Accidental Witness

by Sam Mariano

  “Half, yeah.”

  All the times I’ve felt catty and jealous over her suddenly come flying back to me, and I feel so incredibly stupid. “Oh, my God,” I say, slapping my palm to my forehead with a little smile. “Wow, I wish someone would’ve told me that a long time ago.”

  “You had no idea,” he realizes.

  “I was such a bitch to her when she first tried to befriend me. Legendarily bitchy.”

  He has the nerve to laugh. “Why?”

  “I thought she was trying to… you know, horn in on my man,” I say, giving up and laughing at how stupid I sound. “Oh my God, I’m an asshole.”

  “I’m surprised Vince didn’t tell you,” he remarks.

  “Yeah, me too. We never even talked about it—he knew I had siblings, of course, but… he didn’t want to talk too much about his family.”

  Mateo nods, understanding. “We try not to. You can’t trust people.”

  Dimming a bit, that makes me think of the fight Vince and I just had. “I think you can trust people more than you guys do. Give people a little credit, they might surprise you.”

  He looks amused. “I’m rarely surprised.”

  Raising a finger to point at him, I say, “But rarely isn’t never, now is it?”

  “I guess not,” he says. I know I haven’t cured him of his paranoia, but at least he gave me that.

  “You all need to just relax. You guys have this awesome life, and you’re too busy watching over your shoulders to enjoy it. A month ago I had to find ways to make dinner for $2. If I got sick, I had to drink orange juice from the school cafeteria and hope the vitamin C helped because we couldn’t afford to buy medicine. You guys have a country club at your house and you’re all wearier than I’ve ever been.”

  “You’re young,” he reminds me. “You’re correct that I’ve never experienced poverty, but you’ve never experienced a man you’ve grown up with for 20 years, more brother than friend, try to assassinate you because another man wanted what was yours. You’ve never had your older sister gouge you in the leg with a throwing star and try to end your life. You’ve never had to live every day knowing the only thing between you and a body bag is a good bodyguard and the people who would kill you being too afraid of what you’d do if they failed.”

  My eyes are wide by the end. Being tucked away here, it’s easy to forget the ugly life that makes all the extravagance possible. “Wow, that… sucks. I’m sorry.”

  He shrugs, like it’s business as usual. “I have trusted people close to me. I learned not to.”

  I can’t help the wave of sympathy that comes over me. I can’t imagine being betrayed in such grand fashion by the people closest to me. He’s different here, alone, without everyone around to posture for. “That sounds really lonely,” I tell him.

  “That’s life,” he says simply.

  “It doesn’t have to be,” I say, softly, since I don’t really know how to argue that. I’m sure in my convictions though, so I attempt to come up with evidence to base that claim on. “There are people here you can trust. I mean, Adrian seems like a good friend.”

  “Adrian despises me,” Mateo states, smiling.

  I rear back a little at that. “I thought he was your bodyguard?”

  “He is,” he says, simply.

  That… doesn’t make sense, but I move along. “Francesca—your sister is great.”

  “So was my other sister—the throwing star one,” he reminds me.

  Grimacing slightly, I say, “Damn, two for two. Well, you can trust me,” I decide. “I mean, I know I’m not powerful or connected and I couldn’t protect you from a bullet or a throwing star, but if you ever feel lonely, you can count on me as a friend.”

  He’s looking at me in a way I can’t quite pin down, but I see traces of amusement there. “You always try to befriend people who’ve threatened to kill you?”

  “Exclusively,” I say, not missing a beat. “How else will I know they care?”

  Shaking his head, he states, “I’m not sure if you’re terribly idealistic or a little bit dim.”

  Lightly whacking him in the arm, I say, “Hey, that’s not friendly!”

  “I’m not a friendly guy,” he states.

  “Oh,” I say, with a dismissive wave. “I think you’re friendlier than you want to admit. You don’t have to intimidate me into not wanting to kill you, so you don’t have to keep up the front.”

  “Front, huh?” he repeats, still amused.

  I nod. “There’s good in you. There’s good in everyone, and you’re no exception.”

