Life Before Damaged Vol. 8 (The Ferro Family) (7 page)

P
ete stands menacingly behind Anthony
, holding onto him by the shoulder. He’s shirtless, and the top button of his jeans is undone. Pete's body language screams one word: fight. His muscles cord tightly, every tendon tensing as he clenches and unclenches his fist.

My hands lift, like I could stop him. I have to stop him. "Pete, no. Let him go."

Pete doesn't acknowledge me. The two men face each other, competing in an instinctual glaring contest. Anthony doesn't stand a chance in this fight, and it scares me. He's having trouble focusing his eyes on anything as it is, and he can barely stand without wobbling. He's not physically strong sober, much less shit-faced drunk.

Anthony blinks a couple of times and stabs a finger at Pete's chest. "Hey. Aren't you that Ferro guy who was nailing all the girls at Regina's house? Man, you gotta let me know what your secret is! I could definitely use that kind of pussy act--"

Pete's fist connects with Anthony's jaw before Anthony can finish his sentence. Anthony loses his footing and stumbles backward but doesn't fall. I let out a scream and hold onto the cold railing with both hands.

"Stop it, Pete. Please!" Pete continues to ignore me. The butler stands still, letting the fight take place. The future master of the house is in no danger, so there's no need to intervene.

Anthony shakes his head in confusion and rubs his jaw. "What the hell, man?" Anthony looks at me, dazed, and then at Pete and back to me.

He raises a single finger in a drunken Eureka moment. "Wait a minute. I get it. Regina, you're one of Ferro's tramps now, aren't you? Is that what this is about?" He turns to Pete and puts both hands up in the air. "Hey, man. I won't prevent you from nailing her, if that's the hangup." He puts his hand up to his face thinking that he's keeping the conversation secret from me, but he's talking loud enough that the household staff watching from the main landing above can still hear. "Are you sure you want her, though? I mean it's just Regina. It's not like she's a good lay or anything. Trust me."

Those words pierce me through to my core. To have Ferro mansion staff witness this is embarrassing, but to have Pete hear it, is excruciating. My lips part and I can’t hide the way my lower lip trembles. I snap it shut, trying to hide my pain, but it’s too late.

Pete grabs Anthony by the shoulder and lands a punch in his stomach, making me jump.

"You shut the fuck up about Gina."

"Anthony, please, just leave." My voice is trembling and weak. My hands hold onto the railing so hard that they are starting to hurt. I want him gone before any more damage can occur, but Pete doesn't stop his assault. He doesn't let Anthony reply or give him the chance to leave. He's lost all self-control. He pushes Anthony up against a wall and punches him over and over again, holding him up with his other hand.

His fist connects with Anthony's face. A sickeningly loud crunch makes my stomach roil. It's the sound of bones breaking, and I scream, but no one listens. Pete lets Anthony fall to the ground on his knees, blood pouring out of his very crooked nose. His movements are slow and sluggish. He brings his hands to his face, not even trying to protect himself. Pete moves in and kicks him in the stomach. Anthony doubles over and falls onto the floor.

Oh, my God! He's going to kill him if he doesn't stop. I run down the stairs and throw myself between them. “STOP!”

I'm stuck in between Pete’s fury and his target, a sense of déjà vu taking over. I place my hands over his fist and look him straight in the eyes. "Please. Stop."

Pete's gaze darts from me to Anthony.

Chest heaving and his skin covered with a fine sheen of sweat, Pete drops his fist. “Move, Gina, and let me take care of this motherfucker. I saw what he did to you. I was there that night.”

“No, I won’t move. And I was there too, remember?”

“Why are you protecting him?” Pete is yelling, pointing towards Anthony who is slouched against the wall behind me.

“I’m not." I blink back tears and try to keep my voice low and calm. "I’m not protecting him. I couldn’t care less about him. I’m protecting
you
.” I try to swallow but my throat has a lump in it that won’t move.

Pete’s face contorts. It’s as if I insulted him. “That’s ridiculous. I can take on five guys like him, all at once.”

Inhaling slowly, I let the air fill me up and calm me down. This isn’t the time to be cautious, but I can’t help it. It feels like my heart was trampled. I want to shove the remains in a box and retreat to my room, but I can’t. I can’t let Pete do this to himself. He doesn’t even see it.

