by Eden Butler
“Can I help?”
She shook her head, her lips pressed together, puckering the thick center. That did nothing to make her mouth seem smaller or her lips less tempting.
I inched closer, and this time, Sammy’s shoulders tightened. “I’d kill anyone who made you cry or hurt you in any way.”
“Why?”
It was an honest question, and I wasn’t sure how to answer it. That day on the anniversary of my mother’s death, Sammy had told me everything she knew about her mother. How she had only the stories her uncle told to fill in all the things she didn’t know about the woman. I told her what I remembered of my mother. How sweet she’d been, how all those funny, warm memories I had of her got thinner the older I got.
That day out in our courtyard had been over a year ago. We weren’t exactly strangers. There was something between us. It was the same hum of energy that kept me moving toward her every chance I got. But we didn’t owe each other anything. No explanations. No excuses.
Didn’t mean I could keep away from her.
Didn’t mean I even wanted to try.
But I couldn’t admit that to her. It would make no sense.
She had a plan. It was set. College. The order. Her future was waiting for her to get older, to get prepared. There was no room in her life for a distraction, and if I was anything to anyone, God knew it was a distraction.
Sammy watched me, those big green eyes open, unblinking, giving me the impression she wanted something from me she’d never admit. Something she knew I never would either, but she still clung to the hope I’d make a confession no priest could stomach hearing.
The look she gave me cut too deep. It was too much of a temptation.
I looked away from her, watching the courtyard below us through the window as I answered her. “I don’t know, Sammy.” I rested a palm next to hers on the cushion at her hip. “I just feel an intense need to…” From the corner of my eye, I caught her face when she opened her mouth, her wide, full lips parting, the bottom one glistening in the overhead light. I looked back to the window, spotting her expression, all breathless and curious. It was that reflection I stared at, unable to keep my attention from her, and the sweet hint of rosemary I caught coming from her hair.
“To….”
“To…protect you.” I finally turned, moving another inch closer.
Sammy squeezed her eyes shut tight. The reaction was quick, like a twitch she couldn’t control that made me hate myself just a little.
“You’re scared of me.”
“No….no,” Sammy breathed, and even that sounded like a lie.
“You are.” My voice came out in a strangle of sound, a little surprised, a hell of a lot disappointed that I could make her scared of me.
Our family was lower-level, but wealthy. That came with disputes, especially when my father hadn’t chosen who he was loyal to or who would benefit more from his friendship. He was shrewd, but he couldn’t keep anyone at arm’s length for long, and staying neutral had cost him. There were accidental fires at his factories. There were robberies of his stores and shipments that got lost. It was a dangerous time to be a Carelli. But hell, I wasn’t even twenty. No way my father would have me on the family payroll yet. Still, I was doing jobs. I’d set some assholes straight when my pops needed me to. I could hold my own. But shit, I wasn’t a bruiser. I wasn’t a roughneck asshole who got off on scaring the hell out of people. Sammy seeing me that way made my stomach burn like I’d gotten hold of something rotten at lunch.
I held my breath, trying to keep my cool as the worry shot up inside my chest. Sammy wouldn’t look at me. Instead, she dropped her gaze to her folded hands in her lap as she mumbled through whatever it was she tried to get out. There were a few strands of hair slipping free from the barrette near her temple, and I had to stop myself from brushing it off her forehead.
Sammy inhaled, like she needed to calm herself before she spoke. “I’m…I’m scared of me…around you, Johnny,” she admitted, speaking to her long fingers on her lap.
That rotten feeling in my gut shifted, moving lower, making my insides heat. The admission made me hard, had me wanting to pull her close, tug her onto my lap and show her just how scared she should be around me. But that wasn’t what you did to a girl like Sammy Nicola. She was different. She was sweet, and I had a feeling I might be struck down just for thinking of touching her.
The image of my body sizzling from some supernatural lightning strike helped to cool me down, and I touched Sammy’s hand, my fingertips gliding over that sweet, soft skin, up her arm, and to her neck until she lifted her head. “I would never hurt you.”
“I think I know that.”
I believed her. One look in those eyes told me enough that she believed what I said. I’d end myself before I did damage to her on purpose. Christ, but she was beautiful. Too good. Too perfect for the likes of me.
She didn’t pull away when I touched her face, finally getting that hair off her forehead. “And I’d never let anyone else hurt you…not even yourself.”
I knew guilt. I’d seen it in my own reflection too many times. And if I knew anything about Sammy, I knew there wasn’t much she’d done in her life to feel guilty about. I shook my head and lowered my voice, hoping to calm her. “What are you scared of?”
Sammy moved her gaze away from my face, staring out of the window as I held her head still. When she spoke, her expression was a little dazed, a lot lost. “How…how you make me feel…” She regretted her words the second they were out as she bowed her head. The frown she gave me came quick. I didn’t like it, liked even less how she pulled away, acted as though she didn’t want to give up anything to me, especially not a confession about what I did to her.
“How’s that?” I asked.
