Acrobat

by Mary Calmes

Deep exhale, and I knew he was happy for the first time since he started talking. All that work just to get to the crux of the matter, that he wanted me to pick him up.

  “You ready for the directions?”

  “I’m ready.”

  I LISTENED to him after he gave me the address, but only vaguely, since once it was in the GPS on my phone, I wasn’t paying attention to “take this left” or “go until you see the blue house with the really ugly yard.” I called my friends to tell them I wouldn’t be joining them and then went to take a quick shower.

  In the car, from where I was in Lincoln Park, I headed up to Northbrook, where Tony Strada lived. It was dark by the time I got there, around seven thirty, and the street was cluttered with cars. As I walked toward the house, I saw people sitting out on the porch, smoking, bundled up because it was cold.

  “A bello!”

  I heard the call but didn’t think it was directed at me.

  “Hey, Qells!”

  I turned to look for the voice, and I realized I was looking at Alla Strada, Tony Strada’s niece and my colleague.

  “Hey.” I smiled, walking up the steps to reach her.

  “You didn’t hear me call ‘hey, gorgeous’?”

  I shook my head as she opened her arms and I filled them. When I pulled back, I squinted at the cigarette.

  “Don’t tell Jen; she’ll kick my ass.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “My family and the Romellis, we go way back. My uncle worked for Vince Romelli, but you know that, right? He said he met you the other day.”

  “He did. He cooked for me.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “No, why?”

  “He just up and cooked for you.”

  “Seemed like his thing.”

  Her eyes were huge.

  “I mean, it had to have been ready because I got it so fast. He didn’t just cook for—”

  “The fact that he even offered is huge. What did you say to him?”

  “We were just talking.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m so sorry about Mr. Romelli.”

  “Yeah, we all are.” She sighed. “But what are you doing here?”

  “I came to pick up Michael Fiore.”

  “I know the Fiores.” She smiled. “And Michael, he’s Mona’s kid, yeah?”

  “Yes,” I sighed, thinking of her, seeing her in my head from all the pictures Michael had shown me. “She died when he was twelve.”

  “Yeah, I remember her. She was gorgeous and smart—she was a nurse.”

  “Yes, she was.” I nodded, taking a breath. “So I’m here to pick him up.”

  “Doesn’t he live with his uncle… Andreo, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, come on, I’ll help you find Michael.”

  She opened the screen door and then the front door, and the heat and the smell of food was overwhelming. There were so many people, and it was loud and bright and chaotic, and hopefully what Mr. Romelli’s family needed and not the exact opposite.

  When I met Mrs. Romelli, in the kitchen, surrounded by her brothers and their wives, she thanked me for coming, said it was nice to see me, and told me to eat. She held my hand the whole time we talked, and she held it tight, covered with her other, not letting me go.

  “I’ll eat something,” I assured her.

  “Good.” She coughed. “And you’ll be at the church, for Dreo and Michael?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I will.”

  She nodded, gave my hand a final squeeze, and told me that Michael was out back or downstairs in the basement.

  “Nate.” Alla took my hand. “Let’s go look for—”

  But she was stopped and questions were asked of her.

  “Come andiamo?”

  “Tutto bene?”

  “Come stai?”

  “Bene grazie,” she replied over and over, and I understood that these were just greetings from friends and family.

  Sometimes the replies were longer, and I stood and waited, listening to her speak beautiful, lilting Italian until she could extricate herself and we began pushing through the crowd again. I stepped around people, and faces turned to me and then smiled. I did a lot of back patting, shoulder squeezing, and hand shaking. I drifted through the house toward the heavy sliding glass door but found the yard empty of life. It was too cold for people to linger out on the deck. Alla excused herself after that, said she had to find her father and uncle, and pointed toward the stairs that led to the basement.

  “Try down there. That’s where the kids normally congregate.”

