The Sweetest Oblivion (Made Book 1)

by Danielle Lori

  I rolled my eyes like I was put out, but in reality, I had to bite my cheek to hold in a smile as I turned to walk into the bedroom. “Male strippers. You know, men who dance while taking their clothes off.”

  Nico and I had spent another night at the penthouse, though I would rather go home. I stayed entertained by smothering myself with him day and night, so I guessed it didn’t matter where we were, as long as he was near.

  I’d gotten a call from my mamma at eight a.m. and Nico had handed me his phone and fell back asleep while I chatted about my bachelorette party tonight—hence him snapping my ass with a towel.

  I headed to my bag that sat on the dresser and dug through it for some clothes before he could welt my bare skin again.

  He walked up behind me. “There’s not a chance some man’s putting his hands all over you, Elena.”

  I turned, my lips pulling into a frown. “Do strippers touch?”

  “It’s called a fucking lap dance, baby,” he growled.

  “Oh,” I said nonchalantly and turned back around. “Good to know.”

  “Good to know, why?”

  “I’ll have to shave.”

  That comment got me tossed on the bed, and I was laughing before I hit the mattress.

  “Who the hell thought it was okay for you to have strippers at your party?” he said, exasperated.

  “God, you’re crazy. I was just messing with you! We’re going to a burlesque show.” I sighed, leaning back on my arms. “You’re no fun to play with.”

  He stood at the end of the bed with narrowed eyes. “Am I supposed to find other men touching you funny?”

  Something vulnerable climbed up my throat. “You’re full of double standards, Nico. I know you’re going to a strip club tonight, and I know how happy everyone will be to chip in for all your lap dances.” I knew there was no way to keep this man out of a strip club—I was sure he owned one or several—but the idea of some woman with her hands on him made me feel sick.

  “How do you know where I’m going? I haven’t even heard about it.”

  “Benito told my mamma.”

  “Benito.” He grimaced. “How would that asshole know?”

  How could he not like my cousin? Everyone liked Benito.

  “What else would you do, Nico?” A strip club was the tamest thing possible for a Made Man’s bachelor party. One of my older cousins had gotten married last year and there were hookers rented out for the night. I only knew that because Benito texted me to ask how to know a woman wanted him if she’d already been paid to sleep with him.

  “I’d rather call the whole thing off. I don’t like dropping you off at your parents’.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t trust your papà.”

  “He’s your father-in-law now, Nico. You’ll have to learn how to get along.”

  He let out a breath of amusement, running his hand through his hair. “I seem to be getting a whole lot of baggage with you, woman.”

  I frowned.

  His heavy gaze burned mine. “Nobody touches you, Elena, no matter what you do tonight. Do you understand me?”

  “Nobody touches you,” I shot back.

  We stared at each other for a moment, the realization of how deep we were both in sweeping into the room. Amusing, as we were married, but also thrilling in its possessiveness and need. He was mine, and nobody else could have him.

  “Sounds like we’ve got a deal,” he drawled, before yanking me closer by the ankle and climbing on top of me. Happiness filled my chest like a balloon, and I wondered if you could love someone so much you’d burst.

  Nico’s car had been idling in front of my parents’ place for a solid two minutes now, while he sat in the driver’s seat, tense and silent. I reached for my door handle, but he pressed the lock button before I could open it.

  “Nico, we can’t sit in here forever,” I sighed.

  His gaze met mine. “Screw the parties. Let’s go home. I’ll fuck you nice and slow all night long.”

  Amusement bubbled up my throat. “You have a romantic way with words.”

  He ran a hand across his mouth. “Who did you say was taking you?”

  “Dominic, and the two men you’re secretly putting outside the club.”

  A small smile pulled on his lips. “You’re nosy.”

  “You talk loudly on the phone.”

  “You got money?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your cell phone?”

  “Yes,” I said, “though I don’t know why I needed a new one.”

