by Tamara Lush
He turned and looked into her eyes. A little smile crept onto her face, and he leaned forward for a kiss. Her insistent lips made everything that he intended to say and do vanish from his mind.
“No. Let’s get inside,” he whispered, and he left the gun in the glove box.
* * *
The second he locked the house and flicked on the lights, Skylar pressed her body against Luca, pinning him to the door. She stood on her tiptoes to reach his mouth and ran her hands over his chest. She wanted him and would have him tonight.
Now.
“I missed you,” she said. She unbuttoned his shirt and purred when she felt his hands cup her ass, gripping her, hard.
“I missed you, too. I’m sorry for everything.”
She grabbed his wrist. “No apologies. Upstairs. Now.”
They practically ran up the staircase, and when they got in his bedroom she kicked off her strappy sandals and climbed into the middle of the bed. He followed, and she unbuttoned his shirt, stripping it off him. She dove for his pants, unbuckling his belt. He finished the rest, unzipping and sliding his trousers off.
“Is this what you want?” he asked.
“Yes.” His voice had been gruff, but hers was firm and clear.
He pulled her dress over her head then groaned when he saw her matching black lace bra and panties. Unhooking her brassiere, he groaned when she guided his hands to her breasts, which filled his palms. Then she and Luca kissed and touched and maneuvered each others’ bodies until she was sitting on top of him with her legs around his waist.
They still had their underwear on, and he embraced her while sitting up, his hands fanning her skin, leaning her slightly back so he could kiss and suck her nipples into stiff peaks. He was rock-hard as she ground into him. Already, little noises of excitement escaped her mouth, and she couldn’t wait to feel him inside of her. She’d wanted this for far too long.
“Luca,” she whispered, sitting up and tilting his head so that he looked at her. He was breathing hard, and his eyes flashed with need. “Tonight. I want you. I want you to make love to me tonight.”
To her surprise, he shut his eyes and pressed his lips together then rested his forehead on her chest. This wasn’t the reaction she’d expected, and panic crept into her chest.
“What? You don’t want to? You don’t want me? After all this…?”
Humiliating flashbacks of James telling her how inept she was at taking charge in bed ran through her mind, but she reminded herself to be calm. To listen.
“No,” he said. “I mean, yes. I do. More than anything. But, Sky, oh God. I can’t. Not with a good conscience.”
She slipped off of him, and it was as if a bucket of ice had been dumped over her head. “What? Tell me.”
His eyes were still closed, as if for some reason he couldn’t bear to see her.
“Open your eyes. Look at me. What’s wrong?”
A look of pure fear in that green-gray gaze greeted her when he opened his lids. He whispered, “It’s not right. I might fall in love with you if we do.”
Her eyes watered slightly, and she shook her head, not understanding. He might fall in love with her? That was a good thing, right? But why did he look so miserable? Was she missing something? She had only drunk two vodkas and one shot. She was buzzed but not hammered.
“What are you trying to say? I don’t get it. Why—?”
He interrupted. “Skylar. I can’t make love to you. I’m leaving.”
Her eyes got big, and she sank against the headboard. “What? Why? Does it have something to do with your parents? With me finding out about your parents? Is this why you wanted to talk to me?”
Kneeling before her, he bent his head. He spoke in a slow, strained voice. “Things have gotten really complicated for me in the past few weeks. Much more complicated than I anticipated. Last week, my uncle told me that…I can’t even say it.”
“What? What did he tell you?” Why was Luca being so damned dramatic and cryptic?
“That he’s really my father. That’s why I kind of flipped out on you. I felt like everyone was hiding something from me. They have been.”
“Holy shit,” Skylar whispered, floored and instantly sober. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“I know. I don’t, either.”
“So, that’s why you want to leave? Because of your uncle?”
He sighed. “Sort of, but that’s not all. There’s also you.”
