She stares at me, her lips pursing as she swallows. “For what?”
“That your mom’s not around,” I say. “That she didn’t come to the wedding.”
Eliza drops her gaze and messes with the makeup on her vanity for a few seconds before lifting her face and shaking her hair back, leaning in to powder her skin with a brush. “My mom’s my hero,” she says. “She risked her life to be free and follow her heart. Not many women have the balls to stand up to a mob boss.”
I want to say I’m sorry again, to insist it still sucks for Eliza, but then I hold it back. “She sounds brave,” I say after a second.
“She is,” Eliza says. “And I won’t have any man controlling me, either. I did as my family wanted and married you, and I’ll do what you want when I need to. But no one is going to tell me what to do. I’m going to keep doing what I have been, whatever the fuck I want, and you can’t stop me.”
“Okay…”
“I mean it,” she says. “If you mess with me, if you hurt me, you’ll see just what my father is capable of.”
My stomach turns at that threat. Is he capable of hurting a child the way I suspect, his own daughter no less?
“I’m not interested in being your surrogate father or telling you what to do,” I say. “You’re an adult. We’ve been over this. Act like a married woman when you leave the house, and you can do whatever the fuck you want the rest of the time.”
“Good,” she says. “I just wanted to make sure we’re still clear about that.”
It’s the closest we’ve come to talking about what happened, and I don’t want to push it. After what happened to her, she’s slow to trust, but I’m going to keep showing up for her, showing her that I’m not going to hurt her. Eventually, she’ll learn that I’m a man of my word, that she can let her guard down and let me help her heal. I may have failed the last girl I had to care for, but it won’t happen again. This time, I’ll save her.
I’ve held her the last few nights, but nothing more has happened. It’s funny how I’ve begun to notice other things now that sex is off the table. When I know it’s not coming later, I can relax and feel physical pleasure apart from sexual pleasure. It’s almost deeper, the pleasure I take in her soft, small body curled against mine; the heat and weight of her head when she rests on my arm as I fit my body around hers at night; the buttery smoothness of her skin under my calloused hands. Touching her feels fucking amazing no matter where it is or where it’s leading.
But during the day, things are still uncomfortable between us. It’s easy at night, when we can talk with our bodies, in the dark. During the day, she’s guarded, watching like she’s not sure what move I’ll make next. I’m no better. I want to take care of her, but she won’t let me, and I never know when I’m going to piss her off or what she’ll do if that happens. Her father could end my life with the snap of his fingers.
“Well, enjoy your day,” I say, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. It’s one of those gestures that wasn’t planned, but after I do it, it makes something behind my sternum tighten into an ache. That’s something a man would do with a wife he’s comfortable with, a wife who loves him, who cares whether he comes home that night.
I can’t help but want to take care of her, but that doesn’t mean the feeling is mutual. I need to remember that and be careful.
When I get to Al Valenti’s, his guards check the car, including the trunk and underneath it, as if someone could be clinging to the bottom of the Evija. I almost laugh.
“Gotta check everyone,” the guard says, giving me a friendly salute. “Can’t be too careful.”
“I know,” I say, saluting back before heading around to park. Little Al’s car is there, too, and after being stopped by two guards at the back door, I’m allowed to enter.
One more guard is stationed outside the dining room where I find Uncle Al, Little Al, and Al’s consigliere having lunch.
“There he is,” Little Al crows when he sees me, dropping his hoagie and holding out a hand for me to slap. “You been working on your tan?”
I shrug. “I’ve been at the beach for a week.”
“How was Bora Bora?” Uncle Al asks, looking up from his food and fixing those watchful eyes on me. The guy doesn’t miss anything.
“You better not have seen any of it,” Little Al says, winking at me and biting into his sandwich. “Why were you on the beach, bro? You should have spent every minute in your hotel room.”
I’ve had about enough of this conversation, so I steer it in a different direction, though I notice Al Valenti watching me like he knows something’s up.
“What’d I miss?” I ask, taking a seat and scooting in next to Little Al.
“Nothing important,” Uncle Al says. “I’m meeting with Anthony Pomponio tonight. If that wife of yours hasn’t checked in with him since the honeymoon, make sure she does that.”
My stomach clenches at the unspoken threat in those words. Make sure she gives him a glowing report of our marriage. Of me.
That’s not gonna happen.
Guilt flares inside me when I think of the last night of our honeymoon, when I all but forced her to suck my cock. She said she’d do it again, that she didn’t mind, but considering her aversion to sexual contact, god knows what she’ll tell her father about me. And if she tells him that I know about the abuse, and he really is the one who hurt her, I’m as good as dead.
Both Als are watching me, and I give my head a little shake to clear it and grab a sandwich off the tray in the middle of the table. “I’ll see what I can do.”