Page 64 of Cruel Tyrant

She doesn’t argue. We stand together and watch the doctor work, drinking our wine, and Davide’s eyes never leave mine, but it’s not enough.

Chapter 38

Stefania

Davide sleeps in the next morning. All it took was a vicious beating to finally make him take a break. I’m up early, curled around a mug of coffee, and watching the oasis wake up from the front window. Soldiers wander down the block and more hover on rooftops smoking cigarettes and talking on phones. It wasn’t this active when I first came here, but this war’s getting everyone on edge and security is twice as tight.

I make coffee and lurk around the kitchen until I work up the nerve to make pancakes. Davide comes downstairs around the time I’m finished, and he kisses me on the cheek before sitting down at the island with a grunt, one hand pressed against his broken ribs.

“Doctor said I needed a lot of carbs to fully recover,” he says as I slide a plate in front of him.

“Pretty sure he didn’t say that.”

“Carbs and blowjobs. His exact words.” He waves a fork at me. “You do care about my recovery, don’t you?”

I snort and kiss him gently. “Not even a little bit. You dick.”

He laughs as I get him some coffee the way he likes, a little bit of milk and nothing else. He’s in a much better mood, and some decent sleep seems to have done him wonders. I spend the morning with him talking about everything but what’s important, and he keeps on trying to make me laugh, and I keep on letting him, because I want to feel normal for a little while. And anyway, it feels good to let him joke around, because the guy can be funny when he wants to be.

We end up on the couch together with nothing on the TV, just the two of us sitting together. I ask him questions about his family; he tells me stories about growing up in the city. I tell him stories of my own, about having four asshole older brothers, about being the ignored baby in the family, about being a part of Philadelphia royalty. At some point we’re talking about nothing in that easy-lazy-happy way people get sometimes, chatting about everything and meandering all around, laughing and holding hands, and I can almost forget how I felt the night before.

But doing this with him only reminds me of all the mornings I’ve missed these last couple weeks and all the lonely evenings I have stretching out ahead of me.

There’s a knock and I want to ignore it, but Davide insists I get up and see who it is. “Unless you want to make your poor, injured husband do it for you?”

“I thought you were fine,” I quip as I get to my feet.

He pulls me back with a growl and presses his mouth to mine. “I am fine, baby,” he whispers, which we both know is bullshit.

I go to the door, smiling to myself because despite how annoyed I am with him, that was a really good kiss. And I’m buzzing a bit on having the Davide I’m falling for around, which means I’m far from a level headspace when I open the door to find my brother Saul staring back at me.

It’s like seeing a palm tree in the middle of the desert with no water for miles. How did he get here? What the hell is he doing standing on my stoop? This oasis is so far from Saul and Philadelphia, and it just feels weird, having him standing there and looking at me with that insanely familiar smile of his.

My big brother.

“Hey, Stef,” he says. “Freddie told me you were home and said I could just stop over. Is this a bad?—”

I slam the door in his face.

My heart’s racing up into my throat. Saul’s here, he’s standing at my house, and I haven’t heard from him in weeks, but he’s suddenly here.

When I first moved in, all I could think about was this exact moment. I dreamed that one of my brothers would show up, usually Saul or Renzo, and they’d tell me this whole nightmare was just some test, and they’d bring me back home.

Except as the days passed and I didn’t hear anything from them, it became clear that was only a delusion and would never, ever happen.

“Stefania,” Davide says. He’s standing behind the couch, one hand pressed to his injured ribs, and frowning. “Let your brother in.”

I turn on him and raise a finger. “Don’t get on my case, okay?”

“Come on. You can’t slam the door on him. Just open up.”

“No.” I put my hands on my hips, aware that I’m being stupid and stubborn. “I’m mad at him.”

Davide sighs and limps over. “Baby, I know, I get it. You feel betrayed. But he’s here now, okay? You might as well hear him out.”

I shake my head and put my hands on his chest to keep him from getting to the door. “I don’t want to hear him out. He hasn’t called, he hasn’t texted, I haven’t even gotten a fucking email. Screw them. I’m a Bianco now, right?”

He laughs and kisses my cheek. “Yeah, you’re a Bianco, alright. Stubborn as fuck. Now let your damn brother in.”

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