AUTHOR'S NOTES:
HOLA! Lol. It's been a crazy few months. But here I am. If you're still here, thank you so much. WARNING on this chapter, it could get violent.
As I said, I don't speak Italian or Polish. English is not my first language so feel free to correct me for any and every grammatical errors, I'll be grateful.
TOUCH and GO
unpredictable as to outcome; of uncertain outcome; especially fraught with risk;
The beating, obnoxious music from the speakers irritated him.
As much as it was hard to believe, this — clubbing, that is— was not his scene. (Unless it was business, then Massimo would always be willing to be uncomfortable.)
He sipped the scotch he'd been nursing, the liquid dowsing his impatience and uneasiness. And as Massimo ruminated on this new kind of restlessness, his thoughts found their way again back to her.
She was leaving soon, in less than 48 hours. The reality of that made his stomach drop in a way it hadn't before. Kind of like skydiving, sans the parachute.
He recalled her expression when Osi offered her the job. And regardless of the man's fondness for her, there was no better candidate for the position. She had been surprised and obviously flattered, but he could tell that she was reluctant of the job offer.
Are Polish women that damn proud?
With a begrudging scowl, he hefted the bottle to his lips and took long gulps of Absinthe.
But for all his nonchalance towards her at the meeting, he knew he wanted her to take it. He had to agree with his Osi that she was perfect for the job. Massimo only wanted the best people on his team, so it was only fitting to give it to her. Domenico had raised his eyebrows at him when Osi mentioned it. He couldn't even imagine what Mario would think of his sudden and eager involvement for something minor as a managerial position. Massimo's commendation was in no way related to the unnameable attraction towards her.
None.
It was a business deal.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Nothing extraordinary about that.
Right?
For fear that his judgments were being clouded, Massimo sought the demand for trouble. Luckily, the vengeance and the satisfaction he was about to have tonight would be just that.
For the past hour, Massimo had been facing the club entrance, waiting for a particular couple to show up.
The Institute functioned as a club and gamble house. It was one of the best, and by best it meant, a bona fide cash cow, in all of Sicily.
He was alone on deck. Alek, Randy and Indio were standing outside, constantly on the lookout. Below, he could see Domenico filling up another bimbo. It was a different one from the Latina he was flirting with earlier.
Massimo continued nursing his glass as he surveyed the club. The intoxicated spectators swarmed the electric, white neon floor. Dozens of lights adorned the ceiling, their beams scattering everywhere. Even through the glass of his cocoon, he could hear the techno-pop noise from the DJ booth.
After his meeting in Baia Verde and leaving Laura alone to her devices, he hatched his plan with Domenico. Brusitz had already informed them that Atnos and Zalewski were on the way. He made a mental note to provide a proper compensation for the idiotic hotel manager.
His body burbled with violent anticipation at what was to come. He was already informed of Bianka and Martin's backgrounds. And Massimo felt that malicious happiness in his veins when he realized how easy it all would be.
Zalewski was a compulsive cheat and gambler. He secretly just paid off a huge debt from another man, another high roller, in Warsaw. Meanwhile, Atnos was a reformed sex addict. She went to rehab for almost two months during her early 20s.
Massimo wanted to laugh out loud.
This was too easy.
The door of his booth opened and a female server walked in, making seductive eyes at him. He ignored her, even as she bent down at a lewd angle to showcase her cleavage. The server laid out the charcuterie on the table, tarrying, for the sake of his attention. But he kept his murderous stare at bay, reserving it for the worst of the worst.
The door opened again and Domenico came bustling, tipsy and his top buttons undone. His hair was in disarray, and there were lipstick stains on his exposed chest. Massimo then openly showed his disgust by narrowing his eyes at him.
The server, unsuccessful in her endeavor, turned to leave. But then his inebriated, careless, stupid brother slapped her ass on the way out. The server nearly dropped her tray before she rushed to get out.
"Was that really necessary?" Massimo chastised, sending another round of daggers in Domenico's direction.
Domenico, drunk as he was, appeared solemn for a second, his impish smile slipped. "Sorry."
