If it hadn’t been for Kiel’s family, I might not have my sister.
“I’m sorry,” she said, holding me tight, arms locked around me like she had no plans to ever let me go. “I had to protect her.”
“I…I know that,” I finally said, pushing her away. My face was wet, my eyes swollen as I looked at her. “But my God, bella, this hurts. I…I would have found a way.”
“It doesn’t matter, not anymore.” Sammy held my face, kissing me, her own tears wetting my cheeks. “I’m so sorry I kept her away. I’m so sorry you didn’t know about her… She’s so…” Her smile was infectious, growing wider when she opened the gallery on her phone. “She’s so smart and brave and, oh God, Johnny, she has the best laugh… She has your laugh and…and…look…”
There were so many pictures—hundreds, so many of our daughter laughing and playing, being silly, dancing with her friends, playing volleyball. And videos, so many videos of her singing and sleeping, at the zoo with Sammy, riding an elephant, on a farm upstate feeding baby goats from a bottle. My heart swelled, and I took her phone, pulling Sammy onto my lap as we both looked at our daughter, at all the times and places I’d missed.
“What did you name her?” I asked, already knowing part of the answer as my thumb worked overtime to move through each image. I was greedy for every picture, each detail that would fill in the spaces I’d never known.
“Elizabetta,” she said, curling her arm around my shoulder as we looked at the pictures. “You told me once it was…”
“My mother’s middle name. Yeah, bella, it was.” I squeezed her, kissing her cheek. “Grazie.”
“Elizabetta Roseline. That was my mother’s middle name.”
“It’s beautiful,” I told her, setting the phone on the table at my side. “She’s beautiful.” Sammy watched me, her eyes unblinking as I reached for her, shifting her head closer. “Whatever it takes, I’ll do it. I’ll walk away from this life. I’ll give up every penny I have. I want her. I want you. I want our family. I want to meet her… When can I…”
“Soon… Next week, she comes home. But, Johnny…”
“Please, Sammy, you’re here. You’re safe.” I felt a little punch-drunk and desperate, wanting so much to make up for what had been taken from me. I wanted everything to settle and sort until I had them both with me, together. Until we could eliminate the distance, the separation, and get on with the business of living our lives together.
“My daughter is safe. And next week, she will know me. Everything else will work itself out.”
“Johnny…this will be complicated…all of this…”
“Nothing is complicated about this, bella,” I said, kissing her silent. She moved against me, her body relaxing into mine when she wrapped her legs around my waist. “This, you and me, everything that happens from now on, this was the dream. It starts now.”
“What about…”
I didn’t let her lay question after question in our way. I lifted Sammy from the chair, carrying her against me to my bed, stealing her breath with every kiss until she relaxed, until she let me slide over her, my mouth on her neck, moving lower, my tongue gliding across all the skin I uncovered when I untied my robe and found her naked underneath.
“Every time I see you like this,” I told her, my fingers curling around her hips, “I’m a kid again, crazed with lust, fully possessed at just the sight of you.” I moved down, adjusting her on the bed, pulling her closer, stroking my hands over her ribs to cradle her generous breasts. “I could kiss you here,” I said, placing one reverent kiss over her nipple, holding it against my mouth. “And here.” Another across her hip, my free hand cupping the round curve of her thigh. “And I’d never be full.”
“Johnny…” she whined. My name left her mouth like a prayer, and her hands greedily tugged at the blankets when I kissed her full on her pussy. “Ah…oddio…”
Then I stopped talking, diving into her. My tongue and mouth working, caressing. My hands under her ass, pressing her to my lips as I sucked her. Sammy wrapped her legs around my head and gripped my hair, riding my face, the sensation between us seeming to drive her over the edge as I teased and tasted her. So fucking sweet. So delicious. My bella Sammy. And when I fingered her, using my index and thumb inside her pussy and against her ass, she arched, her screams loud, her heels on my shoulders as she flooded my mouth with her orgasm.