  With a disbelieving headshake, he says, “I think I’m starting to see why Vince is so fond of you.”

  That draws a frown out of me. “Eh, he’s not so fond of me tonight.”

  His eyebrows rise, like he’s surprised. “No? Well, his loss.”

  My frown turns to a slight smile at that. A second passes, then Mateo takes a step away. “Well, I’ll leave you to your books. Turn the light off on your way out, would you?”

  “Of course. Thanks for keeping me company.”

  “Anytime,” he says, offering a slow smile before departing the room.

  Chapter Twenty

  After I left the library, I retired to my room for the night to wait for Vince. My pleasant exchange with Mateo got me thinking, and I realized I need to be kinder to Vince. Maybe he is being paranoid and crazy, but fighting will make that worse, not better. Regardless, Mateo isn’t an actual threat outside of Vince’s mind, and I don’t want to harm our relationship by letting things get out of hand.

  I sent him a text to ask him when he was coming home, but he didn’t answer me. Before I got in the shower, I sent him one more text, telling him I was sorry for snapping and that I didn’t want to fight with him.

  The shower I took was too hot, but it felt so good to stand under the hot spray, I lost all track of time.

  Tucking the edge of the towel into the front near my breasts, I step out of the bathroom. The coolness of the bedroom by comparison feels nice.

  Approaching the desk, I check my phone to see if he’s responded. Nothing. I was in the shower forever, so he had to have read the message by now.

  I sigh and flip open my history book. I probably could study tonight and get it out of the way, but right now I'm too tired. I decide to lie down in bed for a few minutes first and just rest my eyes.

  Only I fall asleep. I don't realize it until the bed dips beside me, Vince crawling in and wrapping an arm around me in the dark. I stir, but I'm not ready to wake up. I'm relieved he's home safe. I know he had been drinking at dinner, and I wasn’t sure if he was driving to Joey’s or not. I would’ve asked, but he slammed the door in my face.

  "Hey, you," I murmur, reaching back to caress whatever my hand lands on. It's his hip, and he's still wearing dress pants, not pajamas.

  His arm snakes around my waist, finding the edge of the towel and tugging.

  Without opening my eyes, I smile. I don’t have the physical stamina to have sex right now, but that he wants to makes me think he doesn’t want to fight anymore either. "I'm really sleepy. Can I get a rain check?”

  His hand touches my bare stomach, then skates down between my legs.

  Despite my meager objection, I let my legs fall open for him. Arousal stirs at his touch, and I guess it won’t kill me to wait 20 more minutes for sleep.

  My head falls back as his fingers move inside me, first just one, but he promptly pushes a second inside. His thumb massages my clit as the other two explore, but to my disappointment, he stops after only a few seconds.

  "Tease," I murmur, when he withdraws.

  He chuckles quietly. Then his hands are on my hips and he's guiding me to roll over on my stomach. I do, not totally sure where we're going with this, but then he does the most amazing thing—he starts rubbing my back. If this is how he’s going to make up after fights, I think they might be easier to get through in the future. Everything tingles as his strong hands work my muscles, and
while I feel positively blissful, there's a good chance he's going to put me back to sleep.

  Until he stops, nudging my legs apart. His hand passes over my bare ass and I feel the bed shift as he changes positions. I push up to my hands and knees, assuming he's going to enter me doggie style, but he doesn't unbutton or unzip. Instead he invades me with two fingers again and begins pumping. This feels different, he's not just toying with my clit, but plunging deeper, quicker.

  "Oh God, that feels good," I tell him, shifting my ass.

  His free hand moves from my hip to my ass, and he gives it a light smack, startling me, but also exciting me. Anchoring his hand on my hip, his thrusts pick up even more speed, and I feel the telltale build of an orgasm. When it hits, it's like no orgasm I've had before. I cry out far too loudly, trembling as my orgasm shudders through me.

  I feel like a limp spaghetti noodle as I fall down on my stomach, panting. "Holy shit."