She tried moving off the window seat, shifting her legs away, but stopped when I held her hands, pulling her close. Sammy wouldn’t look at me directly but kept her attention on the way I stroked my thumb over her wrist, like she couldn’t get over how I touched her.
“Tell me,” I said, knowing whatever she said would open a door I shouldn’t walk through. “Please.”
Her hands shook, like there was some current inside her she couldn’t control. It made me want her more, made it impossible to walk away from her. I wanted to feel that current, wanted to let Sammy vibrate all around me.
She frowned as some debate happened inside her head, something that probably sounded like her uncle telling her what a sinner I was and how much damage I could do. That wasn’t wrong, but I couldn’t walk away. Not until I heard her truth. I had to hear what she wanted.
“Just tell me how I make you feel,” I said, keeping my voice low and my touch steady.
Sammy exhaled, and I closed my eyes as the heat from her breath fanned against my neck. “Like…like I should feel ashamed for the things I imagine about you…and…” She blinked, licking her lips before she looked up at me. “You…and me.”
Sammy was scared. That much I got from how the tremble from her hands had shifted to her lips. That soft, wet mouth I didn’t seem able to stop staring at. We sat so close just then, watching each other, waiting, God knew for what. A pause, maybe? The next breath, the next move, the next noise that would make us spring into action.
She waited while I let her words shift in my head, reorganize, and become logic. Warnings flashed inside me, all of them sounding like my father’s deep voice.
She wasn’t for me.
She was off-limits.
She was too good.
She was innocent.
She was a saint’s angel.
I was the devil’s son.
This would not end well, but my God would it be fun while it lasted.
Sammy seemed to hold her breath. Those big eyes getting bigger when I moved my hand from her wrist and cupped her chin, rubbing a thumb along her skin. All I had to do was pull her close, take her mouth, end both our suffering. But first, God help me, I needed to tease her.
&n
bsp; “Do you imagine kissing me?”
She froze, her mouth dropping open, gaze on my tongue when I moved it across my bottom lip.
“Touching me?”
Her attention stayed frozen on my mouth. Her breathing quickened, her fingers digging into my wrist as though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to push my touch from her face or pull me closer.
I suppressed a smile as the sound of Sammy’s throat working caught my attention when I moved closer to kiss her neck, whispering against her ear, “Tasting me?”
“Johnny,” she whined when I pulled her close, running my mouth along her neck before I leaned back to watch her.
Sammy’s mouth was inches from mine. She moved on the cushion in front of me, antsy and unsettled like she couldn’t decide what to do with herself or how to be comfortable in her own skin. She held on to my collar when I kissed her once, a slow, soft kiss that left her panting.
“Tell me,” I said, needing a confession. “I want you to admit it.”
“All…all of it.”
“Good,” I said finally, rewarding Sammy’s admission with another kiss, one that left me dizzy with how she gripped me.
Sammy pulled back, her breath in pants when I gripped her thigh, half lying across her with her leg over my hip. She was warm over me, that pleated skirt rising higher and higher. The soft, sweet breaths of hers coming closer the deeper I kissed her, the tighter she clung to me.
I could have taken her right there on that window seat. It wouldn’t have taken a lot of effort. But one look and the low, amazed gasp from her when her skirt slipped higher and I grazed the front of her damp panties with a knuckle shook some sense into me. I pulled back, stopping only when Sammy’s worried frown softened.
“Oddio, Johnny Carelli, I…I’m going to go to hell because of you.”
I shrugged, my heart hammering in my chest when Sammy bit her lip again and fingered the top button of my shirt. Her surprise turned quickly to something that reminded me of open, primitive heat.
“Don’t worry, bella,” I told her, shifting our bodies to pull her close to me again, grinning at the low, soft moan she made when I slipped my hand underneath her skirt. I kept her face still, holding back a happy groan when she melted into my kiss. “I’ll keep you company.”
1
Johnny
Basilica of St. Mary’s Cathedral
June 2019
The crowd was quiet but respectful. Even the man at the front of the room, holding his head high with a serious expression, was professional. I did not meet his eyes. I hadn’t met anyone’s eyes since walking in three hours ago.
There was too much emotion tied up in this day. Too many responsibilities that flooded me, that would soon consume me, to be distracted by the glare currently directed right at me.
Fuck him, I thought, relaxing against the plush cushion behind me, slipping my own scowl back to that asshole. Our gazes met, and I tightened my jaw, letting some of my frustration over this day filter out into my glare.
He had leveled a lot of blame at me over the years. It was time I sent some back.
Ahead of him, the children came, their voices low, somber. Then their song began, and the hymn filtered into the rafters, the echo of each note hitting the high ceilings above. I excused myself, torn by the memory of that song and what it had meant to me as a kid. What it meant to me as a man hearing it on this day, in this place.
I called off my guard and my sister as I moved through the crowd, ignoring the stares I got, bypassing well-wishers until I found myself alone. I was sufficiently secluded to let the emotion of the day peek out, just enough that I could breathe and not implode. I needed a release, some outlet that would distract me. Something that would keep me from screaming, cursing everyone in the room who did not feel what I did.
But there was no one. There was nothing.