"Still no sight of our couple?" His brother began helping himself with the array of food on their table.
"No."
"Don't worry brother, they'll be here." he assuaged, shoving grapes in his mouth.
Massimo drank, not saying anything. He raised the bottle on his lips again. But stopped short, the liquid sloshing against his cold lips when Domenico said,
"Oh and Laura's coming tomorrow for the party—"
Massimo caught this little self-initiated pause at the sound of her name. But resumed drinking down his glass before Domenico could notice.
"But of course, you know that already." Domenico chuckled, prodding cheese off the charcuterie board.
Massimo groaned at the assumption, not that it's not not true. People knowing what he knew already, didn't make him less irritated than he was. But it was true, though. He'd already known as soon as Laura sent the RSVP to Osi's secretary. He was also made aware of her whereabouts today and what hotel she checked into. He didn't make an effort to lavish her with luxury this time. People had already been talking about the penthouse suite he gave her. Not that Massimo concerned himself with gossip or naysayers. Rather, he didn't want to put Laura in the spotlight— more than she already was.
The news of his mysterious woman finally, finally reappearing was ubiquitous. His inferiors had been propitiating him with conversations about her. As if he needed another reminder to think of her.
All of a sudden, he was angry and protective of her. For her. She's far too dainty, worthy and important to be a hot topic for these gossip-mongers.
He and Domenico were silent for a minute- as silent as one could be at a loud bar. Domenico eyed the half empty absinthe bottle on the table, looked at him almost in disbelief. But he knew better than to press Massimo on matters he himself couldn't understand yet.
Massimo almost never drink for he always likes to keep a clear head before succumbing to his... compulsions. His brother's question hovered heavily and mutely in the air. Truth be told, if he had asked, Massimo wouldn't know how to answer.
As of late and as much as it deeply confounded him, everything he had done regressed to her. Just as he had assumed he would five years ago.
But that's how Torricelli's are. They have always been quick to requite kindness with trust, money and other resources. If they owed somebody, the men in their family would do whatever it takes to repay them. That was it.
A compensation.
Not unlike a business deal.
It has to be it.
"What happened with the Mercutio deal?" He asked, straying the conversation off of her.
Domenico swallowed a mouthful of biscuits before answering him in full colored details. For another ten minutes or so, he and Domenico talked business. Until they heard crackle of Alek's radio.
"They're here." Their entrance informant told them.
Both Italian men turned to the entrance saw Zalewski and Atnos arriving. Hands interlocked, beaming, looking clingy and gross at the same time. The two laughed as Zalewski's hand disappeared behind Atnos. She giggled before patting his hand away. Massimo couldn't help but feel a tinge of fury, recalling Laura's hurt expression only hours ago. The traitors' eyes lingered on the stage
before a male staff approached them and led them to the casino.
"Nico."
His brother popped another grape in his mouth before he stood up. "On it."
And then he waited.
Massimo counted the minutes with an easy, almost impassive pace. He retraced the plan while he waited in quiet patience. The party continued below him. But unlike before, everything was dull and muffled. He could feel the adrenaline, almost could picture what was happening inside the arcane walls of the casino.
At the next tick on his watch, Indio entered his booth again, silent— as he always was. But Massimo understood.
He nodded, and the man walked out again. Massimo stood up and retrieved his jacket. The metal body of his gun nudged his ribs in an effusive greeting. He arranged his cufflinks and collar. Alek stepped out of the way to let him out the booth.
The men surrounded him on both sides, the little crowd of people parted as he walked. He heard a few whispers, could feel the lustful stares of women and some men on him. But he kept walking, unbothered and with an air of worthiness hanging about him.
The music became inaudible as they approached a stairwell. They descended and continued down a narrow hall leading towards the back. The lights on the ceiling blinked, the air, stale and heady. Massimo could feel the rush of vengeance buzzing in his blood.
The hallway lead to a double metal doors, before it was the Institute's manager. Paulo was a barrel-chested man, short-legged, with aberrant large ears. Wisps of thin hair fell on his shiny forehead. His ringed fingers swept them to the side in an attempt to look presentable. Two of Paulo's men stood beside him, vigilant but not in a threatening way.