  Then the kisses start. He kisses a trail down my spine, straddling the backs of my thighs. I've never been so satisfied in my life, but I won’t object to more kisses. He can do just about whatever he wants to my body right now, I won't mind.

  He moves off me and I hear the covers rustling as he pulls them up. I don't know what he's doing until he rolls me over onto my back again. He's under the covers. Before I can object, he starts dropping kisses along my inner thigh.

  Oh, God.

  "Vince, I can't," I say, laughing lightly. "There's no way."

  But then his hot breath hits me, his fingers spreading me open, and his tongue delves into me.

  I was wrong, I realize, as a breath rushes out of me. I'm so wet that it's embarrassing, but he's positively devouring me, and the arousal I thought was exhausted is roaring back to life.

  He pulls his tongue back out, wringing a tortured cry from me, and runs his mouth over me, nibbling on me with his lips.

  "Jesus Christ," I mutter, digging my hands into the soft black sheets. "Don't stop, please."

  He obliges, tonguing my clit until I think I'm going to die from the building pressure. My whole body tenses as I approach another climax, terrified he'll stop or move or breathe differently—anything that might interrupt me. "Yes, yes, don't stop. Oh, God."

  Pleasure explodes within me for a second time. Actually, pleasure is too slight a word for the incapacitating satisfaction that claims me as I arch up, then fall against the bed.

  Now I really can't move. Holy shit.

  "That was incredible," I say slowly. "Holy fuck."

  His laughter rumbles against my belly and I reach down, tenderly threading his hair through my fingers. "You're amazing. Thank you."

  He lays his head down on my belly and I continue to absently play with his hair. I know I should return the favor, but moving my body is a legitimate impossibility at the moment. I vow to myself I will do it tomorrow. Right now, all I want to do is bask in the afterglow of that awesome pair of orgasms and run my fingers through Vince's hair.

  ---

  Ordinarily Monday mornings aren’t my favorite, what with the early rising after a weekend of sleeping in, but as I make my way downstairs for breakfast, I’m feeling pretty damn good.

  Vince was up before me and already out of the room by the time I got up to shower, but I smile, seeing him with Mateo at the breakfast table.

  Wrapping my arms around his neck from behind, I lean down to give him a good morning kiss. “Hey, you.”

  “Hey,” he returns, sounding mildly surprised to see me. “Sleep good?”

  “Oh yes.” I give him another kiss for good measure, lips lingering, before I finally stand back.

  Mateo glances up at me, and I want to be friendly and say hi, but I also don’t want to make Vince sulk. I settle for a warm smile at him behind Vince’s head, then make my way to the kitchen.

  When I return to the table, I take my usual spot at Vince’s right, with Mateo on my right, at the head of the table. I wonder why we never switched spots, since Vince obviously doesn’t enjoy sitting so near him. It’s not like he ever said we couldn’t.

  I guess if I’m going to keep being his Sunday server though, it makes sense to keep us all together.

  “I made that list,” I tell Mateo, because it just popped into my head. “Started it, anyway. It’s not done, but I expect it will be by the time I get home from school.”

  He gives a nod of approval, picking up his coffee cup. “Good, I’ll order them right away.”

  “What list?” Vince inquires.

  “Oh, books for the library,” I say, placing a hand on his thigh and smiling. “I had some recommendations.”

  This time, my leg squeeze move seems to appease him, because he accepts this explanation without getting irritable. Score.

  Newly confident I can make this work and get along with everyone, I start chowing down on my oatmeal with strawberries.

  “Do you work tonight?” Vince asks.

  “I do.”

  “I’ll give you a ride. That guy there again today?”

  “I have no idea,” I state calmly.

  This catches Mateo’s interest. “What guy?”

  “Nobody. Mark—the baker. He was training me last week.”

  “Ah,” he says with a nod. “Nice?”

  “Yes, he’s very nice. A good trainer, too.”

  Vince finishes his food first, since he started before me. After he drops it off in the kitchen, he comes back, playing with his key. “I’ll be in the car.”

  “I’m almost done,” I tell him, shoveling a bigger bite on my spoon.

