Page 67 of Bitter Poetry
She murmurs in her sleep, growing restless. She’s curled up on her side with the fingers of her right hand closed around the necklace Dante gave her. Her long, dark hair spills over the pillow and her face. I want to move it so I can see her face better, but I’ve yet to build up to touching.
She murmurs again and rolls over onto her back.
I freeze.I love you, Dante.Did I hear that right?
Yeah, I think I did.
She loves him.She’s still wearing his necklace, so there is that.
Only it doesn’t fill me with the satisfaction it should. That’s the end game, after all, her with him. I’m watching her not because Ettore tells me to, but for my older brother.
I’d do anything for Dante. The same was true for my father and my mother, although she’s living in another country now—family is everything.
But her whispered declaration of love catches me off guard.
I want to touch her. To make her notice me beyond the target for her to slap when she’s pissed and needs an outlet. I can do that, sure, but that’s not all I am. I want her to moan my name while I’m going down on her the way she did for my brother.
I still want to choke her out.
But now I want to do it while her pussy is stuffed full of my dick.
How can I hate her and crave my name on her lips as she comes for me?
She doesn’t know me; very few people do, not the real me. If they did, it would terrify them.
Love.
I’ve never needed it from someone who wasn’t family. Maybe that’s what this is. Maybe because of Dante, she’s now family, and that’s what’s throwing all this off kilter.
Hate me all you like, Carmela, one day you will love me as well.
I step closer, wanting to rip aside the cover that’s in my way.
And why not?
If she wakes, she wakes. It’s not like she’s going to tell Ettore. I have too much on her, too many secrets. Why didn’t I think about that before?
My dick gets hard. Watching her usually wakes it up, but this is full on, pounding against my zipper to get out, level of arousal.
I can do anything I want with her.
Ettore won’t know.
And she won’t tell him. Because if she does, I could tell Ettore how she fucked my brother in the powder room while wedding guests sipped champagne.
I wouldn’t because that would mean betraying Dante, and I would never do that. But she doesn’t know that, and she loves Dante—just admitted it in her sleep—and regular people are not objective when you make threats against someone they love.
Also, she thinks I’m unhinged. I overheard her telling Jessica once. She would believe me if I made the threat.
I really can do anything I want with her.
CARMELA
I come awake with a start, feeling the covers ripped from me. I jolt upright, groggy, having been deep asleep. It takes me a moment to work out where I am.
My scattered thoughts tell me it’s not Ettore. He usually stomps into the room, making noise and switching on the lightswithout a care in the world before he drops into the bed beside me, smelling of perfume and cigars, and commences snoring.
It’s dark. Someone is standing right next to the bed. I squeal before I realize it’s Christian. And now that Idorealize it’s Christian, my heart surges for a different reason.