"Don Massimo. I was expecting you." Paulo greeted him, bowing a little. "I, Paulo Buonni…" he bragged, earning a look of incredulity from his men. "secured the man who—"
"How much did he lose?"
"Your brother?" Paulo seemed confused for a minute. "He won at the tables, Signor. But this..." he tilted his head towards the doors, "This strainiero won't pay up."
"How much?"
"9,873.58 euros."
He tried to restrain the self-complacent smirk on his lips. Fake or not, trust Domenico to always know his way around a gambling table.
Massimo nodded and Indio immediately came forward with a black duffel bag. One of Paulo's men approached and Indio gave him the bag. The guy pulled the flaps open, showing the contents to Paulo whose smile reached his elephantine ears.
"This is completely unnecessary." The man cajoled as he pulled a bag of narcotic. "You know I would do anything for the Torricelli family."
"This is payment. For the mess my brother did upstairs."
"Ah yes." Paulo grinned. "But it was nothing. What's a few broken tables on a weekend, rig—"
"Goodnight, Paulo." He quipped with an impatient breath. He had no time for dallying.
Paulo cleared his throat, embarrassed for being disregarded.
"Have a goodnight, Signor." Paulo took a side step, his men followed him.
Indio and Alek haven't fully opened the door yet when he heard the shout of the man bound on the wooden chair. Massimo felt a gratifying satisfaction as the man raised his angry but terrified eyes on him.
The sweat on his bald head ran down the sides of his pallid face. He had a cut on his lip, his left cheek red and swollen. Drops of blood colored his white shirt and pants but other than that he looked okay. Massimo looked at Nico's men, both of who, were sporting fresh gashes on their eyebrows, cheeks and jaws.
"I'm sorry, Don Massimo. He fought." Indio explained in Italian.
"Not bad, Zalewski." he sniggered.
"Good evening." He greeted with a dangerous lilt, taking in Martin Zalewki's flustered face.
Although two of Domenico's men stood on either side of the room, his brother was nowhere to be seen.
"The woman is with Domenico, then?" Massimo asked one of Nico's men in Italian, keeping his eyes on Zalewski's.
"Yes Signor. He escorted her out after this stronzo started a scene. She was wrecked and embarrassed."
Of course she is. It was public knowledge that Domenico was much charmer and more likable. Hence, he let his brother took care of Atnos. And knowing Atnos' decadent nature, he knew she'd fall for it.
Zalewski's voice choked but he recovered and explained, "I will pay it back. I have money at the hotel."
Massimo nodded, shrugged off his jacket and the men around the room span out. He made sure Zalewski could see the gun. Alek pulled another chair from the corner of the room and dragged it towards and in front of Zalewski.
Massimo folded his cuffs to his elbow and stared at Zalewski again.
"Mr. Martin Zalewski—" He started, straddling the chair. "—You owe my brother almost 10,000 euros."
"I… I know, Si- Sir… Signor… It's… It's in the safe. It's in the safe at… at the hotel. " He stammered, his lips trembling. The pretense finally falling. And Massimo was sure if Zalewski's hands were free, it'd be pressed together, begging him.
Oh, this feels to fucking good.
I… I ca- can…pay… pay it back." "
"You can?" He patronized, tilting his head, his elbows rested on the back rest of the chair.
"Ye… yes."
"You sure about that?"
"Yes. It's at the hotel. I'm telling you!" Zalewski exclaimed, his voice rattling.
Massimo opened his palm and Alek handed him a phone. "So, if I called my men in Baia Verde right now and… check your room, we'll find 10,000 euros?" He then made a show of punching the phone's buttons and pressing it to his ear.
Zalewski paled even more.
Still, Massimo gave him the benefit of the doubt and called one of his lookout at Baia Verde. When he got confirmation that Zalewski didn't have a dime to save himself, he switched the phone off. Truth be told, he didn't care about the money. Not right now at least.
