Page 82 of Capo

Twenty-Six

Chloe

I’m sitting in my armchair with my feet propped up on the table, reading an Italian comprehension book for kids. There are no translations, but with the help of the pictures I try to learn the words. A commotion from outside makes me put the book away and stand, then my door flies open and a wild-looking Salvatore enters, his presence filling the room, dark, dangerous, him. My heart skips a beat before it jumps to my throat.

He slams the door closed and then he just stands there, his chest heaving, pinning me with his black gaze.

“Hi,” I finally say, breathless.

He shoves a hand through his hair, messing it up, leaving strands sticking in all different directions, then his arm drops. The stubble on his cheeks is longer than usual and there’s something wild about his whole appearance. A quick bolt of fear shoots through me at the unreadable expression on his face, but then my feet move before my brain catches up with what I’m doing. I need to touch him and see if he’s real. He shoved me away when I needed him the most. When I still craved the safety he provided, he instead sent me out of the country. I’ve felt incomplete ever since, even though I try to get by, because what else can I do? I end up so close that I feel his every exhale fanning my face. His eyes are desolate depths of agony. I have never seen him like this and my chest clenches in sudden worry.

“How are you doing? Is… Is the fighting done?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t move.” His eyes dart across my face, then his hand comes up to cup my cheek, warm, large, tender, his fingers threading through the hair behind my ear, toward my nape.

“What are you doing?” My voice is suddenly hoarse.

“I think I’m dying.”

“What?” I jerk back, but he pulls me close again.

“Don’t move.” He lowers his head. “I want to taste you.”

I freeze up, my heart thrashing. His lips brush mine, just a barely-there ghost of a touch. His other hand comes up to cup my other cheek. I can’t breathe. Is he kissing me? In all this time he has never kissed me. His hold on my head gets firmer as he presses his lips against mine.

“What are you—” I try to say. My feeble attempt at speaking parts my lips and then he’s there, clutching me, kissing me. I moan as the tip of his tongue meets mine and my body melts into his. I’ve longed to feel him, and I can’t even imagine why. He’s a monster. When I don’t object, he claims my mouth fully, devouring me, stealing my breath away. As always, when he touches me tenderly, I’m like clay in his hands. His thumbs stroke along my jawline and then they slide down to my throat. He could easily strangle me with this grip, but the thought doesn’t frighten me. He’s not hurting me, he’s desperate for me, and his emotion travels deep into my soul, making my whole being tingle.

The air thickens, as if a thunderstorm builds around us, bolts shoot in the non-existent space where his body is pressed against mine, an electrical feeling that makes my gut clench, and if he wasn’t holding me so tightly I’d drop into a limbless heap.

“I need you,” he growls into my mouth.

I jerk and make a move to fall to my knees, the thought flying through my mind that he’s crazy to come all the way here for a blowjob. He grabs my shoulders and stops me, then he falls to his knees, his arms circling my hips, his cheek pressing against my belly. His breaths hitch. He’s shaking, trembling. I hesitantly lay my hands on his head, threading my fingers through his rich black hair with the few strands of silver on the sides. It’s silky. I can’t remember if I’ve touched his hair before.

“What happened to you?” I whisper, afraid to disturb the eerie moment.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I’m lost, Chloe. I’m so fucking lost. Everyone is gone.” He buries his face in the softness of my belly. I haven’t worked out since I got here, and the food is amazing. I’ve regained an appetite and I feel stronger than I have for a long time. The dresses Alessandra gave me have definitely gotten a bit tighter over my hips and chest.

“Salvatore… I don’t know what to say.”

“I lost Elena,” he grits out.

I wait, confused, but he doesn’t elaborate. “Who’s Elena?”

“Of course you wouldn’t know,” he mumbles.

A spark of jealousy lights an ache inside me. Someone who means so much to him that he crosses the Atlantic for her.

To be with me?

“Tell me?”

Salvatore stands. He’s so close that the heat from his body permeates the distance between us. His naked arms touch mine and neither of us pull away. Then he moves past me and falls on the bed, shoes and all, his back to me. I don’t know what to do, what to think about this sudden change in his behavior. When he doesn’t move, or speak, I go and sit on the edge of the bed. Tentatively, I lay a hand on his shoulder. He inhales an erratic breath and holds it. It hitches on the exhale. He’s in pain. I act on instinct and crawl up next to him, putting my arms around his wide chest, clutching him to me, spooning him. His shoulders shake. Shudders ripple through him. It’s as if his soul is crying, but his body fights it.

We lie for a long time. The shadows in the room get longer as the sun begins to set. The house is dead quiet. I’m guessing Alessandra was told to take a hike. All that is heard is our breathing. His has calmed. Finally. I don’t know if he’s awake. After a while I’m pretty sure he’s sleeping. My muscles are getting stiff, but the ache in my heart exceeds the physical discomfort by far. I don’t dare to move. If he has a moment of peace, I want him to have it.

When he stirs, night has fallen and the room is dark except for a ray of moonlight that hits the floor.

“Hi,” I whisper.

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