Page 87 of DeLucas After Dark

I love how much Gabrielle and Mama get along. The way they fell in love with each other. I like to think that Gabby found the mother she lost when she was just a girl, and that my mom gained a daughter through my marriage.

They kiss, hug, and start talking animatedly about the holiday celebrations. I shake my head, walking through the vast foyer. My father may have cut ties with the business side of our family and our consequential wealth, but the man did good for himself with honest hard work. Their house is spacious and homey. The smells of holiday candle and a delicious home-cooked meals waft through the air.

My father appears at the living room entrance and we hug and slap backs.

“Mikey, how are you my boy?”

“I’m great, pops. You?”

“Hanging in there, man. Wife keeping you in line?” He teases, making me laugh.

He’s an older version of me. Tall, broad, handsome Italian-American. With an olive complexion, dark hair and eyes, and a heart of gold. He has more silver strings on his head and wrinkles on his face, but you can’t miss the family resemblance.

My uncle Matteo follows behind. Ensue more manly hugs and greetings.

“Nipote! Buon Natale,” my uncle booms in his deep voice.

“Grazie, Buon Natale a te,” I reply in the same language.

Fuck, it’s good to be back home. It’s been a couple of years now, but shit doesn’t get old. Doubt it will ever.

Sylvia, my uncle’s much younger wife, joins us. I had doubts about her at first, but she’s good people. Solid. Loves the man to death, and walked through fire to prove it. My mother and Gabby are finally done chatting in the doorway. The three women fall into each other’s arms, looking like they haven’t been together in years. They hang out at least once a week.

My father, uncle, and I look at them with warm amusement. Loving how close our women are.

We all walk into the beautifully decorated dining room and settle around the table. Everything looks fucking amazing. My mother made all our favorite Italian dishes. Everything is homemade. The garlic bread, lasagna, wedding soup, marinated seafood, Christmas cookies and tiramisu. Sylvia roasted a huge, delicious-looking turkey. And Gabby was here all day with them cooking. I see her signature candied yams and collard greens, cornbread and coleslaw. Fuck, this about to be good!

* * *

After dinner, we’re all sitting in the family room, spread between the couches and cushy chairs, with a fire crackling nearby. Sipping on eggnog and enjoying dessert. The room filled with laughter, warmth, and love.

Gabby is sitting in my lap, all round and soft. Her body heat seeping into mine, her scent surrounding me, making me feel a bit dizzy. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier in my life. All the people who matter the most to me are gathered in this room. My wife’s laughter mixing with my mother’s is like music to my ears. I love this woman so fucking much.

It’s past one in the morning when I call our driver and we bid the family a good night. I feel so fucking good. Warm and relaxed. Fucking happy. At peace. This woman took my shit. She had my back. Fucking brought me back from the deepest darkness. Healed my heart from anger and a thirst for revenge I had been fostering for almost twenty years. Gabrielle fucking saved my soul. Brought me back to my loved ones. Despite everything I put her through, she looked beyond the beast. Saw my pain and helped me heal. I goddamn love my fucking wife.

GABRIELLE

By the time we make it home, I’m beat. I fall asleep in Mikey’s arms in the car on our way back. Snuggled into his wide chest, my nose filled with his amazing scent. Leather, musk, and a hint of citrus. He felt so warm, so strong. Making me feel safe. Like nothing in the world can ever hurt me again.

It’s because of this man that I now sleep at night. Thanks to him, my nightmares are a thing of the past. I no longer wake up in a sweat, rolled in a ball, crying and panting. Michele DeLuca walked into my life disguised as a villain. And all it took was love and patience to peel away the layers of his pain and suffering. To bring out my mighty knight. I gave my heart and soul to this man, and not one day in my life since has he made me regret it.

The car ride rocked me to sleep, and I woke up in Mikey’s strong arms, held steadfast against his chest. My head resting on his pectoral, lulled back to sleep by the steady beat of his strong heart, a kiss on my forehead and a softly whispered, “it’s okay, baby. I got you.”

I did as I was told, snuggled deeper and let him take me to bed. I was barely awake as he undressed me and slid me into a sleep dress. My lips stretched into a tired smile as he clumsily tied my hair under a silk scarf. I gave him a kiss, muttering a tired, “thank you, my love.” And fell asleep.

* * *

I wake up early on Christmas morning, feeling a bit queasy. Lord, I need to talk to Michele. I drag myself to the bathroom, shower, and change. When I walk back into our room, our bed is empty. I pull a thick, fluffy robe over a comfortable lounge dress and make my way to the kitchen. I find my man setting up the breakfast nook. He already has fried eggs, pancakes, syrup, butter, orange juice, coffee, and fruit sitting, and is placing silverware and plates on our spots.

I take him in as I’m walking through the kitchen. He’s so fucking tall, broad and handsome. Bare chest, the way he likes to stroll around most of the time. In a pair of low-riding flannel pajama pants, bare feet, hair askew. Looking fucking delicious with his golden tan and smothering of beauty marks all over his warm skin. And the way his muscles contract as he moves… I praise The Lord every day for bringing this man into my life. How sweet, loving, and fiercely protective he is. But also how goddamn hot! I could just fucking sit and watch my husband strut around. All day long.

“Good morning, Mrs. DeLuca,” he greets me with a soft kiss at my temple, and I shiver all over.

“Mr. DeLuca.” I wrap a hand at the back of his strong neck and pull him down for a kiss, at the same time I’m stretching on the tips of my toes. I savor his mouth, slow and long. Taking my fill with Michele’s big hands circling my waist and holding me flush to his hard body. My curves melting into his muscles. I moan into our torrid kiss and his groan rumbles through my chest. When Mikey releases me, my legs are wobbly, my heart beats erratically, and I feel a little dazed.

He chuckles, presses one last soft kiss to my lips and wraps his big hand around mine, guiding me to the wooden bench of the nook. I slide in, my face raised to his, my eyes eating him up. Fuck, he’s handsome.

“Slept well?”

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