Massimo clicked his tongue. "My informant took the liberty the see the money for himself. And if there's one thing you must know about me, Mr. Zalewski is that I hate liars."
And then the dam broke.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" Zalewski was full on sobbing now. For someone with a passable muscular physique, it was embarrassing.
But feeling maliciously elated about this, Massimo motioned for Alek to come forward.
"Untie him." He ordered in Italian once again.
"Sir?" Alek checked with a tone of surprise. "What?"
Massimo at least wanted to be fair.
Fair. What a peculiar and unfamiliar notion.
"Untie him." He repeated, standing up from his chair.
The sudden action from Alek roused another whimper and flinch from Zalewski. When he was free, he stood up and moved a few steps away from Alek.
"No need to be afraid of my men, Mr. Zalewski. Alek here," he gestured his chin to his main bruiser. "Is as lovable as a teddy bear."
Zalewski's head flew back to his direction again.
"I'm gonna make a deal with you." Massimo started unbuttoning his dress shirt. Zalewski's eyes bulge. "I'm gonna forgive you for your small lie and we're gonna forget what you owe." Massimo shrugged his shirt off and draped it on the chair. He could feel all his men's eyes on him. They all knew that this wasn't part of the plan.
But since when Massimo did anything conventional?
"…If you can knock me down." he finished, shrugging.
"Sir, let me do it." Alek offered, stepping in. Massimo raised his hand to stop him, halting him.
"How do I know you're not lying and that these men won't kill me the minute they get the chance?" Zalewski accused.
"Unlike you, Mr. Zalewski, words are sacred to me. My men won't interfere. During and after. You have my word." He promised, truth dripping with every syllable despite the roaring blood in his ears.
How dare he.
Zalewski thought about it for a minute before Massimo recognized the spark of arrogance in his opponent's eyes. Zalewski wiped the snot running down his face with his elbow and stood straighter.
A cruel smile gripped his face. His fists and insides tingling with vicious fervor. "So, Mr. Zalewski?"
"Okay."
"Have it your way." He opened his arms, welcoming an attack, smiling for all his worth.
Zalewski charged with careful steps, snarling. Massimo raised his arms, fists clinched.
And they danced.
Massimo ducked the first jab and shoved his right fist on the man's jaw with a resounding crack. He was happy to admit that it was the most satisfying sound he ever heard in his entire life. Zalewski tripped, but didn't fall.
Massimo threw another punch.
And another.
And another, landing squarely on his opponent's eyes, cheeks, ears.
Zalewsi retaliated with his own. The fervor nearly landed on his stomach.
He was quick on his feet. I'll give him that.
Massimo stepped out of their circle but extended a fist on Zalewski's cheek.
The man groaned, now fuming, the veins on his bald head resembled river lines on a map. He combatted with a series of punches, each one missing Massimo's arms, face and torso. Still, Massimo felt the herculean efforts, he almost felt an ounce of respect. The man wasn't all disappointing after all.
Massimo then twisted his legs with his own and the man fell with a grunt.
"Tell me, Mr. Zalweski," He panted, looking down at Zalewski's bleeding lip. "Does Miss Atnos—"
"Leave her out of this." Martin cut in, venom dripping his voice despite his recumbent state.
Massimo stood, stunned at the clear hostility in his opponent's voice. He didn't think Zalewski really cared about Atnos.
"Leave her out of this." Zalewski repeated as he rose up to his knees. Massimo astonished himself by giving Zalewski another minute to compose himself.
"How… chivalrous." His voice deployed with sarcasm and anger. Anger because the vermin had the gall to respect Atnos when he couldn't do the same for his ex-fiancé. "Shall I call for her?"
Massimo had done awful things that could last him a lifetime. Still, despite his notorious erroneous behavior and activities, he had never, ever cheated. Especially with women who were otherwise accounted for. It was the one and only vise he prided himself in not engaging with. As old-fashioned as it sounds, he still believed in the sanctity of marriage.
For him, marriage meant uncompromising and unconditional Trust, Loyalty and respect. — virtues he prized most dearly. He was a bad man, but that doesn't mean he couldn't appreciate and believe in some things.