  He lifted a shoulder. Maybe it had been easier to buy a new one than to go home and get mine. We hadn’t been back to the house today, having stayed at the penthouse until now. I still had to find something to wear tonight, though most of my clothes were here at my parents’, anyway.

  Benito came out to stand on the porch and Nico’s eyes narrowed on him. “You gonna break the news that we’re married?”

  “Yes, I’ll make sure everyone knows I’m legally bound to Nicolas Russo.”

  His amused gaze came my way. “Never thought my wife would have such a smart mouth.”

  “Is it disappointing?”

  His hand slid around the back of my neck and pulled my face to his. “There could be worse things.” He kissed me deep and slow. “You gonna have a fun time tonight?”

  “Maybe,” I whispered against his lips. “But I’ll be missing you more.”

  “Damn,” he drawled. “You’re sweet when you aren’t stealing from me.”

  I flushed. “Are you going to let me get a job and pay you back?”

  He laughed. “Do you know how much you stole? It would take you twenty years at best.”

  “Well . . . I’m not going anywhere, am I?”

  His gaze burned. “No. I think I’ll keep you.”

  “Nico . . .” I swallowed. “I really am sorry about the money—”

  “Don’t be. I’m impressed,” he said, amusement coating his voice. “There might be a little Russo in you yet.”

  I knocked softly on the doorframe and cleared my throat. “Hi, Papà.”

  He glanced up from the paperwork on his desk with an unreadable expression. “I hear you’ve gotten married.”

  Everyone on the block must have heard it with how loud Mamma had screeched when she saw my ring. It wasn’t an ecstatic screech either—more like a horrified acquiescence.

  I shifted in the doorway. “Yes.”

  “He didn’t ask me if he could push the wedding up,” Papà grunted.

  “You didn’t ask me before selling me to Oscar Perez.” My heart raced once the heated words passed my lips. I didn’t believe I’d ever have the courage to talk back to my father, no matter what he said or did.

  His jaw ticked, but he only shuffled through some papers. “I didn’t sell you. You know how this life works, Elena. If you lived on the Outside and got to make all your own decisions, you’d never last. They’d chew a girl like you up and spit you out. I was trying to protect you.”

  My father’s vision for my happiness and well-being were so skewed I knew we’d never agree on a thing, so as asinine as I believed his beliefs were, I dropped it.

  “I don’t want there to be issues between you and my husband.”

  He scoffed.

  “Why do you dislike him?” I sighed.

  “He’s a hothead and a cheat.”

  I opened my mouth to disagree but then closed it. It was a little hard to dispute.

  “He sees something he wants, and he takes it—just like his papà. I fucking knew I shouldn’t have let him see you until he married your sister.”

  “Why did you tell him I was unfit for marriage?”

  “Because he doesn’t deserve you!” Papà slammed a hand on his desk. “Oscar understood how you are. He would’ve made you a good husband.”

  I laughed with bitterness. “How I am? Do you think I’m made of glass, Papà? You don’t even know who I am because you haven’t spent one day getting to know
me since I turned ten.”

  He gave his head a shake.

  My throat felt tight. “Firstly, you’ve been misinformed about the kind of person Oscar was. Look into him a little deeper and think for a moment that you almost sold me to him. And secondly, regardless of your reservations about Nico—I’ve known him for a short amount of time and yet he knows me better than anyone else. He’s my husband, Papà . . . and he’s come to mean something to me, whether you like it or not.” I swallowed. “If you care about me at all, you’ll be civil with him.” After a moment of silence, I turned to leave but then paused at his voice.

  “Even though you can’t see it sometimes, I love you, Elena, and I want the best for you. You’ll come to me if he’s ever bad to you.”

  I nodded, though I knew it would never come to that.

  For the first time in my life, I felt free to be me. To curse if I wanted, to keep my smiles for who deserved them, to be bad at something, to fall in love.

  Nico didn’t treat me like glass. He shattered the reflection of an empty life staring back at me.

  He taught me how to soar.

  “A woman should be pink and cuddly for a man.”