“God…oh God…” she cried, breathless, overwhelmed as she fell back against the mattress, pulling on me, tugging me close as I hurried to free my cock and get inside her.
She reached for me, greedy grabs around my waist, down the front of my cock. I had to hold her wrist, twist my head away against the sensation of how good her fingers and hand felt on me.
“Bella…shit…”
“I need you. Please, Johnny…I need you inside me.”
Fuck me, that’s all I’d ever wanted to hear from her.
She opened for me, knees wide, ready as I held myself to her. She took me as I entered, both of us gasping, the contact like coming home, filling up the silence with sound and light and impossible sensation. I knew this was where I belonged—in this heat, surrounded by all this perfection, feeling needed, feeling full. Only Sammy gave me that. Only I could give that to her.
I rocked into her, her tight walls clamping down, my bed shifting as I leaned over her, going deep, shuddering when she grabbed my ass, pushing me closer and closer inside her.
“Johnny… please, I need…everything…”
And I gave it to her…for hours or years until we both went boneless.
* * *
The sheets twisted around us like vines clinging to our sweaty skin, but the only sensation I felt was the slight weight of Sammy’s body on my chest and the tickle of her hair against my arms.
We didn’t sleep.
We’d fucked and napped and bathed.
We’d sent Mina and the doctor away, ignored her knock for food and every call that came to us. There would be time for everything. For now, there was just the two of us.
Sammy yawned against my nipple, the slow, smooth tease of her fingernail along my chest making me sleepy, but I couldn’t think of anything. Nothing but the question and her answer and what she would say. I’d practiced it a thousand times. How to phrase it, how to sound like a tough guy doing it, how not to embarrass myself. But when the time came, it was quiet and simple and nothing like I’d imagined.
“Sammy?” I said, getting a low, sleepy sound from her as acknowledgment before I swallowed and let the words spill out. “Marry me, si?”
The slow stroke of her finger paused, the nail pointing into my skin for two full seconds before she rested her palm against my chest and I felt the stretch of her mouth pressing into my skin. “Okay, Johnny,” she said before she returned to the gentle movement of her finger trailing over my chest.
22
Sammy
“Are you sure he likes chicken Marsala?” Betta lifted the lid on the pan and sniffed. She squinted her eyes like there was some alien life-form in that pan and not the meal I’d been working on all afternoon.
“You act like I’ve never cooked before.” When I slapped her hand away from the lid, my daughter wrinkled her nose, still not convinced. “And yes, it’s his favorite. I’m even using his housekeeper’s recipe.”
“Is he fat?”
“He’s not remotely fat, Betta.”
She’d began the third degree the second I picked her up from camp and we’d stopped at the small diner just outside of the city for a late breakfast. It was a summer tradition, and I used that meal as the opportunity to tell her about Pat’s heart attack and her father.
It could have gone better.
“Where’s he been my whole life?”
That was a problem Johnny and I had argued about for an entire week—we both wanted to take the blame. We settled on vagueness. Nine was too young to tell Betta about her father’s business, and we hoped by the time she was old enough, that business
wouldn’t be a consideration.
“Set the table, please,” I told her when my “not fat” comment didn’t seem to convince her.
“I’m just saying, there’s a lot of calories in that stuff.”
“Says the girl who downs cheese sticks and Sour Patch Kids like water.”
“And,” she continued, choosing to ignore my dig, “I don’t think it’s fair to the chicken…”
I moved out of the kitchen, still holding three glasses in my hand. “Are you telling me you’re a vegetarian now?”
She looked at me, narrowed eyes serious, like she needed a second to consider her answer before she shrugged. “The trout situation really made me think.”
I nodded, not buying it. “Hmm…well, that would mean you’d have to avoid Sister Dominique’s thick-crust chicken tenders during the holidays…” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the wince Betta tried to hide, but I didn’t call her on it. When she flopped into a chair, I sat next to her, placing the glasses in the empty space in front of me. “You don’t have to eat the Marsala. I made a salad too.”