Massimo never pardoned mistakes. Especially one aligned to his virtues. He knew he was ruthless, cruel, and unmerciful. Hence, he couldn't, wouldn't condone this.
"This has nothing to do with her!" Zalewski panted.
He took a giant, shaky breath and iterated, "Oh, but it does. It has everything to do with Miss Bianka Atnos. Did you know that my brother is with him as we speak?"
"Shut up! Don't talk about her!" Zalewski announced in an unwavering declaration, stunning the Italian man once more.
"Oh." He scoffed. "So you love the bitc—"
But Zalewski pounced; his bald head butting against Massimo's stomach, knocking the air out of him.
He almost lost his footing.
He grunted as Zalewski locked his arms around his waist in an ironlike grip. Massimo pulled a knee up, hitting anywhere he could reach— stomach, chest, chin.
"And what about her?" He asked as he struggled with Zalewski.
The rage he felt from Zalewski and Atnos' clear betrayal and abandonment for Laura spurred him to the point of maddening.
He hit and punched and kicked until Zalewski let go. Massimo took a step forward, his gaze burning red.
Zalewski threw a series of uppercuts, too quick for Massimo to even notice. Massimo felt the blood spilling from his lip, his eyes were watering
He groaned but kept his hands poised. At the corner of his eyes, he saw Alek getting restless.
He hit him again, this time it landed on his temple, disorienting Massimo.
He almost lost his footing.
Zalewski threw a blind punch that Massimo countered with a strong jab to his nose.
He heard a crunch before Zalewski fell down.
"What about her!" He straddled Zalewski, immobilizing his opponent.
Massimo was hauling punch after punch and Zalewski had no answer.
"WHAT ABOUT HER?!" He shouted again.
Finally, some semblance of confusion sparked Zalewski's beat up face. "I don't know who are you talking about!" The asshole breathed when Massimo paused.
By dint of his anger, he absently switched to his native Italian tongue. "YOU BOTH BETRAYED HER FOR FUCKING YEARS!"
His fists hurt and bled but he inured, landing blow after blow, words accompanying it.
"SHE TRUSTED YOU! SHE TRUSTED YOU BOTH! YOU LEFT HER! YOU BOTH LET HER GO! SHE WAS ALMOST KIDNAPPED AND RAPED!"
The idea that Laura could've been hurt that night he found her made him see red. His violence heightened with brute force. He had never lost control like this, had never been this mad. His gaze and words garbled with fury and belligerence. Every vein in his body pulsed with vengeance, satiating the beast within.
"YOU SON OF A FUCKING BITCH!"
Zalewski's head jerked left and right with each blow.
Yet, despite the obvious pain and agony he was in, Zalewski's mouth moved,
"Ple… Please. I'll do… I'll do anything. Please. Ple… Please. Tell me."
He didn't stop even as his knuckles turned bloody, even as his fingers cracked.
He could kill them both.
He could tell Domenico to bring that gold digger here.
He would've done the world a solid if he killed them.
He wanted to.
He could.
It would be so easy.
Nobody would notice.
Nobody would care.
Nobody.
Massimo's fist hovered in the air as he looked down at Zalewski. The man was groaning on the floor, his eyes swollen shut, nose broken, his cheeks and eyebrows cut open.
But then, he heard it; the voice of reason he tried to ignore, calls him. Quiet but persuasive cries at the back of his mind.
And before he knew it, he was lowering his arm, the tension in his body dissolved into small flames. He stood up, spat the blood lingering in his mouth. He walked to where Alek draped his jacket.
The Polish man was still splayed on the cement floor. Breathing hard, bruised, bloodstained but still alive. "I'll do… I'll do anything, please."
Massimo raised his chin, flexed his injured fists and turned to him again. "I am gonna only gonna say this once so you better listen." He could almost hear his men's jaws dropping on the floor at his sudden, uncommon leniency.
Zalewski nodded. "Ye… yes."
"Leave Italy. Leave Warsaw. Better take that whore with you. If I ever see you or Atnos again, I can't promise that I'd be this kind again. Are we clear?"