I press my lips together for a moment and find the right words. “I know you can, Peter. You are a badass fighter, but that’s not what I meant.”

Whoops and hollers echo around the vast room. I turn around to see young Jonathan swinging himself over the banister of the stairs and landing a couple feet away from us, shirt unbuttoned and flying behind him like a superhero cape. “Hell yeah! Finally, some action in this house.”

“Leave, Johnny," Pete scolds his younger brother, warning him off. "This doesn’t concern you.”

Jonathan's face drops just a fraction of a second. I wouldn't have recognized it if it weren't for the fact that I've become accustomed to that feeling. It was there for the briefest of moments--hurt, rejection, loneliness. On Jonathan, the look is quickly replaced by amusement at the prospect of getting into some kind of trouble.

The butler moves in and takes hold of Anthony, restraining his arms tightly behind his back. Anthony doesn’t fight back. “What should I do about our guest, Miss Granz?”

I glance from seething Pete, to battered Anthony, to hopeful Jonathan. “Jonathan, could you please escort Anthony off the premises?”

“Sure thing," he says, his face lighting up. "Anything for you, gorgeous.” Jon winks at me and grabs hold of Anthony’s elbow, leading him toward the front door. “C’mon! It's garbage day," he says a bit too happily. "Don't want to miss your ride out of here, do you, buddy?”

I take hold of Pete’s hand and pull gently. I don’t need to say anything more, he just follows.

“Regina! Please don’t do this," Anthony protests on his way out the door. "I didn't mean it! I love you, Regina! You're making a huge mistake.” Anthony’s voice becomes an echo the further away we move from the foyer. I lead Pete towards the ballroom and close the massive double doors behind us, shutting everyone else out.

Pete paces the floor. He’s blowing off steam, hands busy ruffling his hair and nostrils flaring as he tries to get his breathing under control.

I push myself off the door and make my way in front of him, interrupting his pacing. I place a hand on his cheek, and he closes his eyes, leaning into my touch. His shoulders eventually drop, and his back isn’t quite so stiff.

“Peter?” His eyes open and they are noticeably calmer than even a few moments ago. “This needs to stop. Fighting like this—it’s destroying you. I see a good man in front of me, someone I care about, and someone who’s fiercely passionate and willing to go to great lengths to protect me. As your friend, I’m begging you to stop. If not for you, then do it for me.”

“Gina, I...”

I take both of his lips in between my fingers and pinch them shut to shush him. He’ll probably bite me, but I don’t care, I don’t let him talk. If I do, he’ll come up with dumb excuses.

“No, let me talk. Remember when I told you about going through life without regrets and to make every moment count?” Pete looks away, avoiding my gaze, but I pull on his lips, forcing him to look at me. “It's time for you to make some changes. You spend all your time screwing women, getting into nasty fights, and spending your money on crap. That's not living. Your words are so powerful, and they can build faster than your fists can destroy. There are worlds inside of you, aching to get out. There are things you could do, because of who you are and I don’t mean your name. Being a Ferro only takes you so far. There’s something else that’s more powerful laying beneath the surface and you hardly ever tap into it. That man is amazing.”

Pete gently removes my finger clamp from his mouth and watches me uncertainly. “It’s not that simple.”

“I never said it was easy," I reply, folding my arms across my chest and cocking my head to the side. "In fact, it’s harder to channel all that rage into something else, but you have to do it. This path you’re on won’t end well, Peter. And you have so much more to offer. All I’m saying is you need to find an outlet for all the pent-up rage and passion you have locked up in here.” I place a hand on his bare chest. His skin is hot and soft; his heartbeat is steady and strong.

Pete places a hand over mine, over his heart and moves in closer. There’s only an inch in between us. He looks down at me and lifts my chin with his other hand. “What do you suggest?”

"Do something that’s worthwhile with that raw emotion. It’s dying to come out, so channel it. Grab hold and realize that you’re attempting to grab lightning. It’ll be hard and it may hurt, but my God, Peter—you could do so much besides smash things.”

“It sounds like you see something that’s not there.”