  I took her advice, but once I was there, I realized that he was not in the huge room. I had no idea where he was. Turning to go back up, I pulled out my phone to try and call him in the sea of people.

  “They said you were here.”

  My head snapped up at the sound of the smoky voice, and there, above me, was Dreo.

  “I can’t find your nephew,” I said while climbing the stairs.

  He didn’t move, so when I reached the last step under him, I stilled, waiting. His eyes narrowed as he stared down at me.

  “Are you going to let me up?”

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  I went to move by him but stopped. He looked tired. “You need to rest.” The man looked wiped out.

  “Yeah, so?” the snide comment came back, like he was daring me to say something else.

  I lifted my hand but thought better of touching him at the last minute. “You should go home and get some sleep.”

  “I can’t.”

  I shook my head and turned to leave him, but his hand was like a vise on my wrist. I wasn’t going anywhere. “Dreo?”

  “It’s good you came. I need to talk to you.”

  But he didn’t start, he just stared at me.

  “Are you all right?”

  He coughed softly. “You just came for Michael?”

  “And to check on you,” I admitted.

  He nodded. “So check on me, then.”

  I was as clueless as the next guy until I wasn’t. When what people needed was actually brought to my attention, I could do something about it. At that moment, with no one else in the world caring how the hell Andreo Fiore was doing, he needed it to matter to me just a little.

  Reaching out, I took hold of his arm, tugged gently, and led him up the stairs and down the hall, walking until I couldn’t hear talking and laughing, finally pulling him into the laundry room and turning to face him. He looked drugged.

  “Jesus, you’re barely awake.”

  “I need to talk to you,” he said as he closed the door behind him.

  “About what?” I asked, putting my hand on the top of the washer.

  “About what happened to Vincent Romelli.”

  “Dreo, it’s not any of my business what—”

  “The hell it’s not,” he growled. “You and Michael, you’re all I have.”

  Me and Michael? I got Michael, but…. “Are you sure you’re awake? I think you—”

  “It turns out,” he cut me off again, his hand joining mine on the washer, “that Frank Alberone from the Spinato family, he just took over Romelli’s territory.”

  “I don’t know anything about the—”

  “In Chicago, it’s either the Spinato family or the Cilione family, and everyone else either works for one of them or has ties to one of them.”

  I nodded.

  “Sometimes territories get traded around, some new guy is made and things change.”

  “And that’s what happened with Mr. Romelli?”

  “Yeah. Alberone’s new, and he’s somebody’s cousin in the Cilione family, and I guess they had a sit-down and things got swapped around.”

  “No one told Mr. Romelli?”

  “I guess they did. He just wasn’t listening.”

  “So what does all that mean?”

  He stepped closer, and his hand slid closer to mine. “It means that because Tony Strada is a smart man, he’s n
ot gonna find himself getting shot at or fished out of Lake Michigan next week. He’s already working something out with everyone.”

  “Jesus, Dreo.”

  “Non farci caso.”

  “Don’t tell me not to worry about it!”

  He was grinning suddenly. “Since when do you speak Italian?”

  But I didn’t, I just…. “I knew what you were going to say.”

  His head tipped as he really looked at me. “You think you know me?”

  “Are you safe?” I asked, ignoring his question.

  There was a slight shudder that slid through him, so small a movement that unless you were looking you would never have seen it. The man was amazing at hiding his own feelings under layers of a smooth, polished surface.

  “Dreo,” I said, not even thinking about it, stepping forward, close, my hands going to his face, sliding over his skin, holding him as I stared into his eyes. “Are you okay?”

  He swallowed hard. “None of this matters to me or Sal because… like I told Mr. Romelli a couple days before he died… we’re out. We have plans, you know? Together. Tony knows, and now he gets it even more than he used to.”

  “Of course,” I agreed, taking a breath, ready to let him go.

  His hands closed over my wrists, keeping me there, making sure I wouldn’t move. “I talked to Tony.” He took a breath, content, it seemed, to have my hands on him. “And he’s gonna let us walk away. He’s gonna honor Mr. Romelli’s word.”

