by Nina Levine
In the absence of anger, it is just us.
Two kids who were born minutes apart who only knew how to love the other.
“I’m nothing if I don’t have you by my side,” I whisper.
When I reach for her, it is tender and slow, and I feel her tremble against my touch. My hands slide to her beautiful face as we stand in the slanted afternoon sunlight spilling into the penthouse through gauzy curtains that dance in a late summer breeze.
We kiss again, this time deeply, slowly, and when we need the separation of our clothes gone, we peel them from each other’s body until we are completely naked. I walk her backward to the bed where we lie down among the cool sheets, our bodies entangled and tight with longing.
Emotion fills the room, amplifying every touch, every kiss, and when I finally push into her, I have to grip the sheet beside her head because fuck, being inside her is everything.
I make love to her slowly, trembling with the overwhelming emotion coursing through me. I’ve never felt anything like this before. It’s so intense, so pure, so fucking perfect.
She yields beneath me, and I watch her as she comes, her body tightening around me, clenching me, moving with me.
I’m so in love with her.
I groan, consumed by the pleasure and not sure I’m going to survive it.
During the final whimpers of her orgasm, I cover her mouth with mine and kiss her deeply while grinding harder into her, prolonging her pleasure.
When mine hits, it hits hard and I’m not ready. I fall into it, coming hard and losing myself in the intensity.
Love sweeps through me, and it feels so euphoric I want to fucking cry.
I drop my forehead to hers, struggling for breath. My heart racing. My body shaking. My mind blown.
I cup her face, desperate for her to stay. “I’m so in love with you. Please don’t leave me. I beg you.”
I squeeze my eyes closed when I think of her walking out the door.
I feel desperate.
I’m used to people doing as I say.
But I don’t want her to stay because I tell her to.
I want her to stay because she wants to.
“Do you love me?” I ask desperately, my lips finding hers again. “Tell me.”
She looks up at me. “That’s the problem, Alessandro. I could never fucking stop.”
23
Bella
It’s the truth.
I never stopped loving him.
But it is possible for love and hate to exist in the same heart.
Because I love him.
Yet I hate his life.
Being with Alessandro means enduring what I loathe. Just so I can have what I so irrevocably love.
I can only pray it is enough to keep the doubt at bay.
Because doubt is like cancer. It crawls into the strongest of foundations and slowly eats away at it until it is nothing more than a skeleton.
I know it.
And so does Alessandro.
Late one afternoon, a few weeks after Luca Castabella’s death, I sit at the dressing table, finishing my makeup. We are going to the Mayor’s Dinner, a charity event for the local children’s hospital. Ziggy has already been and gone after spinning his magic in my hair. Tonight, it is an up style, with a few wild curls escaping around my face.
“Do we really need to go to this thing tonight?” Alessandro asks, watching me from the bed.
He’s just walked into the room from making a call. He doesn’t know that I overheard him asking Anastacia to arrange a roomful of flowers to be sent to my office tomorrow. Or how he had uncharacteristically given a reason for the flowers when she’d asked. “Because my queen is fucking everything, that’s why!”
My relationship with her has failed to improve.
In fact, every day she seems to look at me with more and more disdain.
I smile at Alessandro in the mirror. “You don’t want to go?”
A wicked grin spreads across his lips, and I feel a delicious warmth fill me because he is breathtaking when he smiles.
He rises and moves to stand behind me, his fingers trailing along my naked shoulder. “I can think of many other things I would like to do instead.”
His voice is thick with lust.
I look at him through the mirror. “Oh, really? Like what?”
His hands slip down my shoulders to the soft swell of my breasts.
I raise an eyebrow at him in the mirror. “You want to fuck me, Mr. Lastrantonio?”
Before I can worry about hair and makeup, or the fact that the car is already waiting for us downstairs, I’m walking to the bed and throwing a challenge to my husband over my shoulder. “Best you get to it.”
We meet at the edge of the bed where I drag his hand to the short hem of my dress and beyond, and he groans when he feels my lack of underwear and how wet I am already.
“You’re such a naughty girl.”
He doesn’t hesitate, and bends me over the edge of the bed, nudging my feet farther apart. I hear his zipper lower, and feel the bulbous head of his cock touch my aching clit.
“You want this?” he asks, dragging it through my wet flesh.
“Yes,” I breathe out as he presses the slippery head deeper into my clit. “And don’t hold back.”
“What my queen wants, my queen gets.”
With one powerful thrust, he’s inside me and we both groan.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls. “So tight… and wet… and fuck, you make my cock hard.”
In this position, his size is amplified, the thick, hard inches of him spearing through me like a battering ram, making me full, making me grip the comforter with tight fingers.
When he pulls out and rubs his slippery head against my clit again, I groan.
“You like that, baby. You like it when I rub my cock against you?”
I moan out a yes and bite down on my lip because damn this feels good.
“Then show me, baby. Show me how much you like me rubbing my cock against your sweet pussy.”