  —Jayne Mansfield

  “SOPHIA ANISE!” MAMMA SCOLDED, AS a half-dressed male dancer humped a woman on stage who turned toward the audience, put a hand toward her mouth, and gasped. “I thought this was a family show?”

  Sophia laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Elena is getting married! Who wants to see a family show?”

  Mamma had put Sophia in charge of choosing the club and performance, and she had expected something PG?

  “I love it!” Gianna exclaimed. “It’s been so long since I’ve been to a burlesque show.”

  When we arrived, it was to find Gianna standing outside the club, chatting with the bouncer like she’d known him all her life. Turned out she’d met him three minutes prior. Poor guy probably thought he was getting laid tonight, when really Gianna was bubbly to everyone—well, besides the FBI agent anyway.

  Our table was full, but it felt empty without Adriana and Nonna. My sister had severe morning sickness. Nonna said she was “sick as a dog” and that she had it coming to her for getting knocked up out of wedlock. She also said she had to stay home and make sure Adriana was okay, but really, I thought it was just an excuse so she could maintain her eight p.m. bedtime.

  The lights sparkled, my cheeks were warm, and my chest felt light, as if it were full of happiness about to escape. I stood and announced, “I need to use the restroom.”

  “Well, go then,” Mamma said. “You don’t have to tell the whole room.”

  I laughed.

  Mamma rolled her eyes. “Mamma mia.”

  Dominic’s gaze narrowed on me from where he stood leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He looked sharp in his suit and as broody as usual.

  “I’ll go with you!” Gianna got to her feet. She wore ballet-pink velvet pumps I couldn’t help but envy.

  “No, no, no!” Sophia said. “You can’t break the seal already! The night just started!”

  “What do you know about ‘breaking the seal,’ Miss Nineteen-Year-Old?” Mamma muttered as Gianna and I walked toward the bathroom.

  “That’s a myth, you know. Breaking the seal.” Gianna linked her arm with mine. “Apparently it’s all in our heads.”

  “I wouldn’t know either way,” I admitted. “I’m not a big drinker.”

  “Really? I guess you and Ace are perfect for each other then, aren’t you?”

  My brows pulled together. “But Nico’s always drinking.”

  “Yes,” she laughed, nudging my shoulder with hers. “But never excessively. The last time I saw him drunk was six years ago, and I’m positive it was only more incentive for sobriety.”

  “Why?”

  “Er, well . . .” She sighed. “Maybe that’s something Ace should tell you.”

  “You slept with my husband, didn’t you?” In my inebriated state, the invasive question slipped from my lips.

  An awkward laugh escaped her. “Well, it’s out in the open, isn’t it? It was one time, and we were both so drunk neither of us even remembers it.”

  Maybe it was because I was a few drinks in, or maybe it was because I had already assumed it to be true, but I wasn’t that upset. I knew Nico was far from a virgin, and I wasn’t sure I wanted one of those anyway. He wouldn’t be the same man he was now.

  We did our business in the bathroom and then stood side-by-side at the sink washing our hands.

  “So, you’re married, huh?” I asked.

  She rolled her eyes with a sigh. “Don’t remind me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it isn’t a marriage of love.”

  She leaned toward the mirror, applying a fresh coat of cherry-red lipstick. “Don’t be. It was my choice.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup,” popped from her lips as she pressed them together to spread the lipstick evenly. “I married Antonio when I was twenty. He died three years later. After I got into a little trouble with the law, Nico gave me a choice to go home to Chicago or marry again.”

  She held out her lipstick to me and I had a refusal on my tongue, but . . . why the hell not? Elena Abelli never wore anything so bold, but I was Elena Russo now. I took it from her and began applying a liberal coat.

  “So, you chose to marry?”

  “Yes.” She grabbed my left hand to look at my ring in the light. “That was a no-brainer.”

  Apparently, her home life wasn’t that great.

  “You’re going to think I’m horrible, but I chose the oldest candidate available for obvious reasons.”

