The Sweetest Oblivion

by Danielle Lori

  My pulse pattered to an uneven beat. I’d come to the conclusion that even if I were to marry this man, he could give my heart nothing but tiny fissures and cracks—it didn’t know that, though. Or maybe it did, and the heart only took chances the brain would not. Thankfully, I’d always been a realist and usually reacted to the latter’s cues.

  However, an entirely different part of me controlled my actions regarding him: base instincts. This was how the human species kept populating. Unyielding attraction and lust. And Mother Nature wouldn’t let me forget there was a male in his prime nearby.

  We’d been doing something we shouldn’t have yesterday. It wasn’t like we’d crossed a direct line, but we’d undeniably dipped a couple toes on the other side. It would be much easier to dip a few more the next time. It was a dangerous slope, and I just needed to stay away from it completely.

  I had no idea how he would regard me now—now that I’d asked him to disrespect me. I planned to pretend it had never happened, but my body hadn’t forgotten. It sang in his presence, my stupid heart warming and not knowing what was good for it.

  As he came around the island, I tipped my wine cooler out to him in a gesture asking him to open it.

  He watched me as if he definitely remembered I’d asked him to disrespect me yesterday and he wouldn’t pretend otherwise, though his expression was indifferent, like it was nothing new to him. I was positive it wasn’t. I’d had his phone for two minutes max and received a naked picture. I couldn’t imagine what I’d see if I had it all day.

  He took the bottle from my hand and twisted off the cap. Right before he gave it back, he took a drink while looking at me all the while. My stomach erupted with butterflies from sharing with him, but I ignored the ridiculous feeling.

  I swallowed when he returned it to me and headed to the sink. My brows knitted as I looked at the half-empty bottle. How did men take such big drinks?

  Leaning on the fridge, with the bottle resting against my lips, I watched him wash his hands.

  His eyes came my way, running from the hair I’d straightened and wore down, to my gold dress that stopped mid-thigh. His eyes narrowed slightly, like he didn’t like it at all. When his attention landed on my white heels, it traveled back up my body slowly, and I knew he was looking for the pink.

  Danger. Playfulness. Fever. A mixture of them all filled my chest, trickling through my bloodstream and straight between my legs. Beneath the light pink thong that suddenly felt heavy, hot, and damp.

  A little lightheaded, I scraped my teeth on the bottle, biting down.

  His gaze darkened.

  Was the air growing warmer?

  Cazzo.

  Brother-in-law. Brother. In. Law.

  As my eyes fell downward, I paused.

  The water was running pink.

  He was washing blood off his hands.

  “Good day at work?” My tone was sweet and sarcastic.

  He flicked an amused gaze to me. “And look at how well you play wife. Starting to think I got the short end of the stick.”

  My eyes followed his to see Adriana sitting on the floor, cross-legged in the corner, playing what looked like a game on her phone. She was at least dressed appropriately in a yellow halter dress and flats. It would take blackmail to get her in heels.

  The TV sounded from behind the low wall that separated the kitchen from the living room, and I imagined Benito was settled on the couch with his arms resting across the back as he always had them. In the background, my mamma was squealing about how big the shower was.

  I tilted my head. “I think we do much better as fratello and sorella, don’t you?”

  He licked his lips, running his teeth across the bottom one thoughtfully, but it looked like he was thinking about all the wrong things.

  Those butterflies took flight.

  “If you say so, Elena.”

  “I do, Ace.”

  He dried his hands and tossed the hand towel on the counter. Just like a man not to hang it back up.

  “You been reading up on me?”

  “Maybe.” I lifted a shoulder. “But no one knows why they call you Ace. Can you kill a man with a playing card?”

  That amused him. “Why does it have to be about killing? Maybe I’m just damn good at cards.”

  I raised a brow. “Are you?”

  My heartbeat raced as he walked toward me, because it felt more like a stalk than anything.