  I was really trying to concentrate on something other than the man’s melting onyx eyes or the sensual shape of his mouth.

  “So me and Sal,” he almost whispered, finally releasing my wrists, letting my hands fall away from him, “we’re both free and clear.”

  “Are you happy?”

  “I am. We both are.”

  I cleared my throat. “You and Sal are going into business together?”

  He nodded. “We already started, but now we can just work at it full-time.”

  “And what is your business?’

  “We’re general contractors, some light construction, drywall, painting, stuff like that. I enjoy it, so does Sal, and no one shoots at us.”

  “Don’t joke about that.”

  He grunted. “All I ever did, all Sal did, was keep Mr. Romelli safe, be his bodyguards, so we told Tony that now, when they’re figuring shit out, like who’s gonna do what, that he should just count us out. Mr. Romelli was letting us walk away, and now Tony has too.”

  “So then everything’s all set.”

  “Yeah.” His eyes were locked on mine, staring deep. “I mean, before I can have a life I can be proud of, have who I want in it… I had to change what I did.”

  “So you’ve done that.”

  “Sì.”

  There was a long silence, and neither of us moved or spoke.

  “I should find Michael,” I said finally, looking into the dark wells of his eyes.

  “Yeah,” he agreed.

  But I didn’t move, and after a minute, I was embarrassed for thinking there was more he wanted to say, maybe even more he wanted from me. “Bye,” I said under my breath, ready to leave, brushing by him, reaching the door, my hand on the knob.

  He leaned forward, forearm braced there so I couldn’t get it open.

  “You need to let me out.”

  “Not yet,” he whispered.

  “Listen”—I turned around, my back against the door—“I’m getting conflicting signals here, and maybe you don’t even know that you’re—”

  “I know,” he said fast.

  I took a breath. “And?”

  He looked miserable, and I suddenly felt very foolish.

  “Dreo,” I dived in, “you either need to tell me what you want from me or tell me that there’s nothing you need at all.”

  His exhale. “Ho voglia di te.”

  “In English.”

  He leaned his head against the forearm he had pressed against the door. “I dunno.”

  “What did you say?” I asked, staring up at him, into his dark liquid eyes.

  “I said I want you, but I don’t even know what I mean.”

  I cleared my throat. “I think you want a family, Dreo, and when it’s you and me and Michael, you think you like it. If you’re out, out of the life with Mr. Romelli, maybe you’ll have time to find the girl you need.”

  “I’ve had nothing but time.”

  “That’s crap. You’ve been taking care of Mr. Romelli all day and Michael at night, and the only person you’ve had around at all on a regular basis is me, so it makes sense that you would develop some—”

  “No, it doesn’t,” he snapped. “You don’t just start having feelings for someone because they’re around. Gimme a fuckin’ break.”

  “I just mean that—”

  “Could you just shut the fuck up?”

  The condescending tone was too much. “Fine, you man up, then.”

  We stood there, staring, and he was furious—it was there on his face—but also more.

  “You’re telling me to grow some balls.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Some people are afraid of me, you know.”

  “Not me. Not ever.”

  He grunted before putting one hand gently around my throat, tipping my head up with his thumb. “Tesoro… dammi un bacio….”

  I had no idea that my stomach could still flutter, that my heart could pound so hard that it was all I could hear, and that my knees would actually wobble.

  “Per piacere,” he whispered as he bent and touched his lips to mine.

  My breath caught, and I saw the corner of his beautiful mouth tip up wickedly before he tilted his head and kissed me.

  I held my breath and everything exploded.

  The kiss was hard and bruising, devouring and rough, filled with frantic, pulse-pounding heat. Dreo took what he wanted, and I felt it, his dominance, and moaned deeply into his mouth. I craved him, and even when I had to break the kiss to breathe, I kept my hands on him, not letting him go.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, sounding like I was giving him a choice to leave even as I held onto the lapels of his suit jacket.