  “I don’t think you’re horrible at all.” It was the truth. I wouldn’t have the courage to marry a man three times my age. I couldn’t even imagine the wedding night without my skin crawling. “Nico won’t make you marry again?” I asked.

  Her eyes narrowed, and she dropped my hand. “No.”

  Well, well, there was some passion beneath the bubbly persona.

  I handed her the lipstick and pressed my lips together while observing my new look in the mirror.

  My eyes had a haze over them, the alcohol seeping through my bloodstream and lightening my tongue. “He promised me fidelity,” I announced, the words rolling off drunken lips. I had no idea why I’d shared it, but there was something liberating about opening up to another woman in a bathroom.

  This was what girls did, and it was the first time I was a part of it.

  Her dark eyes filled with sympathy. “You poor thing, you. Looks like you’re stuck with him for good. Ace might be a cheat at heart, but he always does exactly what he says he’s going to do.”

  “How old is your cousin again?” Gianna’s voice was loud enough it echoed across the street.

  Dominic flicked a glance to us, and I honest to God giggled. “He’s too young for you. You’re like . . . ten years older than him.”

  Gianna frowned, leaning against the brick wall for balance. “He’s eighteen? He doesn’t look eighteen.”

  “No, twenty.” I zigzagged over to her, and when I managed to bump into her shoulder, I stayed there.

  “He’s hot.”

  Dominic stood at the curb, pretending to be texting and not listening to our conversation.

  “Eh, he’s okay,” I said.

  His lips tipped up.

  Benito had picked up Mamma and the others a couple minutes ago, but Dominic stayed to wait for my husband to get me. Nico had texted me three times tonight and I managed to reply each and every time. I deserved a medal. Are you having fun? Yes. Are you ready to go? No. How drunk are you? Somuch.

  A couple of minutes later, when I noticed Nico get out of his car on the street, my drunk heartbeat skipped with satisfaction. Though I stayed exactly where I stood—or leaned—because these three-inch heels didn’t pair well with more than three drinks. And I’d lost count since that number.

  Nico’s eyes narrowed slightly when he saw Gianna a
nd me, leaning against the wall and each other as if we offered a little better support than just the brick.

  He stopped in front of us with his hands in his pockets. “You’re drunk as shit.”

  I nodded slowly.

  Amusement ghosted through his eyes as he ran a thumb across his bottom lip. “Can you walk?”

  I nodded again but didn’t move. If I did I thought Gianna might fall over.

  His gaze coasted to her, before he turned and spoke to Dominic for a moment. My cousin slipped his phone in his pocket and gave Nico eye contact. What did I need to do to get that kind of attention from him? I stared at my husband while he talked to Dominic. He was so handsome something touched me in the chest.

  “Come on.” Nico grabbed my hand. “Let’s go home.”

  “But Gianna—”

  “Dominic’s taking care of her.”

  “Oh . . . I drank so much tonight.”

  Nico laughed. “Yeah?”

  “But I loved it,” I blurted. “I had so much fun.”

  Nico opened my door and I dropped into my seat. He lowered to his haunches beside me and buckled me up. “You’ve been hanging out with Gianna?”

  “Yes!”

  His eyes narrowed. “No drugs, Elena.”

  “Yes, sir,” I laughed.

  “I’m serious.”

  Something sober settled in me when I remembered his mamma. “No drugs,” I said.

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise, Ace.”

  His lips tipped up. “Ace, huh?”

  I nodded lazily. “I’m trying it out.” And from that moment on, I called him Ace whenever I was drunk, Nicolas when I was mad, and Nico all the times in between.

  He ran a thumb across my cheek. “Are you going to puke in my car?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Why would I puke? I feel great.”

  He made an amused noise. “Fuck, this will be fun.” He shut my door and I watched him through the windshield as he walked around the car. He looked like a don tonight, and I was dying to take him home and rip off his clothes to humanize him a bit.

  My head rolled against the headrest to look at him once he was in the driver’s seat. “How are you so handsome?”