to the club tonight?”

“No, I’m off the rest of the night.” He’s never available for the whole night. I make quick work of the dishes while he grabs a beer and heads into the living room.

I barely make it in there before he’s crowding me against the wall. “I’ve given you time. I want you to hear me out. I don’t like you being around him. Drives me fucking nuts thinking he still has a shot in getting back in there,” he taps the skin over my heart, “I know there’s history. I don’t know how he fucked it up, or if he’s working to get you over it. I want this with you. I don’t know how much clearer I can get.”

“He cheated on me,” I blurt. “Well, technically we weren’t together. I don’t know what we were. It’s complicated. Our pasts are intertwined in so many ways. I can say he broke my heart.”

“He still have a shot?” He rubs his hands through his short hair, dreading the answer.

“I don’t know.”

“Fuck,” he grimaces.

“I’d like to say no. I would. He was my first. Everything. He pushed me out of my comfort zone, made me realize love wasn’t the fucked up emotion I thought it was. I fell in love with him, and he was patient the entire time. He never took more than I was willing to give, but he gave me so much more.”

“Then he fucked up and screwed you over.”

“Not exactly.” I duck under his arms that had caged me in. Sitting down, I wait for him to join me on the couch. “He put my feelings first. You know he’s a DEA agent like Bronson . . . that was before my dad was killed. It was his dream, but yet he wasn’t going to make me decide between him and my dad. He refused to put that at my feet.”

“So what happened?”

“He broke up with me, but continued being my friend. I was hurt, and tried dating. Then my dad . . . after that there weren’t any obstacles. He was there every day, helping me through that, never allowing me to doubt my relationship with my dad, reminding me of his love. After a while he came to school and said he wanted us again. He was so sure, so earnest in his love.” I take a deep breath.

“This the part where he fucked you over?”

“Yes. He got some news, some fucked up, almost not believable news. I won’t share that, although my father was tangled up in it. The whole organization was. He didn’t handle it, fucked my roommate, and I walked in.”

“Jesus,” he growls.

“I have baggage. I had a lot before him, and since him I’ve acquired a lot more. I like you, like where we are, but I don’t know what else I can offer you. I want to move forward, and if I’m being honest, you make me feel things I didn’t with him. I don’t know what to make of it.”

“He’s not in there yet, but neither am I. I’m telling you, I’m going to do everything to get in there . . . I plan on settling in and staying right fucking there.” His hand covers my heart. I feel the pace pick up, and my breath staggers out. “First loves, we all have them, Bianca. That doesn’t mean they are our last loves. He may hold that part of you. I’ll have to work to be okay with it. I’ll give him that one percent, as long as I get the other ninety-nine.”

“Holy shit,” I whisper at the same time I launch myself at him. My mouth hovering over his, I pull back, “I can’t promise you anything.”

“When I ask for a promise you’ll know. Right now, give me what you can.”

So I do. I give him my mouth, with my hands searching his back. I wrap my legs around him so I’m straddling him and feel a deep moan vibrating through his chest into my mouth. We are a mess of tangling tongues, sliding against one another, no finesse just taking what the other offers. He stands, his hands going under my ass for support and walks me to my bedroom. My hands hesitate their roaming, and he feels me tense. “Don’t think. Go back to that place you were in. Just trust me. That’s what I’m asking right now.” I can give him that. He’s earned it. It’s not something I easily give, but it comes so naturally with him.

My back hits the mattress, and his body follows, huddled over me, and his tongue leaves my mouth making a trail down my neck to my collarbone with nips of his teeth. I writhe under him, seeking friction to ease the ache he’s generated inside of me. One hand goes to my hip holding me in place, and his other works under my shirt and brings it up and over my head. I’m greedy for more, so my hands reach under his and sweep it up and he helps by pulling it over his head. I lift up, covering his expansive chest with my lips. His skin is hot, silky, and tenses under me. Both of us battle to control this; his hands push against my shoulders, my body unrelenting with want.

When his mouth captures my earlobe between his teeth, I lose all train of thought and just feel. I’m on my back, his lips trailing over my body, down to my stomach as he works my bra off. Too soon. Too much. I push at his shoulders, and he stops and sits up.

“I—I can’t do this. I’m sorry,” I manage to stutter. I’m still panting, turned on but so afraid to go over this cliff with him.

He takes my face in his hands with gentle pressure, not enough to hurt me but enough so that he has my attention. “Bianca, I’m not taking you. Not yet. The day I have you, those ghosts in your eyes, they’ll be gone. They’ll be gone because you won’t think of anything but me. They’ll be gone because I worked them out of you. The day they disappear, that’s the day I’ll get all the way between your legs and erase the memory of who was there last, because all you’ll feel is me. That’s when I know I’ve got the ninety nine percent I want. Until that day comes, that doesn’t mean I won’t play. I’ll fuck you with my fingers, my tongue and if you want to return that favor, I’d be ecstatic. When that day comes, you’ll know it, and you’ll be begging me.”

“Come to Miami with me,” slips out before I question what situation I’ll be putting him in. But he just gave me something with his semi-crude words that I’ve been craving. The chance to come to him on my own, the promise from him he’ll be with me each step of the way. The assurance he isn’t going to add to those ghosts he wants to work out of me.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs against my neck.

“Please.” I have this urge to have him by my side, with my family. It will be awkward with Dakota, but I need my family to see him, to see us, and I need to see if I can get past the hurdle of being with Heath when Dakota is there. It’s a test for both of us.

“I’ll go, but if you change your mind, I’ll stay. Not asking that of you now.”

“I know.” I bring my head up to his neck and bite gently. That spurs him back into action and he doesn’t let up. His lips, tongue, teeth, and hands cover every inch of my body. Cupping my breasts and working the nipples to hard peaks, he removes his hands and replaces them with his mouth. My shorts are unbuttoned, and his chest pressed against my stomach, skin against skin. I help him get my shorts off and move my fingers to the waistband of his while pressing my palm against the hard bulge. He rocks into my hand and I squeeze. I feel his hand push inside my underwear and his finger enters me. Pushing my hands from him, he moves his body lower down mine and pushes the side of my underwear over. His mouth is on my pussy, one finger dipping in and another finger working my clit. I’m riding his face not able to stop my hips from moving. His finger and lips trade places, and as two fingers enter me his hot mouth covers my clit and sucks . . . hard.

I come apart, and he’s there to work me through my orgasm, and on the way down from the high I just experienced he’s still licking and gently nipping. I make a move to get my hands between us so I can alleviate his issue and because I’m so fucking hot for him I want him in my mouth. He captures both of my wrists and presses them up above me, “Not tonight. Let me savor this.” I give him what he asks for because really, he asks for so little.

It is foolish to pretend that one is fully recovered from a disappointed passion. Such wounds always leave a scar.

~
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Chapter 23

Heath

I held on by a thread hearing her moans, her taste on my tongue. She gave me a fraction of herself, and I need to cherish it. I’m closer to getting the rest of her, and I need her to know I’m not the ass who shattered her. I have to rein my hatred for him in because I’ll be sitting across a table from him shortly. I opted to stay at a hotel and let her stay with her family. She wasn’t too happy with me, but I want them to know my intentions, and it’s a respect thing…her mom is here.