“Me?” She had the feeling she wasn’t getting the entire story, but she furrowed her brow and tried not to act too skeptical or angry, since by the way he was breathing he was so obviously upset. And yet, anger rose inside of her. She felt like screaming at him.
“Yeah, you. I care for you. And I wasn’t looking for a relationship when I came here. Like I told you, I’m not boyfriend material. I can’t give you anything good right now. Maybe not ever. I don’t want to ruin your life.”
Skylar let out a long exhale. “Why would you ruin my life if you care about me? I don’t get it. You’re being too complicated. Stop being complicated.”
He finally raised his head and looked at her. “I don’t want you to understand. I don’t want you in my world. It’s too fucked up. It’s better if I go and leave you with only good memories.”
Skylar sat on the bed, staring into his eyes. After several seconds, she spoke in a soft voice. “Luca, are you in the Mafia? Are you involved in something illegal? Just be honest. I won’t judge.”
He licked his lips, shook his head and gave a wicked, bitter laugh. “No. I’m not. And you can’t help me.”
“Then what? What is it? You can trust me.”
She reached out to stroke his face, and he took her hand and pressed his lips against her palm. The gesture was so intimate, so sweet, that Skylar’s eyes started to water. She wanted to leave, wanted to beg him to take her home. But she also wanted to soak him up, spend as much time as possible with him before he vanished from her life forever. And she had to discover his secret.
Coolly studying his hunched posture, she let out a sigh. “Luca, let’s get into bed. Go brush your teeth. Let’s talk more tomorrow. We’re both too emotionally strung out now.”
He nodded and leaned in to kiss her before leaving. “I’m sorry. I haven’t slept well since my uncle’s. I’m pretty destroyed.”
While he was in the bathroom, Skylar spun to sit on the edge of the bed and shoved the gauze curtain along the rail, away from her skin. She pulled her dress on because there was no way she would sleep naked with Luca now that he’d rejected her, now that he was leaving. She felt a headache approaching and wished she hadn’t drunk so much. Two drinks was her limit, and the fireball shot had been a shitty idea.
Her eyes went to the nightstand. A stack of books rested atop the little table. They weren’t there the last time she was in his bedroom, and she also noticed a yellow legal pad. She picked up the pad and read the words, which were mostly Italian. She noticed a phrase underlined, though. It said, Uomo di Sangue.
Her eyes went back to the table and landed on the first book in the stack as she set the notepad down. Uomo di Sangue, the title read.
Hmm. An interesting coincidence. Or was it? Maybe it was research for his master’s thesis, nothing special.
Why was he leaving? She sank back into bed, feeling wide awake and strung tight with a crushing feeling of disappointment in her core. She felt like she was so close to cracking the code of Luca, of figuring out why he was so mysterious. Why he was holding back from her. Then again, it wasn’t like she’d given herself totally to him. She had held back, too. Not much, but some. She hadn’t told him that her feelings were changing. And she’d denied herself pleasure. All because of her stupid ex and the insecurities he’d planted inside of her, and now it was too late.
She swallowed a lump of tears. No way would she let Luca see her cry.
He came back into the room, looking defeated. After he clicked the light off, they snuggled close, as if t
heir conversation hadn’t happened. Skylar was happy to let it stay that way. For now.
His voice was thick with sleepiness. “Thank you for not asking too many questions tonight. I’m just not in any shape right now for anything. You’re so sweet and so good, Skylar. Too sweet and too good for me.”
She wasn’t so sure of that. Especially not when she remembered something he’d said.
He was lying on his back, and Skylar wrapped an arm and a leg around him. “Luca?”
“Mmhmm?”
“Why did you say you were close to falling in love with me?”
“Because I am. You’re the first woman I’ve felt anything for in a very long time.”
“So, why me and not the others? What’s so special about me?”
He didn’t answer. Skylar hugged him tight but said no more. It didn’t seem like there was a point.
He began breathing deeply, puffing out little exhales, and she knew he was asleep. She wasn’t ready to drift off, though. Her mind was wound tight and the muscles in her legs felt twitchy. Probably because of the Red Bull and their baffling conversation.