“It’s fine,” she said, pouting.
“And mashed potatoes.” A shrug this time and now she didn’t bother to look at me. “Do you think maybe you’re still a little irritated about Uncle…”
“Grandpa?”
“Patrick?” She looked at me, her expression set hard, but she didn’t respond. “Whatever he may have told you about your father, you have to know, it was only his opinion.” Betta fiddled with a butter knife, rubbing the tip against the tablecloth. “If Johnny had known about you, he would have been there.”
“Then you should have told him,” she said, her voice sharp. When I tilted my head, understanding the attitude but not appreciating the tone, she deflated. “Why didn’t you?”
“It…wasn’t—” The knock on the door interrupted me, and we both bolted from the table. The sound transformed Betta’s attitude, and she instantly straightened, pulling down her dress, adjusting the collar. I shot a glance at her, hoping the smile I gave her relaxed her before I squeezed her hand and headed for the door. “It’s okay,” I whispered to her, winking before I opened it.
“Bella,” Johnny greeted, stepping into the apartment, his hands loaded down with gift bags. One look at his roaming gaze and the fracture in his cool demeanor told me he was nervous. He kissed my cheek, squeezing me tightly before he released me to turn, walking farther in to face our daughter.
“Johnny,” I said, motioning to Betta. “This is Elizabetta.” I twisted a hand when she cringed, hurrying to amend, “Who only likes being called Betta.”
He nodded, looking away from me, that gaze lingering like he needed a little support before he approached her. “My mama,” he told her, “was also Elizabetta. I think your mother named you for her.” When our daughter frowned, glancing at me for clarification, Johnny hurried to continue. “And for her mama as well, Roseline.” He leaned closer, taking a box from one of the bags and handing me the others. His smile was nervous but sure when he offered her the small box. “This is for you. I know you have one already, but maybe you can add this…”
Betta was a nine-year-old girl. She liked dragons, unicorns, and books that made her laugh. But she also loved dresses, flowers, and things that made her feel pretty. The patchwork baby doll dress she wore today, one of four outfits she’d tried on, was proof enough of that. Johnny giving her this small, dainty box, a box that held a new locket big enough for three pictures, was perfect. It was platinum, and the pendant was a large oval that opened into three sections. On the surface was intricate filigree and elegant scrollwork that wrapped around a large “C.”
“You’ve got space enough for the pictures of your mama and your nonna Ava, and if you want, I’ve put my mama, your nonna Theresa Elizabetta in there too. She was beautiful and very kind. Like your mama…like you too, piccolo bellezza.”
Betta looked up at him, her eyebrows bunching together at the endearment. I froze, remembering why it stood out to her. I tensed, ready to intercede, but our daughter looked back down at the locket, fingering the picture. “My uncle…” She paused, seeming to silently correct herself before she continued. “Father Patrick used to call me that. ‘Little beauty,’ he said it meant.”
“It does,” Johnny answered, kneeling beside her, not touching her, not doing anything but getting to her level, his gaze devouring her face like he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life. “But if you don’t want me to call you that, I won’t.”
She looked at him, their faces close together. From this angle, the similarities were striking. The same nose. Same wide, full mouth. The same cheekbones. It was remarkable.
“Are you really my father?” she asked Johnny, moving her eyes up and down, gaze taking in his features as quickly as he had done.
“’Fraid you got my mouth, little one. My nose too. We get it from my papa. It’s the Carelli side.”
Betta nodded, looking back down at the locket, tracing the ‘C’ with her fingertip as Johnny glanced at me, his expression a little lost. All I could do was offer him a smile, hoping that was encouragement enough to keep him talking to her.
“Why did you stay away so long?” she asked, not looking at him, as though she didn’t want to see him cringe, as though she was scared there was a lie he had prepared and she didn’t want to see what that would look like.
