Page 8 of The Don

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I think I go into a fugue state after that gunshot, even though I’m too numb to know if ‘fugue’ is the right word, what it means, or even how to spell it. Okay, so whatever, I check the fuck out of this existence after the gunshot, and I think that’s the best decision I can make for myself and the nugget.

For the next I don’t even know how long, Salvatore is my only constant. I sink into the feeling of his hands in mine, his sure grip holding me upright and together. I’m grateful to give that responsibility to him for a little while, or maybe forever. I don’t know; I’m feeling kinda loopy.

When he leaves me, I blink back into consciousness, and I do not enjoy that. Zoe and Zahra are arguing, so at least that feels familiar. There are two men watching them warily. Someone is wheezing wetly on the table, and I do not want to focus on that at all, so I close my eyes and wait. And when I open them, Salvatore is back. I have never sighed so loud in my life.

I’m relieved for a few seconds before I recognize this room and go hot all over.

He breezes back into the room, bringing the scent of olive oil and thyme. The mental space between the day we met and the present is so fragile that those smells and his face send me hurtling back. If I were a little more dramatic — like Zahra, no shade — I might try and convince myself that this is all a dream, but I don’t. I can’t. There’s no time to even entertain the delusion. As soon as he returns, Salvatore pulls me into his lean, strong body and whispers more Italian to me. I don’t understand what he’s saying in the slightest, but my body is more than a little intrigued.

And I’m lost there for the few seconds of that hug, reacquainting myself with the spicy scent of his cologne, remembering the taste of him on my tongue, the sound of his voice growling the filthiest things to me while he fucked me so hard my throat went sore from screaming.

And I sink into oblivion again.

Vaguely, I realize we’re rushing through the city — cars honking, people calling to one another across the street or out of windows, our shoes slapping against stone. I understand there’s danger following us, but the only part that matters most to me is Salvatore’s palm against mine.

Ignorance really is bliss.

When I step back into reality again, we’re all sitting around a table in an apartment that looks very lived-in, but certainly not by any of the men sitting with us, not with all the doilies covering every surface. The timbre of Salvatore’s voice is soothing, even though whatever he’s saying would probably distress the hell out of me, and that’s why I’m not listening. Instead, I inspect our surroundings. More doilies. Stacks of old magazines on the coffee table. Bookshelves full of dolls. Yeah, this is someone’s grandmother’s house. Sweet.

Zoe and Zahra are fighting again. And Salvatore is gone again. But then his hand is on my stomach, and the baby flips. Or I’m hungry, more likely, but it’s nicer to imagine that the nugget recognizes that we’re together as a family for the first time since the day we created it. Delusion is a hell of a drug.

“Are you sure about this?” Zoe asks, leaning toward me.

I blink at her in confusion. Did I say something? Whew, bitch, I need to eat, and soon.

“About going with him?” Zahra clarifies helpfully. “I love it, by the way,” she says, gesturing toward my face and then my stomach. I clutch my arms around the belly – my baby,ourbaby. “I would stay if I were in your shoes, too.” She cuts her eyes at her older sister. The three of us have been here so many times before — me stuck in the middle of whatever they’ve decided to disagree about today — that the familiarity sharpens my focus.

The men are across the room. Giulio and Alfonso have bent their heads forward, listening intently to Salvatore.

I can’t take my eyes off of him as I answer my cousin. “Yes,” I say, smiling despite the exhaustion. “I’m not going anywhere without him.”

Zoe sighs loudly. Zahra squeals excitedly. Neither of their reactions matter, not really. All that matters is that Salvatore turns his head at the sound of my voice. We lock eyes, he smiles, his eyes crinkle at the corner, and my heart skips a sappy ass beat.

Zoe and Alfonso leave soon after that, my cousin looking pensively over her shoulder before she disappears through the door. I wave at her, smiling. She chews her bottom lip in worry. Zahra and Giulio leave much more excitedly, and my other cousin winks at me before she disappears. I roll my eyes.

Salvatore dips into the hallway, leaving the door open. I hear him speak to…I don’t know, a bodyguard? I, of course, don’t understand what he’s saying, but I sink into the beauty and depth of his voice with a calm smile.

When he comes back into the room, he closes the door behind him, locks it, and then takes a deep breath before turning to me.

There are so many things we need to say. So much we need to discuss. I take a deep breath. Steel myself for whatever’s coming. I’m still not ready.

“Take off your clothes, bella,” he says in a rough voice.

6SALVATORE

Some lessonswe learn early and often; repetition is necessary. The lesson for me has always been the importance of honesty. As far as I’m concerned, it is dangerous to imagine myself as a better man than I am. I had so many chances to do better — be better. My past is littered with the debris of all those chances I never took — never even considered — because I am exactly the man I wanted to be. I started life as a blunt instrument and then honed myself into a lethal weapon to get my throne before becoming a razor-sharp blade to keep it.

Then I met Shae and discovered all the joys I’ve denied myself. I wove whole fantasies around her, about the limitless possibility she represented. I let myself imagine who I would be today if I had asked her to stay or, better yet, if I had followed her. I imagined a world for myself where all the sins I’ve committed could be forgiven or didn’t exist. While we were apart, I crafted a version of myself in my fantasies about Shae; one where I was a better, gentler man. Someone who could be patient with her desire, who didn’t need her so desperately that the first taste of her skin on my lips sends me into a frenzy.

But once we’re alone, I have to learn that old lesson again. The danger in deluding myself is real because the danger is always me.

“Take your clothes off, bella,” I tell her again. “I want you naked.” I manage to gentle my voice at least, but I think we both remember that it’s my hands — my body — that will be rough when the time comes.

The apartment is so quiet that I can hear her breath hitch, but it’s the soft shiver traveling up and down her body that I enjoy the most. I don’t want to scare her, so I keep my distance, even though I’m desperate to feel the goosebumps I can see erupting all over her skin; skin I’ve been dreaming of touching again since the moment she left.

“You can say no, Shae,” I lean forward and whisper to her.