  “I’m all right.” His expression hinted at dark amusement, like he knew something I didn’t. He stepped within a foot of me, braced a hand on the fridge above my head, and then leaned in until I could see nothing but him.

  I held my breath.

  His gaze was thoughtful, as though he wondered if he could trust me with his secrets, whether he wanted to.

  “You didn’t read much about me,” he guessed.

  I shook my head.

  He ran a thumb across my chin, right below my bottom lip and down the small indention. “First man I killed, I shoved an ace of spades down his throat.”

  I swallowed as he took a step back and walked away from me.

  “Name’s been with me ever since.”

  “What about her?”

  “Bitter and bisexual,” Adriana answered blandly, taking a sip of wine from her seat beside me at the island.

  “How can you tell she’s bisexual?” I asked.

  “She’s checked out Gianna’s boobs and Benito.”

  I paused. “Well, her boobs are kind of distracting.”

  My sister tilted her head, regarding Gianna’s breasts. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  The penthouse was full of about twenty Russos I hardly knew. The women stood in a corner, talking amongst themselves, and the last thing I wanted to do was small talk. Adriana should have been getting to know them better, but she never did anything by the book.

  Papà was speaking to Nico, who had just come out of his room freshly showered and dressed in a black suit. Mamma’s smile was fake—she was doing a poor job of feigning interest in Nicolas’s aunt’s conversation. And Adriana and I sat here, playing a game where we judged people by two words, only because Mamma took my sister’s phone—and therefore Angry Birds—and yelled at her to get off the floor.

  So far, Adriana thought everyone looked bitter and had some kind of secret sexuality. I didn’t think she was giving this game her all.

  She still hadn’t shared with me why she’d been so upset last night, and that could mean two things: she’d given it some thought and decided it wasn’t as bad as she initially believed; or, the one I was concerned about—she’d decided not to listen to his demands. How would Nicolas deal with that? My stomach tightened.

  “Your turn,” Adriana said, picking at the label on my empty wine cooler.

  At that moment, the door swung open and a groaned “Why?” escaped my lips.

  Tony stood on the other side of the door with Jenny. Her blond hair was down, her dress was tight and navy blue, the same color as her eyes as they landed on us. “Ohmygod, hi! It’s been forever since I’ve seen you!”

  Adriana rolled her eyes. She hated fake cheer, or really, just cheer in general. It wasn’t my favorite either, but I understood fake better than anyone.

  I nudged my sister’s shoulder, silently telling her to be nice.

  Jenny’s screech brought everyone’s attention to the door. Nico’s gaze landed on her while speaking to my papà. I didn’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t for him to glance away to finish his sentence, uninterested.

  Tony headed to Benito and Dominic, who hung out near the minibar, and Jenny came straight to us. I tensed as my brother walked by Nicolas, and then let out a breath when there was no altercation. They only glanced at each other with indifference. I’d never understand men.

  “I’m so happy for you, Adriana,” Jenny said as she reached us. “Your wedding is so soon.” It looked like Jenny wanted to hug her, but my sister’s expression made it clear she didn’t want to be touched.
Jenny took an awkward step back after coming too close.

  I tried to lighten the mood and smiled. “How are you, Jenny? I hear you’re graduating culinary school soon.”

  “Yes, but I don’t think I’ll ever be as good a cook as Celia.” She said it loudly enough for my mamma to hear, who only pursed her lips and sipped her cocktail.

  I swore Adriana muttered, “Suck-up.”

  Truthfully, nobody liked Jenny.

  Papà frowned when he saw her, and Mamma pretended she wasn’t here. My father’s reason was that she wasn’t Italian or connected to the Cosa Nostra, and therefore a liability. Jenny knew what my family was involved in, though she never let on she did. She wasn’t faithful to Tony, which meant she didn’t love him. In this life, there was only one reason a woman from the outside would stick around with a man she didn’t love: money.

  Jenny was a gold digger.

  A nice one, but a little gold digger, indeed.

  Tony was paying for her classes, her apartment, and the diamond bracelet on her wrist.