But Johnny had promised me a new start. He’d promised me the dream, and he wanted it to begin for us right now. He covered Betta’s hand with his own, making her look up at him. My girl focused on his face, her expression surprised, her mouth open. She didn’t seem ready for him to tell her the truth, and it showed.
“There are a lot of bad people in this world, la mia bellissima bambina. And those people want to hurt me and my family. Your mama and…Father Patrick, they wanted to keep you away from those people. They’d do anything to protect you because that’s what family does. Family is loyal. Family is forever. And if that means breaking the hearts of the people you love most, then sometimes, that’s what you have to do.” Johnny touched her face, his thumb moving along her cheekbone, and I couldn’t stop the tears that clouded my vision as he watched her. He was amazed. He was awed, and I knew he always would be when he stared at her. “Your mama did the right thing. She did her best.”
Our daughter’s nod came slowly but surely, and after Johnny’s words seem to resonate, a smile moved across her face, as though she was satisfied and happy for the answer she’d always wanted. “Will you help me with this?” she asked him, slipping off the old locket and passing it over to him.
“Si,” he told her, his smile wide as he hurried to fit the old pictures into the new charm. “Lift your hair.”
She turned, and Johnny draped the necklace in front of her, fiddling with the clasp as Betta grinned up at me. “So,” she started, her smile brightening. “What should I call you?”
He glanced at me, then back down at the clasp, focusing on the job he was doing. “You can call me Papa. I would like that, but only if you want to. If you don’t, you can call me Johnny.”
“Papa,” Betta said, trying out the word, rolling the syllables around in her mouth. Then, without any warning at all, she looked back up at me, hands on her hips. “I think you two should get married.”
“I agree,” Johnny said, not missing a beat. He smiled, brushing her hair down flat after the necklace was secure.
“I also think you should have another baby.”
“Betta!” I exclaimed, but I was ignored as she turned to Johnny.
“Maybe a little brother? In a year or so. Can you do that?”
My eyes bulged and Johnny laughed, patting her shoulder as she led him to the table.
“I’d like that. Or,” he said, grabbing me around the waist, “maybe a brother and a sister.” Betta made a face, and Johnny winked at her. “You’ll get to boss them around.”
She leaned back against her chair, arms folded, like this had become a
negotiation and she needed a second to consider the offer. Johnny ushered me to my chair, standing behind me as Betta watched us, finally extending her hand to him.
“Okay,” she said, her smile wide when he sat down and shook her hand. “But I’m not changing diapers, and my allowance will be steep.”
“That can be arranged, little one,” he told her, leaning over to kiss our daughter on the top of her head.
Epilogue
Johnny
My father would have laughed at me. But since the old man wasn’t here to do it, my sister was filling in.
“I’ve never seen a grown man cry at his own wedding.”
“Fuck you, she’s beautiful,” I told Cara, ignoring my little sister when her laughter lifted above the crowd.
“Johnny Carelli,” her husband said, shaking his head at me like I’d committed some horrible sin that changed his opinion of me. “Sprung like a reformed fuckboy at a titty bar.”
“Hey,” Cara said, nudging her husband. “Watch your mouth.”
“He literally told you to fuck off,” Kiel said to his wife, grinning like an idiot.
“Both of you fuck off,” I told them, heading in the opposite direction of the two sisters who were congregating near the bar where Cara and Kiel had cornered me.
We’d decked out the Weylin after a full mass at St. Mary’s. Sammy, despite everything, all the lies told by Patrick and on his behalf, was still a Catholic. She wanted this done right, and she wanted the world to see. There would be no large wedding party—just Indra standing up for her, Betta as her flower girl, and Smoke as my best man. The mass completed, which Patrick did not perform for obvious reasons—though, he told anyone who’d listen he still wasn’t feeling quite recovered from his heart attack—we’d invited our friends, family, and associates to the Weylin.
Nailed Down: The Complete Series Page 66
