Page 61 of Under the Influence

“Because I did this a long time ago when it meant something to me and now things have changed. Besides, your face screws up every time you see it.”

“It doesn’t mean anything now?” He asks slowly.

“It’s kind of a reminder I don’t want, but I kept it there as a warning.”

“What kind of warning?”

“Never to fall for someone again.”

“Did it work?” he says in a low voice.

“No.” I say as our eyes meet, I’m disappointed that he doesn’t say anything in return. “You want me to take it off, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” he says firmly.

“Then I’ll do it for you.”

“Good,” he says, flashing me a devilish smile.

I am surprised that she folds over the tattoo. I have a feeling that if I had asked her about it a week ago, she would have likely told me to go fuck myself, but things have changed. I can feel her warming up to me more, maybe it had been correcting the bullshit Paolo had told her about being a consolation prize to Angela Rossi. In that second, I think she viewed me a little differently, maybe she realized that it was a little more than business that made me put everything on the line for her.

Truth be told, I couldn’t imagine being married to Angela. Maybe I would have been more inclined to keep Keira on the sly if the wedding did go ahead, that was the original plan as to why Angela would have stayed in a separate apartment in the city. There is no way I would have pulled that with Sophia even before Keira’s actions at the wedding. The night we spent in the cabin solidified a change of pace in our relationship. I enjoyed fucking her in all different ways that made her body arch and scream. Watching her eyes light up in satisfaction for every new position I taught her was stroking my ego. I had conquered her body, listening to her moan my name as she came for the millionth time or hearing her whisper in my ear late at night for another round of fucking was something I had begun to get used to.

If it weren’t for Franco driving up to the cabin, we would still be there. I had seemed to have lost all concept of time and focus. For the first time in a while, I hadn’t thought about work, picked up my phone in days, or even answered a call. My mind seemed hellbent on procrastination. For someone who formally scoffed at the idea of sharing a bed with someone, it was all I did that weekend, and long after the multiple rounds of sex, I stayed next to her all night watching her sleep. Things had changed between us, and I couldn’t understand why. Maybe it was her submission that made me realize she wanted me as much as I wanted her. I wasn’t a chaser; I wasn’t going to be second-best to whoever it was that was still on her mind, but it was the satisfaction of watching her get on her knees for me that was the game changer.

“It feels like home should be,” she says standing outside my house in Long Beach. I was awaiting her opinion with bated breath knowing how blunt she is was about things.

“What do you mean?” I ask her, cocking my eyebrow.

“My house—my old house was just cold and empty. It used to freak me out because it was so white and veneer. It should have been red because that is what it was built on, decades of bloodshed.” She sighs.

“You do know who you’re married to, right?” I shrug.

“You’re not as bad as my papa. Nobody is,” she says, looking down.

“I’m almost starting to think you like me,” I say trying to cut the tension.

“I would say you’re probably drunk,” she says, smiling. “Actually, you hardly drink. I’ve seen you nurse the same drink for hours.”

“How do you know that?” I say, surprised.

“Daughters of the Mafia are taught to observe from a young age.”

“What else have you learned about me?”

“That you don’t like to lose control… but who knows, maybe you might enjoy it,” she says, kissing me gently on the lips.

Even though it had been a little over a month since we married, being back in my parent’s house makes it seem like it’s been longer. Long Beach is my home, and New York makes me itch to be away from the suffocation of the city.

“Well, tell us what’s been happening?” Mama says, looking at me expectantly.

“Tell us about the wedding night? Was I wrong about him?” Zia laughs croakily.

“It was fine,” I mumble, flushing slightly.

“You look tired, worn out even,” Mama says, nodding. “I guess that means Croccifixio is being satisfied.”

“Ma!” I say, putting my hands over my ears. “I’m not having this conversation with you!”

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