Anger bubbled up inside of her, and she considered leaving and walking home. She flipped onto her back. Eyes open, she stared into the dark. What were his secrets? How would she convince Luca to stay? Should she try to get him to stay, despite his shadowy life? Or should she just move on and chalk their encounters up as a hot, strange fling?
She flopped back to her side, facing away from Luca. With a snore, he rolled over so they were back-to-back. In all the nights they had stayed together, he had never snored this deeply.
Where was her phone? Oh, right. Her bag was near the nightstand. Gingerly, she got out of bed and went for her purse, fishing the phone out and quickly checking her email. Sighing softly out of her nose, she decided to take her phone into the bathroom and check her social media accounts, too. Maybe she’d run a bath to try and calm down. Surely that wouldn’t wake Luca; the bathroom and bedroom were so huge that they were practically in different ZIP codes.
She flicked on the flashlight of her smartphone so she could see in the dark bedroom. Glancing at the nightstand, she shone the light toward it, and… Uomo di Sangue. The image of the underlined words and the book title popped into her head, and on an impulse, she grabbed the book.
Luca didn’t stir. She tucked the book under her arm and tiptoed across the room, using her cell phone to light the way. Once inside the bathroom, she locked the door and ran the hot water for the big Jacuzzi tub. She doubted if Luca would wake from his slumber anytime soon.
Setting the book on the sink, she lowered the lid on the toilet seat and plopped down. First she checked her social media accounts and liked a few posts, then she re-tweeted a few news stories. She was numbing her hurt, complicated emotions with the safety and security of her phone, and it felt like shit.
Reaching over, she picked up the book from its place on the sink and flipped through, wondering if there were any pictures inside or if she would understand any Italian. Turning the hardback over in her hands, she ran her palm down the smooth front. It was thick and about four hundred pages. The cover had a photo of an Italian-language newspaper splattered in blood.
Of course none of the book was in English, but Skylar figured out a few things instantly. The words “Mafia” and “Camorra” featured prominently on the book’s summary. She pondered whether it was a fiction or a nonfiction book, but something told her it was a true story. It looked interesting, too. Maybe there was an English language version she could order online.
In place of the author’s name it had a single word, Anonimo. She suspected that meant Anonymous, and she pulled up an Italian-to-English translation website on her phone that confirmed her assumption.
Her eyes scanned the foreign words as she opened the front cover. She flipped to the inside of the black flap. All in Italian.
Tapping the name of the book into Google, Skylar found a bunch of Italian entries and one English-language review in The Guardian from London. It was from a year ago.
“Uomo di Sangue—which means Man of Blood in English—is a frightening and true story of a Mafia boss in Naples, Italy.”
Oh, interesting. Maybe Luca was in the book. Or maybe his family was in the book. Or, if he was really a graduate student, maybe his research was in the book, though that would just be about fictional Mafia types, wouldn’t it? Curious to see what she’d find, she flipped to see if there was a table of contents or index. There was, but the Rossi name wasn’t listed. She returned to her smartphone and scrolled with her thumb to read:
It’s rare that a work of narrative non-fiction would have such an impact on one country. This extraordinary book would be a sure winner for many journalism awards in the United States, but the anonymous Italian journalist who wrote this stunning and heartbreaking true story of a Mafia boss’s impact on a city and country probably won’t get an award for his work. He will be lucky if he doesn’t get a bullet to the head. This is a frightening and detailed account of how the Mafia has influenced every facet of Italian life.
Wow. It sounded like an amazing piece of reporting.
Skylar rose and checked her bathwater, wiping her wet finger on her bare leg. She sank to the crisp marble floor of the bathroom, her back resting against the side of the tub.
