I popped the bite of risotto into my mouth. It was delicious. Perfect. I remembered that bite of risotto for years after that day. The layers of flavor coated my mouth no matter how much bile I walked around Los Angeles with.
I’d dropped the spoon into the ceramic sink and clasped her at the rib cage. My hands went nearly all the way around her. I could ask her to keep stirring while I fucked her. That would be fun. But not only was that position off-limits, the kitchen was as well.
“Tell me about my excuses then.”
“I won’t tell a man what to do,” she lied, and I smiled. She was so bossy. “But, Antonio, I cannot do this anymore. I cannot watch you go away overnight and not know if you’re coming home.”
“There’s no safer job in Napoli.” I brushed loose strands of hair from her neck. “Consigliere is a protected position. If anything happened to me, every capo would make sure I was avenged.”
She slapped the spoon on the edge of the pot. “And you’d be in hell.” She turned her back to the stove, letting the risotto sit. “I can’t live like this anymore. What you do is wrong. It’s against God. I won’t be a part of it anymore. I won’t raise children like this.”
I took the wooden spoon and reached around her waist to stir the rice. “You don’t like the nice things I buy you?”
“I don’t care about them.”
She must have forgotten how unhappy she had been when we had nothing. She nagged me to change jobs, work harder, go back to fixing cars.
“And the children? When they come, you’re going to want things for them? We can buy a bigger house with what we’ve saved. Public lawyers don’t make shit.”
“I mean it, Antonio. Stop now. Today. Stay home tonight.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“What do I get if I stay home tonight?”
She stared at me with her almond eyes, lips pressed together, and all the filthiest things she might let me do went through my mind.
“You get to go to confession and have your sins removed.”
“And then?” I was such a hopeful bastard.
She put her hands on my chest. “You go to heaven.”
“In the bed? Or maybe against this counter?”
She nudged me away and turned back around. “The kitchen isn’t for that.” She snapped the spoon away, grumbling, “Dirty boy.”
I was suddenly very, very angry. She didn’t have to promise me anything. She didn’t have to give me any part of her body she didn’t want to. But she pushed and pushed, and I was expected to do as she asked for the love of the same shit.
I put my hand on the back of her head and curled my fingers, grabbing a handful of bunched up hair. I yanked her head back. I was playing with fire, but I didn’t know how to stop myself.
“Ow! Stop!”
I spoke right into her ear. I wanted my words to be so tight between us, the air didn’t even know what I said. “I’ll tell you when I’ll quit this job. When I come home and you’ve got your palms on the counter and your skirt around your waist. When I spread your sweet cheeks apart, and you say, ‘Yes, Antonio baby, fuck my ass.’ And I stick a finger in your cunt and you’re wet.”
“Stop it,” she said, crying.
I pulled her head back harder. I was so fucking mad, I didn’t care if her arrhythmia went crazy and I spent the night apologizing in a hospital. I was on some kind of track and I couldn’t get off. “When I take your juice to wet your asshole, and when it’s wet, my cock goes one, two, three, right inside. And you sit the fuck still and take it.” I let her hair go with a jerk. “That’s when I’ll stop doing what puts food on the table.”
I left before I did something stupid. I had a panino from the street cart for dinner, and I never saw her in Italy again.
twenty-five.
theresa
is hand rested on the back of my neck with just enough pressure to let me know he was there. I didn’t need the reminder. I knew he was present. Knew he loved me. I’d just needed a moment to breathe.