  I finish the rest in record time and hustle to clean off the dishes. Since Vince isn’t here, I offer Mateo a smile a little more freely. “Have a good day.”

  He’s reading the newspaper at this point, but he folds it aside to offer back a smile. “You too, Mia.”

  ---

  “Now that is a perfect cookie. I can just resign, they don’t need me here anymore.”

  Laughing as I inspect the smudgey mess of a cookie, I say, “Shut up.”

  Holding his hands up in defense, he says, “No, I’m serious! Watch.” Grabbing the cookie, he takes a bite, then rolls his eyes back in exaggerated ecstasy. “Oh, my God,” he says, mouth full of cookie.

  I snort, wadding up the paper towel by my hand and throwing it at his stomach. “I quit. You can design the cookies by yourself, I’m not helping you anymore.”

  Grinning as he drops the cookie into the nearby trash can, he says, “I think that’s probably for the best. You just sit there and look pretty; I’m gonna do all the manly work.”

  I roll my eyes and make a gagging face.

  He still smiles, outlining and then flooding his cookie in a way I just can’t manage. “Sorry, am I giving you flashbacks of your home life?”

  I take a seat on the stool next to his work table. “What home life?”

  “Your whole mob wife deal,” he says, flashing a playful look my way. “From what I hear, they’re very…”

  “Traditional?” I offer.

  “I was gonna say sexist, but sure, we’ll go with that.” He switches icing bags. “Do you at least get to hear any juicy tidbits?”

  “Juicy tidbits? No, I’m not in on any of that. Whatever they do outside of the home, I don’t know. My job is to serve the guys at dinner and wear a pretty dress.”

  “Aw, come on. I’m sure you get something more than that. I love The Godfather. We should meet for coffee one day and you can dish.”

  “There’s really nothing to dish. And I’m 100% sure Vince wouldn’t let me get coffee with you.”

  His eyebrows rise, but he at least keeps watching the cookie instead of me. “Let you? Is he your boyfriend or your master?”

  “There’s not as big a difference as you might think,” I say lightly.

  “Ew,” he says.

  I don’t disagree, but like Cherie said, it doesn’t really serve me to think about that. “It is what it is. What about you, do you have a lucky lady to call your o
wn?”

  That time he cuts me a smirk. “Nope, no one around to forbid me from getting coffee with a friend.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s not like that. He wasn’t… controlling when we dated, but I’m starting to notice it a lot more now that we’re living together.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s how it always works,” he says, levelly. “How long did you even date the guy before you moved in with him?”

  “I reserve the right to avoid answering that question,” I state.

  “Not long enough, I take it?”

  “It wasn’t my choice.”

  Mark frowns, grabbing a new tray of empty cookies. “Moving in with your boyfriend wasn’t your choice?”

  Glancing at the table, I realize, “We should probably talk about something else.”

  “But I’m interested in this. I like hearing about your life—it’s far more exciting than mine. I’m not above a little girl talk,” he jokes. Then, a little more seriously, he said, “Plus, it sounds like things get a little intense at home. Just want you to know you have someone to talk to, if you need it.”

  “Well, thanks. But honestly, it’s not how it sounds. Vince isn’t a bad guy, he just has a really weird family. I don’t think he would be so…whatever, it’s just, he reacts and certain family members think it’s amusing or something, so they prod him, and…”

  “He Hulks out,” Mark surmises.

  “He doesn’t Hulk out. He’s not violent,” I assure him, seriously. “He’s just paranoid. They all are. Crazy levels of paranoia in that family.”

  With a nod-and-shrug he says, “I guess I’d probably be paranoid too though, you know?”

  “Not that paranoid.”

  “What’s the craziest paranoid thing you’ve seen since you moved in? They have, like, spy cams set up,” he says, indicating around the room dramatically.

  My eyebrows rise. “You joke, but they do have surveillance. Apparently that you can see, and that you can’t. I haven’t spent too much time thinking about that Big Brother aspect though. I assume it’s more for outside threats than monitoring my trek to the pool.”

  “Yeah, mob beefs and all. I know, I know, that’s how I roll, too.”