He tortures my clit, rubbing the head of his cock in maddening circles, faster and faster, harder and harder, until my orgasm tumbles out of nowhere and hits me with full force.
My head drops down and I moan through my orgasm, my sex throbbing, my body creaming against his thick length.
Unable to take it, he slides every thick inch into me. “Fuck, I love feeling your pussy coming on my cock.” He thrusts harder, his hips bucking into me. “I’m going to come, baby. I’m going to fill this tight pussy…”
He stops thrusting and grabs hold of my hips, letting out a rough, masculine growl as he pulses his release into me. I feel him throbbing inside me, his cock pulsating against the walls of my sex, spilling his cum into the deepest part of me.
“Christ, what are you doing to me?” He pants, pulling out and collapsing onto the bed beside me. “I want to be inside you all the time. I’m becoming obsessed.”
I lean down to kiss him. “Becoming? I think you passed becoming a long time ago, Sandro. You’re completely obsessed with me, admit it.”
He smiles, and again, my chest tightens at his beauty.
“You’re right. I am. I want you all the time.” His eyes take on a dreamy gaze. “Let’s run away. Let’s just leave all of this behind and just spend the rest of our lives fucking whenever we want.”
“Sounds perfect. When do we leave?” I climb off the bed and head to the bathroom to clean up.
“I mean it.” He sits up. “Have you ever thought about it?”
“Of course, hasn’t everybody?”
“Maybe. But what if we could?”
I wash his cum from my thighs and the wet folds of my sex, although, for a moment, I think about leaving it there and reminding him of it all night. But I opt to pick out a sexy pair of panties from the dresser, instead.
“Aren’t you the King of the Boroughs,” I tease. “You can’t just disappear.”
Although, I wish we could.
<
br /> More than anything in the world, I wish we could.
His smile fades and he zips up his slacks. “I suppose you’re right.”
The buzzer breaks into our conversation. It’s the driver reminding us that he is downstairs.
I look over to Alessandro, he is sliding on his dinner jacket. I grin as I take his arm. “Come on, sex fiend. Let’s get this dinner over and done with so we can get home and you can have your way with me again.”
We step out into the hot New York night.
The street is alive with activity. The sun is low, and the moon has already begun to rise in a sky streaked in red and gold.
As I’m stepping into the limousine, a feminine voice calls my name.
Alessandro and I both turn to look.
Anastacia stands on the curb beside us looking desperate and disheveled. Her hair is unbrushed and tangled, her skin blotchy, her eyes wild as she points a gun at us.
At me.
“I thought this was just an arrangement,” she cries to Alessandro. “Why her? Why not me?”
I feel Alessandro stiffen beside me. “What are you talking about, Anastacia? There’s never been anything between us.”
But she doesn’t hear him. “She doesn’t deserve you. She doesn’t even love you! Can’t you see that? She’s lying to you when she says she does. But I love you, Alessandro. I’ve always loved you.”
In that moment, everything seems to slow down. I look for our security detail and see one of them running toward us from the entrance of the building. I see Alessandro step between me and Anastacia just as she fires the gun.
Two gunshots crackle in the air around us, but they are quickly swallowed by the noisy New York street.
The security man dives for her, tackling her to the ground before she can fire a third.
But the damage is already done. Alessandro reaches out and sags against me before sinking to the sidewalk, his eyes wide and unfocused, with a bright red stain spreading across his white shirt.
I scream.
Anastacia screams.
Both of us screaming for different reasons.
But Alessandro is silent.
His eyes close, and within seconds his chest becomes still.
24
Bella
There was nothing they could do, he says.
Despite their attempts, he died in surgery and they could not save him.
The surgeon gives me the news in a private room, and I fall against him before slipping to the cold, linoleum-covered floor.
Alessandro Lastrantonio died at 10:58 p.m. Six hours after he was shot.
The surgeon helps me to my feet and guides me over to a row of plastic chairs where I wrap my arms around myself and try to brace for the pain. Imogen appears moments later and gathers me into her arms while I stare lifelessly at nothing.
I’m so numb I can’t even cry.
Minutes float by.
I want to see him, but I am told that I can’t, and I don’t even hear the reason why because my mind feels soupy and slow.
I’m so lost I don’t even know what to do next.
Imogen takes me back to the penthouse and my heart disintegrates into a billion tiny pieces when I walk through the front door and see our home. Everything looks so normal, so familiar, yet everything has changed. Alessandro’s scent lingers in the air, and it’s like I can feel him all around me.
“Have you been able to get a hold of Cristian?” I ask, dazed.
“No, I haven’t been able to reach him. But I’ve left messages.”
I ring my father who is out of town on business. I don’t cry. I barely manage to speak. And when it is all too much, Imogen takes my phone from me.
The evening drifts by. The phone rings, constantly, but every call is shielded by Imogen because I don’t want to talk to anyone. And I don’t want to see anyone either. The only other person I agree to see is Ari. When he arrives, he takes me in his arms and holds me tight before taking my face in his hands and saying, “Fuck.”