  I’d always tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, but after seeing her very naked on Nicolas’s phone a couple nights ago, I realized I was wrong.

  She grew up in the foster system, in a poor home. I couldn’t dislike her for trying to make her life better any way she could, but I didn’t like that she was pulling on my brother’s heartstrings for her own gain.

  I never confronted anyone, though.

  No one besides Nicolas Russo, anyway.

  “Well, you’re definitely better than Adriana and I combined,” I said with a laugh. Nico’s gaze found me, lingering, and I swallowed. “You’ll have to give us some pointers some time.”

  “Oh, I’d love that!” Jenny exclaimed.

  Two quiet knocks sounded on the door, and Gianna pulled herself away from a conversation with Valentina Russo to answer it.

  When I saw it was Christian standing on the other side, I sat straighter in my chair. Brown hair combed back, in a navy suit and red tie, his countenance appeared welcoming. Only his icy blue eyes seemed to fit with the cold resonance he carried around.

  Every woman in the room turned to stare—even my mamma’s eyes widened on him. They might as well have taken their panties off and thrown them at him it was so obvious. Nicolas’s gaze warmed my face, but I refused to look at him.

  Once Gianna noticed who it was, her head rolled with annoyance, and she tried to shut the door on him.

  With one hand and indifference, Christian easily kept it open.

  Gianna turned to walk away, but he stopped her by grabbing her wrist, and then pulled her closer.

  I watched, enraptured.

  I didn’t want Gianna to be involved with Christian because I needed him, but there was something compelling about the dressed-to-the-nines agent and the walking fashion disaster that was Gianna. They were so different, and yet . . . maybe not so different at all.

  Gripping her chin, Christian looked into her eyes with scrutiny. He shook his head with a slight grimace, before shoving her face away. Gianna muttered something that looked to be stronzo—asshole—and then stomped away on her stilettos.

  Christian must have noticed she was high, but it didn’t look like Gianna cared at all what he thought. So, what was their relationship? Maybe she was his stepmother, too. She was married to a man three times her age, though I noticed she never wore a ring.

  Adriana’s gaze landed on Christian, before she announced, “Perfectionist.” She paused, tilted her head. “Straight as an arrow.”

  Well, at least that was on my side.

  “Judges, lawyers, and politicians have a license to steal. We don’t need one.”

  —Carlo Gambino

  I WAS POURING A COUPLE fingers of whiskey neat when Adriana came up beside me. I eyed her as she grabbed the vodka decanter and then filled a tumbler three-fourths full.

  She glanced at me, looked away, and then flicked her gaze back to me when she noticed my attention. “What?”

  “Maybe try to hide your alcoholism from me from now on.”

  “Let me continue my classes and I will.”

  “Would you rather be safe, or happy?”

  She blinked as if it were a much more complicated question. “Both, I think.”

  “Unfortunately, that isn’t a choice.”

  Her sigh was put-out. “It’s not my fault a lot of men want to kill you.”

  A lot was probably an understatement.

  “And now you.”

  Her brows knitted. “What?”

  “They’ll want to kill my wife too,” I said, before adding, “Probably rape you a few times first.”

  She frowned. “Like you’re going to do to me?”

  Somehow, I knew she was going to say that. I stared at her, my expression impassive. She pushed a strand of caramel-colored hair behind her ear. She had golden specks in her brown eyes, like Elena’s. In a disturbing way, I hoped there were other similarities.

  “You’re not even going to say you won’t rape me?” She sounded annoyed, bringing her drink to her lips while looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  I admired the view with her. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Not very good at keeping promises.”

  She choked on a sip of vodka, glancing at me with wide eyes. “I’m going to die,” she muttered before disappearing.

  Dry amusement filled me, and I gave my head the tiniest shake. That meeting with my future wife went well. I hadn’t raped a woman in my life and wouldn’t start now, though, for some reason, I’d felt like sabotaging the conversation. Probably because I was already agitated, and the night had just started.