  He nodded, just barely.

  “My turn.”

  “Please,” he said under his breath, which undid me.

  I eased him down, my eyes closing as our lips met again, my mouth slanting over his, my tongue sliding into the wet heat, tasting him, tangling with his as we rubbed and ground together. It was slow and languid, deep and building, and I moved my hands, one behind his head, stroking the nape of his neck, the other on his chest, sliding over the hard pectorals, gentling him.

  The growl in the back of his throat was very low, very sexy, and as I stroked my tongue over his, I felt his hands slide over my ass, his fingers squeezing tight.

  It was drugging and sensual, and he swallowed my moan as I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed harder, feeling my body flush hot and cold, the response in him just as consuming, everything but his sweet mouth forgotten, the desire all that there was.

  Four years all alchemized into a single moment of scorching, aching, devouring need. I was overwhelmed. Normally I questioned and analyzed, but I was given no time. The man was not stopping, not letting me go. Instead, when I pulled free, I had only a second before his teeth were back, nibbling, and I heard him take a quick breath before his tongue was again exploring every crevice of my mouth, my palette, the back of my teeth, and the hollows of my cheeks.

  His hands pulled my hips into his, and he began rubbing against me, grinding, pushing against my already hardened groin. The feel of his body, the heat…. I was lost.

  I broke the kiss because I had to breathe, and instantly he shoved my head back so he could press his lips to my throat. He sucked and bit, and I jolted in his arms as he inhaled me, his hands kneading my ass hard.

  “Fuck, Nate,” he moaned, his breath quavering. “I don’t even know what to—”r />
  I had gulped air, so I lifted my head and pulled him back down to me, recapturing the kiss, plunging my tongue inside his mouth, his lips already parted, ready, wanting.

  He lifted me off my feet, and I wrapped my long legs around his waist as he shoved me up against the door. I was higher and ground my mouth down over his, my tongue sliding, pushing, the kiss just as fierce as before, still hungry and carnal.

  I whimpered loudly and felt him shudder in response, his big, hard body quivering as he began to thrust against my groin, the inside of my thigh.

  My hands were digging into his jacket as I ravaged his mouth, feeling him surrender to me, becoming mine to take, to have—all I wanted.

  His hips snapped harder, faster, and I tried to drag my lips from his, but he sucked my bottom lip inside his mouth and bit down, holding me there.

  I lost myself in the kiss again, but he pinned me to the door with his chest, lifting his lips from mine, taking a gulp of air as he put me on my feet. We were both panting, our foreheads pressed together, trembling with unsatisfied yearning.

  “Nate,” he rasped, his hot breath on my face. “Will you let me get in your bed?”

  “Yes,” I answered honestly, because as hot as things had ever been with Duncan, as much as I wanted Sean Cooper, neither had come close to the combustible heat that I just experienced with the man in my arms.

  “You swear?”

  “I do,” I assured him, unwinding my arms from his neck.

  “Don’t do that,” he mumbled, leaning forward, pushing his mouth against the base of my throat, licking before he sucked the skin into his mouth.

  He would leave marks, which I was guessing was his intent.

  I held on as he unbuttoned my peacoat, tugged my sweater up, yanked my T-shirt out of my jeans, and slid his hands over my hot skin.

  “Sono pazzo di te.” He spoke the words against my throat.

  “What did you—”

  “I’m so crazy about—I wanna put my hands all over you.”

  He could do whatever he wanted. When he murmured something under his breath, for once I asked what the word he used all the time meant.

  “I call you tesoro all the time,” he told me, “and you’ve never asked before.”

  “It’s not ‘pain in the ass’ in Italian?”

  “No,” he breathed out before kissing up my jaw, rubbing his face in my beard. “It means treasure, Nate Qells, and you’re mine.”