It’s rumored that the anonymous author who wrote this book had previously worked for Il Mattino, Naples’s largest newspaper, and later ran a popular Italian news blog, Politica Italiana. English-speaking audiences wouldn’t likely know of the site’s popularity, but think of Wikileaks, Edward Snowden, Woodward and Bernstein, and you get a taste of what was accomplished. The wunderkind behind the blog and the book was rumored to be a young man from a wealthy Naples family.
The journalist sounded brilliant. Why had Skylar never heard of him, or at least of his work if he remained anonymous? She was so ignorant. She needed to read more about Italy—and the rest of the world. Her frown became even more severe as she continued to devour the article. It said the book’s author went deep in his reporting to find out little known details of one Mafia boss, going undercover, becoming friends with underworld criminals and hanging out with Mafia members. He’d even witnessed a Mafia massacre. Impressive work, tough work, the kind of stuff Skylar could only dream of.
Thinking about whether it would be feasible or safe for a female journalist to report like that, she reached back and checked the water again. The tub was almost full and the water scalding. She shut off the tap and scanned more of the review, wanting to read until the water cooled. The faucet dripped and steam rose into the air.
Following the release of this book, the author suffered a great personal tragedy, allegedly retribution from the Camorra for revealing so many details about the crime boss. It’s also rumored that the author had to flee Italy and is on the run. It’s even possible that he’s not alive.
Heart racing, she flipped to the book’s publication date then did a quick calculation. The book was published two months before Luca’s parents were killed.
“Oh my God,” Skylar whispered out loud. She closed her eyes and breathed in rapid, shallow breaths. Her heartbeat whooshed in her ears, and her stomach flip-flopped. She sat like that for countless moments, wondering what the hell to do. What to think. What to feel. Luca was the journalist. What other solution could there be?
No. Don’t let your imagination run wild. Okay, the author is from Naples. So what if Luca reads a lot about the Camorra? And what about his travels in the past year? What does that prove, really?
She put her phone on the floor, but the book still rested in her lap. Shaking, she picked it up and thumbed through the pages again, this time stopping at the first chapter. There was a quote at the beginning.
Chi più sa, meno crede.
The more one knows, the less one believes.
Luca’s tattoo.
Skylar let the book fall to her lap, and she set her palms on the cool marble floor, hoping to stop h
er shaking. It didn’t. She forced herself to take deep, yogic breaths to calm down. Everything—from his reluctance to talk about himself to the way he’d reacted to her during their fight—seemed clear now. It all made sense. His evasiveness, his sadness, his interest in politics, it all came into sharp focus. This was why he refused to talk about his past or promise her a future. Why he wanted to leave.
She zoned out while trying to figure out what to do. There was the drip-drip-drip of the bathtub faucet, and then a gentle knock on the door.
“Amore mio. Are you bathing?”
Skylar gasped. “Yes! Luca!” she said, crawling over and flushing the toilet. She slipped her phone and the book into her bag and stuffed a towel over the book. With shaking hands, she opened the linen closet and set the bag on a shelf, trying to close the door without a sound. Then she wriggled out of her dress and underwear. “One second!”
She took a deep breath and unlocked the door. A naked Luca walked into the bathroom. It wasn’t as though it was the first time she’d seen him without clothes, but looking at his body made her heart flutter faster now that she knew his real identity. Skylar bent over the tub to check the water, hoping that her bare ass would be enough of a distraction from her quaking legs and arms.
“Luca,” she said, attempting a bright voice. “You’re awake.”
She mustered a seductive look and glanced over her shoulder to find him leaning against the sink, staring at her. His eyes traveled down her body. Why did he have to look so handsome when he was sleepy and his hair was rumpled and she had just discovered that he was a crusading journalist wanted by criminals?
“I woke up and you weren’t next to me, amore mio. I…wanted to see if you were okay.”
Skylar stood up straight then slowly eased herself into the tub, shivering a little from the feeling of the near-scalding water on her legs and the cool air-conditioned room on her nipples, which were now taut. “Sorry. Couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts going through my head.”
“Why did you lock the door? Were you afraid I was going to interrupt you doing naughty things?”