There was only this sorrow and the blister of loss.
Or so I thought until I laid eyes on her.
The back row was empty and shaded in darkness. There were twenty minutes before it all began, and I had time, plenty of time, to find solace, some small semblance of peace alone in this spot. I would sit there, maybe, when the people moved through the doors, when the ushers cleared the aisle.
And then the group of nuns passed beyond the confessional.
Shock and surprise overwhelmed me.
Of course, she would be there. The children were hers. She guided them. They were her saving grace. They were her absolution for the sin I’d led her to. And the man, that glaring, angry man at the front of the church, he was hers as well. Duty. Honor. These were things that I had not made her forget with my mouth and my tongue, my touch and my taste.
Christ, she was such a temptation. Even now, sitting alone three rows from the back, her body rigid, her posture perfection. She was Sophia Loren made young again, brought into the twenty-first century to tempt and torture me just by being, existing. I could no more ignore her than I could disregard a da Vinci painting.
“You’re a kid. You don’t know what love is, Sammy. You need to forget about me.”
I’d set flame to that perfect piece of art. Scorched it with a lie because I knew she was too perfect, too pure for me.
Even now, all these years later, I saw the look on her face—the devastated expression that told me I’d crushed her.
All that beauty fractured with one lie.
It broke her.
It destroyed me.
The last time I saw her had unhinged me. It had been years, but Sammy had still managed to devastate me with a look. The restaurant had gone silent as she’d faced me, looking perfect, looking fierce, all the rage and hatred of a decade fuming in those beautiful green eyes as she glared at me. Then, she slapped me right across the face.
But today, in this holy place, at this time, she should know I would find her. I was better prepared this time. I could wait. I could watch and see her pristine self. A perfect vision in her black dress and black hat, clutching her red rosary beads as she closed her eyes and prayed.
Not for me. No. Never. But maybe for Cara and her husband or the baby, my infant nephew. Maybe for our father, who’d never learned the truth of his son’s greatest sin.
I moved, motioning to my bodyguard, Angelo, when he approached, motioning toward the rows where she sat, and I knew my man understood.
I wanted silence.
I wanted privacy.
Angelo would make sure that happened.
I slipped into the pew behind her, watching her profile, the long, closed lashes as they fell against her high cheekbones. They’d been dotted with tears the day I broke her heart.
“Why are you doing this, Johnny? I love you. I ache from how much I love you, and I…I could make you happy. I’d do anything to try.”
We could be happy. We loved each other. We could be happy, but we’d never be safe. I knew that. Even as a kid, I knew that much.
Sammy’s perfect, succulent mouth seemed to be in a perpetual pout, moving now in quick time as she muttered prayers under her breath.
“Hail Mary, full of grace…” I heard her pray.
The words pulled a smile from me, the only one I’d had today.
“My sister thanks you,” I told her, looking forward, over the crowd, knowing she heard me.
Her prayer stopped, and Sammy tilted her head to the left. A silent acknowledgment that she knew I was behind her.
“And I thank you for your prayers,” I told her.
“Your father was always very kind to me,” she whispered.
I nodded, remembering how much my father thought of Sammy. How concerned he’d been when she’d chosen not to enter the order.
“And my uncle,” she finished, pulling the smile from my face.
“You disgusting, vile, filthy boy! Taking advantage of my niece! Stealing her virtue!” her uncle had screamed at me long ago.
The old priest hadn’t been wrong.
I had taken advantage of her.
&nb
sp; I’d let her take advantage of me over and over again, but I couldn’t make it right.
Not like he wanted me to.
Not like she wanted.
What kind of husband would I have been to her then? She was supposed to go to St. Agnes, go into the order, not become some capo’s wife. In the end, money settled it. Money that wasn’t mine, but money that kept the priest sated and Sammy off to a private college in Maine. But the priest hadn’t let me go unshamed. He never told my father what happened, but he cursed me just the same.
“You are no son of this church, Johnny Carelli, and a bad Catholic. You shame your father’s good name and your blessed mother’s sweet soul.”
I looked to the front of the church, spotting Sammy’s uncle. Thankful his eyesight was too weakened with age, that it was likely he could not see me sitting so close to his niece. The old man might refuse to perform the service if he knew I spoke to Sammy.
“My father loved you both very much.” I tightened my grip on the pew and leaned against it. “He thought highly of the work you do with the children and the…”
“What do you want?” Sammy no longer tilted her head toward me.
What did I want? What a loaded fucking question.
In a word? Her.
All of her.
Again.
Always.
I wanted a do-over.
I wanted her to see me and not be disgusted, but I knew that was a pipe dream. I’d settle for civility, but even that would likely be a stretch.
“Sammy…”
“Today is a sad day for our community, and I know you must be hurting.” She turned her head, looking toward Cara sitting in the front pew closest to our father’s casket, Kiel next to her, holding their baby. “Your sister will need your guidance and comfort. I would think you’d want to give her that today instead of trying to torment me.”
“Torment?” My voice cracked.
At that, she turned, gaze moving up to look at me. “It’s what you are best at.”