The three of us sit at the dining table. Imogen makes me eat, but it’s pointless because I bring it up minutes later. Ari slides a tumbler of scotch in front of me, but I leave it untouched.
I’m dazed. They talk but I don’t really hear what they are saying. It’s like I’m outside of my body watching this nightmare happen to someone else.
It’s all over the news. The King is Dead. Imogen and Ari try keeping me from watching it but fail. I need to watch, hoping it can help me make sense of it.
When I see the mobile phone footage taken immediately after the shooting showing Alessandro bleeding and unconscious beside the limousine, my eyes burn with tears. It’s followed by grim footage of Alessandro’s pool of blood on the sidewalk, and in my chest my heart bleeds its last drop of blood.
Unable to stand it, I grab the remote and turn off the television.
The media is having a field day, and tomorrow it will be even worse. They’re already outside, getting ready to pounce the moment I, or anyone else, leaves this building.
Feeling numb, I go to bed, and somewhere in the cold, early hours of the next morning I finally fall asleep with one of Alessandro’s shirts pressed against my cheek so I can smell him.
But I don’t get much sleep. I awaken with the sun as it rises over Central Park, and for the briefest moment, I forget. But then it all comes back to me, and the grief settles into my bones like a heavy, black cloud.
He is gone.
And I am alone.
Despite my fatigue, my mind races, reliving those last few moments with excruciating detail. The sound of my name being called. Anastacia’s wild eyes and the desperation on her face. Alessandro taking the two bullets meant for me. Agony twists in my stomach, yet I still don’t cry.
It’s not until I visit the bathroom and see my reflection that it all suddenly hits me. My emotions finally crash through the numbness, and I let out a howl of pain.
Slipping to the floor, I cry uncontrollably until the door flings open and Imogen races in. She drops to the floor and scoops me into her arms, and I cry hard into her shoulder.
“How do I do this?” I sob.
Imogen squeezes me tighter. “We’ll do it together.”
The pain is torturous.
“I want him back,” I say through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to do this without him. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair.”
“I know, honey. I know.”
My face crumples but I am able to control it. I straighten and suck in a deep breath.
“Why?” I look at my best friend. “Why did she do it?”
“She was in love with him.”
“I had no idea.”
Imogen’s face is sympathetic as she says gently, “I don’t think anyone did.”
I have a moment of stark clarity.
“I have to see her. I have to know why she wanted me dead.”
I try to stand, but Imogen stops me. “Bella—”
“I need to know.”
“Bella…”
“She killed my husband—”
“She’s dead, Bella.”
I stare at my best friend in disbelief. “Dead?”
“They found her in her cell this morning.”
My head swims as I struggle to process what I am hearing, and for a moment I wonder if her death is retribution. If the power that is the Lastrantonio clan has moved quickly and lethally to exact its revenge on Anastacia for murdering their king. But I doubt it. Alessandro never tolerated violence against women, and it was something he would expect to be honored in his death.
“Also, Cristian is here,” Imogen says and my face crumples again when I think about seeing Alessandro’s brother. I exhale deeply to steady myself, and Imogen tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Why don’t you take a moment to process this a little more. Have a shower. Put on something comfortable. Ari and I can keep Cristian company until you’re feeling a bit stronger.”
I nod, knowing I need to
pull myself together. “Thank you.”
My best friend presses a kiss to my hair and then leaves me so I can shower and get my shit together. But it’s a lot easier in theory than in practice. Because everything reminds me of Alessandro, and I wonder how on Earth I’m going to get through this.
Brokenhearted, I slide down the marble-tiled wall and fall into a heap on the wet floor.
Yeah, I have to pull myself together, but first, I’m going to let myself fall apart.
25
Bella
I stall when I walk into the room and see Cristian seated at the dining table with Imogen and Ari.
Tears spill down my cheeks.
When he stands, I go to him and his arms pull me in a warm embrace.
“It happened so fast,” I sob.
“It’s going to be okay, Bella.” His voice is dark and grim, but also comforting.
I shake my head. How is anything ever going to be okay again?
He gently pushes me back so he can look me in the eye, his hands firm on my arms, his voice calm. “I need to take you somewhere.”
I feel vague and empty, and it makes me almost docile. “Where?”
“I can’t tell you. But I need you to trust me, okay?”
I’m so numb I simply nod.
“I’m coming with you,” Imogen says, standing up.
“Me too,” adds Ari, also rising to his feet.
“No, just Bella,” Cristian says in a tone that means business. He looks at them. “I’ll make sure she is safe.”
I go with him, certain I am going to be okay. But to my horror he leads me right into the hornets’ nest of paparazzi waiting outside. I can’t hide the tears and the grief as he pulls me through the throng of people into an awaiting car. Tears stream down my cheeks again, and I know my eyes are raw from lack of sleep and heartache.
“Why did you do that?” I cry when we’re safely inside and hidden behind the tinted glass. “You should’ve warned me that we were going out the front entrance.”
“I’m sorry, Bella.” His jaw clenches, like he hates what he is doing but is compelled to do it. “But time is of the essence.”
