I pushed in the rest of the way in one sharp stroke, forcing her walls to surrender. Valentina pressed up against me, her lips thinning from the pain.
Pleasure thrummed heavily through my balls and cock. I couldn’t remember I had felt like this—if ever. “Tell me when I can move.”
“It’s okay.”
I started fucking her slowly. Every thrust pushed me closer to release. Staring down at Valentina’s stunned and sweaty face only increased my pleasure. Primal satisfaction at being the first inside of her filled me. This was supposed to be mere fucking but as I glanced down at the woman beneath me, it felt like more than using Valentina for pleasure. Being close to her physically felt good in unexpected ways. Acting on impulse, I kissed Valentina when I came. For a heartbeat, I allowed myself to lose myself in the taste of her, my eyes closed. When I opened them, catching Valentina’s hopeful expression, I quickly pulled away. I didn’t want her to get her hopes up for something that I couldn’t give her.
After making sure she was all right, I left the room without a look at her undoubtedly hurt face.
It was dishonorable to leave my wife like that after our first time together, after her first time, but the force of my guilt and confusion compelled me to seek isolation. I needed time to think, time to calm down.
Zita gave me a curious look as I passed her on the way to my office.
Once the door closed behind me, I staggered to my desk and sank down in the chair. My gaze landed on the picture of Carla. A new wave of guilt crashed down on me. Raking my fingers through my hair, I put the frame down, not able to bear my late wife’s eyes on me.
Another emotion mixed with the guilt over betraying Carla: guilt over how I treated Valentina. She’d done nothing wrong. Remembering the way, she’d given herself to me mere minutes ago only increased the weight on my conscience. I sank back in my chair.
As a rational man, I knew it was unreasonable to feel obligated to a dead woman when I had a breathing, feeling woman I was supposed to care for.
And yet, here I was, torn apart between the present and the past.
I picked up the frame, opened a desk drawer then hesitated before I finally stowed it inside and closed the drawer.
This wasn’t going to silence the past. My fingers lingered on the handle. With a sigh, I leaned back and closed my eyes.The next day, I met with Giovanni, Rocco, and my father in the Scuderi mansion for our weekly meeting. Father regarded me with narrowed eyes as I stepped in. He had been keeping an even closer eye on me since my marriage. I wasn’t sure what he was waiting for.
I shook Rocco’s hand. “How’s married life treating you?”
I gave him a tight smile, not replying. My marriage was none of their business. Then I turned to Giovanni.
“How’s Val?” he asked quietly. Concern flickered in his eyes.
His question was difficult to answer. Valentina was unhappy with our current situation, last night hadn’t changed that. She wanted closeness on an emotional level. But she was a clever woman. Her asking me to work showed that. But even a job wouldn’t change Valentina’s unhappiness entirely. Yet, I had to admit my suggestion for her to take over as manager in the casino was fueled by the hope that she’d be too busy to ponder on our emotional estrangement. It seemed like the only way I could guarantee her happiness, and I wanted her to be happy. “She’s doing well. She wants to start working.”
Surprise filled Giovanni’s face. I crossed the room to Father who hadn’t risen from his armchair. “I assume you didn’t allow her that kind of nonsense,” he quipped.
Rocco motioned toward the armchair beside my father’s but I shook my head, preferring the higher vantage point when dealing with the old man. Rocco sank down, followed by Giovanni, waiting for my reply.
“I suggested that she could work in one of our Underground casinos.”
“The one near the Palermo?” Rocco guessed. I’d only recently killed the previous manager because he stole money from the Outfit.
“Yes.”
“Raffaele and Leonardo won’t like that. What is she supposed to do anyway? I don’t suppose you want her to be a complimentary girl,” Father muttered, smoothing back his white hair even though it was in place.
I narrowed my eyes at him. Giovanni’s face turned red with anger, his hand clenching around his knee.
“I expect everyone to show respect to my wife, you included, Father,” I said quietly. Many people in the Outfit would be offended by the mere idea of a Capo’s wife working, especially in a position of importance. It was a decision for Valentina.