The sharp tone of my voice makes her freeze mid-step. Looking over her shoulder at me, she looks perplexed. “Yes?”
“Put some fucking clothes on.” I stab my finger at the pile of dresses. “Silvery white.”
It’s the only one that puts me in mind of a nymph. I keep that detail to myself.
* * *
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
Marialena
When I lookinto Salvatore’s eyes, when I hear what he says… when I trulylistento him, I hear more than bravado and swagger. I see a man who lost his father at a very young age and is afraid of falling in love because he’s steeled himself against it.
Yeah, so I like to play armchair psychologist. But a woman like me learns what makes people behave the way they do. When you strip away pretext or veneer and boil down what makes people vulnerable at their very core, we’re really not much different from one another. Beauty and wealth, honor and prestige, they don’t change who people are at their core. They don’t change what people still crave and need to be human.
Humans need to be loved. Humans need to be needed. Humans need security and comfort.
Humans need each other.
Even the rich, capable ones that command a room or an army or a nation.
So when I see Salvatore, I don’t see Don Capo, head of Tampa’s elite and most feared. No.
I see a man who’s caught in his role, trapped in a family that cares more about his power and money than the man behind those cerulean eyes of his. He doesn’t have the companionship of his siblings like I have. He doesn’t have the real love of a parent like I have. He has nothing but wealth and power, but that isn’t enough to bring anyone happiness. Humans aren’t solitary creatures.
I see the way he tries with me. I see the compromises he makes, the softening of his heart. And while I’m not sure what exactly brought him to a place where he’s actually willing to bend, to subdue himself, to allow himself to no longer be a wild beast butdomesticated…I like that I may have had a part in all that.
I won’t let him down. I’ve meant every word of what I said. When I commit to something, I stick through it until the end.
But the question is… when will we have our end?
It’s hard to imagine any mob couple lasting for decades, though I’ve known a few. They weren’t like us, though. Never. Two born and raised mafia? We’re testing the limits of our own human frailty.
Or are we?
Maybe I’m the only one who hopes for more than hot sex and the security of wealth. Maybe I’m the only one who wants more than she can touch and hold.
Or maybe I’ve finally done what my family’s warned me about for years, and let my optimism make a fool of me.
I never hoped a man like Salvatore would love me… until I saw the man behind the curtain. I felt the whispered promises of hope begin to grow within me. Though I’ve never been one denied love because of the tight-knit family I grew up in, I spent a lifetime dealing with rejection from my father. The rest of us—my mother and siblings—were like flowers that grew through cracks in concrete. Never meant to thrive. Never meant to live. Defying the odds. But despite the oppression and abuse, we lifted our faces toward the sun.
We survived.
I’m the last remaining Rossi left to solidify our family’s stronghold, and I knew, though I denied it sometimes, I wouldn’t shirk my duty.
And I knew the day would come when my brothers would marry me off. It seems I knew even when I was a child that unconditional love was not in the cards for someone like me. I would only be loved if I met certain expectations, followed certain rules, and ultimately denied who I was above all.
So I came to our marriage knowing full well I had a role to play, no more, no less. I never actually expected he’d ever overcome his need for control and power because those were the conditions. I told myself I could accept it all as part of our dynamic. I’m a mob princess, after all. I know how it all works.
But I’ve seen glimmers of more. I’ve felt the hint of authenticity when he touches me, when he holds me. When we make love.
I don’t know what this is yet, but I do know I’m not just checking off a box for him. There’s a depth to our relationship that transcends just filling roles.
Before he leaves me to dress in the silvery-white floral dress, the feminine little number that cinches at the waist and flares dramatically halfway to my calves, he kisses me. It’s not just any ordinary kiss. Someday, after years have passed and we’ve children between us, when we’ve kissed each other so many times we’ve lost count, he may learn how to give me a parting kiss on the cheek.
Suffice it to say, he hasn’t learned that yet.
I stare into the mirror, breathless and pink-cheeked, my lips swollen and my pulse racing.Damn, Salvatore Capo knows how to kiss.