“I wish your madre had given me this much attention,” he comments, dragging my mother into the equation. “She was always very much Sal’s woman.”
“As we said,” I begin, making my voice low and sultry. “Love is blind. Thankfully, I don’t do love anymore.”
“So what do you want?” he asks, sitting back in his chair only to survey me with a critical eye.
I laugh lightly, following his actions and leaning back, more in an upright position than his, keeping my body poised and sexual. “Sex. I want a good fuck. No strings attached. Can you offer that to me?” I watch his face illuminate wickedly. “It can be our little secret.”
“From the way you’ll be walking in the morning, it won’t be a very little secret,” he comments and throws me a look that I guess, if I was an insanely desperate female, would have my panties wet, but right now I’m fighting with my fucking gag reflexes.
“We’ll see about that,” I muse, trying to deliberately dampen his libido. “I’ve been fucked hard all night before and walked perfectly fine the next morning.”
“Was that with Zane?” he queries harshly. “You’ve never had Italian cock, love. I know all about your past hook-ups. Bella, you should be after your own kind. Us Italian men will fuck you hard and love you wholly. It’s in our blood to love every inch of a beautiful woman.” He only stops to pull out his wallet, tossing a couple of hundred dollar bills down, and stands. He grabs his jacket but doesn’t bother putting it on and steps toward me. “Let me show you.”
I decide to make him wait. I pick up my glass, drain the rest of wine to steel my nerves, and grab my clutch purse. I stand before him, pushing my pencil skirt down straight over my hips and thighs and lead the way. I deliberately walk a few steps ahead of him, sashaying my way through the crowd of diners. I hope I’m making him rock hard. I want him eating out of the palm of my hand, and if I can’t achieve that, I’ll have to get inventive.
Once we’re outside, Big Al’s hand comes to press on the lower part of my back, guiding me toward the valet parking. He hands over his ticket and turns to me. Big Al is not the most handsome of aged men. Once upon a time, he used to be, but now he is showing his true age. Only slightly older than my father, but with that same mop of pure white hair, he has lost all of his dashingly handsome good looks, while my father hangs onto his. Unlike Salvatore Abbiati, Big Al’s skin had been ruined by years of Italian sun and the stress of a villainous side life. His manners and respect are gone, and he feels his power outweighs every other mafia member. That’s why he did this. He has always thought he was above the Abbiati’s, but having not come from mafia descent, he thought being my father’s right-hand man was enough. But over the years his hunger and drive to be the best overruled him and made him into a selfish, demeaning man.
“There’s champagne at my house,” he comments, striking up a casual conversation. “I’m pretty sure there’s some strawberries and cream, too. If you want to be a little frisky.”
“All I’ll need is a tie and blindfold.” I flick my words at him seductively, looking up at him playfully. I shrug toward him and then lean in, lowering my tone to a bare whisper. “I prefer it kinky.”
He begins to laugh but doesn’t answer as his Porsche is brought around to the front of the restaurant. We quickly climb in, and he accelerates away. Neither of us talks during the short journey, the radio playing in the background is the only noise. I decide to put a hand on his thigh, coursing up closer to his groin before lowering my hand again. On the third rub, I run my hand further between his legs, and he moves, relieving the pressure I’m guessing.
“Stop it,” he comments wryly. “Or I’ll be asking for a blowjob before we’re even back at my place.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” I ask him sarcastically. “Get the party started.”
“I just got my car detailed.” He throws his comment back at me, killing the mood entirely. “You can make all the mess you want back at mine. The maid will clean that up in the morning.”
The way he delivers that statement makes me wonder just how many women he’s sexually defiled in his room. How many of those morning afters his maid has had to tidy up and not imagine the unimaginable.
I allow Big Al to drive. I intentionally didn’t bring a car to this one. I wanted to make it seem a tad more authentic when I offered to go back to his house. Enzo – against all his better judgment – is waiting for my call for a ride home after I am done. I can understand his reluctance, but he needs to be reminded of how I was brought up. In my blood is not just a need for repentance, but a drive to succeed, an ache to never fail, and a craving for approval. They wrap and dance around my desire to just be loved. Within me is a potent mix so toxic that I worry one day it’ll burn though all my dreams and fantasies of a better life and leave with me with my comeuppance – the proof I am an unloved, unneeded failure.