“Bullshit. I see exactly what’s there. Potential that’s been locked away and banished from sight. Maybe that guy scares you, but he doesn’t frighten me. Very few people have been given such gifts, and the means to use them. Use that passion that’s locked up inside of you and do something beautiful with it.” I look down to the ground and then look up at him, smiling shyly. “Something like this...”

I
place
my hands on Pete’s waist and move in slowly. My hands slide against slick skin, from his waist to his back, slowly traveling toward the rear pockets of his jeans. Pete’s eyes widen with confusion. It’s a struggle not to focus on how firm and perfect his butt is under my fingertips, or how close his bare chest is to my face, or the enticing scent that is unique to him. Pete’s breathing accelerates, and I feel him tense up, anticipating my next move, but that’s not what this is about--this is about one friend helping another.

I try to repress the mixed feelings brought on as my fingers make out the distinctive shape of a condom packet in one of his pockets, pushing that thought aside to ponder later. I wrap my fingers around the prize and take a step back, handing him his phone.

“Music, maestro?”

Pete’s expression softens with understanding and, after a few taps and swipes of his fingers across the screen, Duke Ellington’s music plays with pure clarity over the ballroom's expensive surround sound system. It feels as if there’s a brass band playing all around us. He tucks the phone back in his rear pocket, smiles, and takes my hands, planting a kiss in each palm.

“Thank you, Gina, for everything.” His smile is soft and genuine, no trace of arrogance or anger left.

“You’re welcome, Peter. Now, I want you to make me fly. There are a couple gnarly throws I’m dying to show you.”

We warm up with basic rock steps, lindy hop steps, and simple spins, smiling and laughing as we do so. I let him lead for now because, let’s face it, he’s an excellent dance partner, and being led by Peter Ferro is quite the thrill. His moves are sure, confident and playful, his hands are possessive and, for the briefest of moments, I feel like I’m truly his.

I let go of his hands and stop dancing, slightly out of breath. “Ok, so I want to try a new move with you. What you’re going to do is...”

My explanation gets interrupted when a short, petite woman with long brown hair comes barging into the ballroom, shoulders bare, covered only by a bedsheet wrapped around her body. Pete doesn’t notice her at first. His back is to the door, but I get a full view of the pretty woman standing in front of me. She has that natural beauty that’ll make most women scream. Case in point, she’s wearing nothing but a bed sheet and looks fabulous.

“Here you are!” She says in an airy voice. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. When are you coming back to bed? I’m getting lonely.”

Pieces snap together. His bare chest, top jean button undone, condom in his rear pocket, the naked girl calling him back to bed.

He brought a woman home last night.

Peter never brings women home. I had been the exception, until now.

He broke his single rule.

This woman is not some random floozie. She's someone special. That's why he's been gone for the past two weeks and hasn't made the news once. I thought he was respecting my limits and keeping his conquests out of sight out of respect for me. But that's not it. He was away, being happy with her. My eyes sting, not certain if it's from sadness or anger. The last little shred of self-esteem I had left snaps.

Pete's eyes shift between the woman and me, looking dumbfounded. He opens his mouth to talk, but doesn’t get a chance to. My hand flies and slaps him hard across the face. I wince and grab my hand. Fuck. That. Hurts!

My heart shatters as I realize Pete might genuinely care for someone else.

I need to get out of here. My heart and my head are screaming things at me, things I don't want to hear. Things I don't want to acknowledge. Because if I do, everything changes. I don’t give Pete time to react, before I run, hand throbbing, pushing my way past the woman and out into the hall. My last thought that registers, before I leave them behind, is that she smells like sex.

“Gina!” Pete calls to me, but I don’t stop.

I have no clue where I’m running to, but I cut corners to try and lose him. He’s faster than me and will catch up in no time. I need to get away from here.

“Gina, let me explain!” His voice is getting closer.

I need to hide somewhere. I don’t want to hear his explanations. I can't take any more lashes, and my heart is completely broken. Being sidelined because the man is incapable of anything except meaningless fucks hurts; being sidelined because the man I love has fallen for someone else is excruciating. I gasp, unable to breathe as realization finally catches up with me.

Panicked, I open the first door I see and silently slip my way into the room, closing the door behind me. I collapse on the floor, my back pressed up against the hardwood door. This can't be happening.

I love Peter Ferro.