  Elena stood in the kitchen talking to Lorenzo, with her complete attention on him. Her long hair was pin-straight and she wore a gold dress that hugged her every curve. It was way too fucking tight and receiving enough stares from my cousins to piss me off. Even Luca had glanced at her with a knowing smile and then tipped his beer to me in an obnoxious gesture.

  Lorenzo was making a besotted idiot of himself. The man was a cold-blooded killer, yet he appeared to be a nervous mess talking to Elena Abelli. He was currently rubbing the back of his neck and fucking blushing—and just imagining Elena tied to Lorenzo’s bed in some kind of fucked-up BDSM scenario made that Russo blood burn me from the inside out.

  “That went smoothly.” Gianna’s tone was dry, apparently having overheard my conversation with Adriana. “Why did you have to invite him?”

  Her pupils were so dilated only a sliver of dark brown surrounded them. A wave of displeasure ran through me. It sucked me back to age fifteen when I found my mamma’s lifeless eyes wide open.

  “Who?” My question was indifferent, but I already knew.

  Her gaze narrowed. “Christian.”

  “It’s none of your business who I invite to my apartment, Gianna.”

  I wouldn’t have invited him if I’d had a legitimate reason to do so—and more than Elena practically drooling over him yesterday. The asshole had a pretty face, and it annoyed me more than I cared to admit that it had interested Elena.

  “I don’t want him here, Ace.” She watched Christian talk to my uncle Jimmy with a sour expression.

  “Ask me if I care,” I answered dryly.

  Gianna had hated Christian since the moment she met him. The FBI part was at the top of the list of reasons why, but she was also the agent’s opposite in every way. She scoffed at his perfectionism, while Christian grimaced at her lack of decorum.

  Elena’s soft laughter filtered through the room, hitting me in the chest.

  My jaw tightened.

  Lorenzo was not that fucking funny.

  “That’s the wrong sister you’re staring at. The right one is over there.” Gianna pointed a white-painted fingernail at Adriana, who sat on the couch next to Benito with her legs pulled up beside her. “She’s probably recovering from your threat of rape.”

  I let out a dry breath when Adriana giggled at
something on Benito’s phone. “She looks real traumatized.” There was something cold and fearless about her, but apparently the idea of sex with me was unappealing enough she believed she would die from it. Maybe it was a good threat I could keep in mind, because I thought I might need a strong one with her.

  Truthfully, I’d thought about sleeping with Adriana a complete total of zero times. All thoughts of sex had been about her sister, especially after she’d arched her ass against me yesterday in the universal way all men understood as a go-ahead.

  She hadn’t been shy about letting me know she’d let me touch her, but I couldn’t help an inkling of awareness from settling in when she’d placed her hand on mine and I’d felt that ring of hers. She loved some man. Wore his cheap ring on her finger like it was a diamond.

  Bitterness had run through me. She wanted to get off and she was going to use me to do it. When I realized that, I’d felt something I had never felt in my life: like I was expendable. And that pissed me off.

  Nonetheless, Do you respect me? had followed me around all day and night in that soft, sweet voice of hers. Everywhere I fucking went.

  There was always some vice that eventually killed a Russo.

  Irrationality. Idiocy. A penchant for unprotected sex with cheap hookers. My father’s was monetary greed.

  I was beginning to think mine was Elena Abelli.

  I wanted to fuck her and ruin her for anyone else. I wanted to crush her wings and then put them back together again so she’d become dependent on me. I wanted her to need me. That dark, possessive, and dangerous feeling crawled through me every time she crossed my path.

  Elena Abelli was my vice, and fuck if I’d let it kill me.

  However, the urge to try to fuck her out of my system was consuming me, regardless if she wanted me to be someone else. It was an itch I needed to scratch. And when I was done with her, she’d never remember another.

  Gianna shook her head while looking down on me, although she was a foot shorter, even in her heels. “That’s an awful idea,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Sleeping with Elena.”