"Yes, yes."
The full moon shone a bright white against the dark cloudless sky. The late spring breeze was persistently chill but pleasant. The ancient limestone walls smothered the festivities he was innately tired off of.
He sat alone by the wooden bench overlooking the cliff. A bulky ancient tree hid him from anyone's view, providing him some peace and quiet. Ephemeral but still, most and heavily appreciated. Finally.
The party was already in full swing when they arrived not more than an hour ago. Osi' decade -old manor glowed like a giant Christmas tree on the dark terrain. Cars filled the football-court sized driveway lot outside the small castle's walls. People dressed in their evening best milled out and around the patio. Laughing, conversing with their fellow delinquents.
Within minutes, Domenico left him, heading straight towards the open bar. And then to an unsuspecting group of women.
Whereas he, immediately dodged the occasional small talks of ego, business and women.
Sometimes, he envied Domenico's lack of propriety. His brother's loose sense of character; the way he was boyish and carefree. His brother was able to maintain his charms despite whatever circumstance they'd find themselves in.
And sometimes, once or twice, Massimo wondered what it would be like if he wasn't thrusted with this empire. This responsibility.
What would his life would be like if he wasn't a gangster?
What if he had a choice?
But eventually, before the idea could root, he'd always be reminded of something —namely, money and power. And that was enough to chase the thought away.
His phone vibrated in his breast pocket, and Massimo took it out. There was another text from Anna, a whole thread of unanswered messages.
"I'm not giving up." it read.
And like the couple of days, Massimo ignored it and closed his eyes.
Can't she take a hint?
The clack of footwear on stone and grass alerted him, making him open his eyes from its respite. He turned to the sound and waited for the intruder.
When her piercing eyes landed on him, the woman jumped and almost stumbled out of her heels,
"Oh my god! You almost gave me a heart attack!"
He frowned at her choice of words. Given her heart condition, it was not unlikely.
"What are you doing here?" He asked a rattled Laura.
After beating up Zalewski, he wasn't too keen on finding her whereabouts today. (But of course, he let his brother and some of his men watch her from a distance, for her safety and not his sanity this time. ) He could act and be a little distant if he needs to be. Or may be he was preparing for the inevitability of her leaving so soon.
For a brief moment, when Laura still hadn't moved her hands from her chest, he got worried that he actually, really caused her heart to palpitate.
But Laura took a deep, steadying breath before glancing towards the stone walls. Back towards the revel they voluntarily left.
The neon spotlights reverberated up on the sky and on the nude walls of the exterior. The music was blaring even louder than it had been couple of minutes ago.
"They turned on the fog machine for the circus dancers…" she began with a tone of disbelief and disgust. Like she couldn't have believed a party could be so ostentatious.
"…And everyone's smoking cigarettes in there. I had to get out before I suffocate to death."
He rested his elbows on his knees, waiting for her to continue. Massimo couldn't help but look at those piercing aquamarine eyes. Somehow they seemed fierce, darker and more enchanting under this light.
"Then there's an old man throwing money in the infinity pool…"
Ah. That would be Uncle Dante.
"Everyone's so…" She trailed off, wrinkling her nose. And Massimo could tell that she was being careful not to say anything offensive. Not that he would be.
"Rich that it's almost preposterous?"
"I was gonna say flamboyant." She defended, looking at him with a stern look on her face.
Massimo sniggered. He wouldn't amend her judgment though; Osi could be a little over the top.
"Italians." He muttered in a scoff, and turned toward the vast black ocean ahead of them. He had half a mind to apologize before catching himself, what would he be apologizing for exactly?
That this party was so extravagant?
That people in his circle were so disgustingly rich and that they wouldn't even try to hide it?
But his head whipped towards her direction again when he heard her laugh.
"Italians." She agreed before taking a seat on the opposite end of his bench.
If he was a bit surprised at the bold move, he didn't show it. Most people would ask for his permission before doing something as serious as this— disturbing and invading his solitary. But she wasn't most people, was she?
He was still on the precipice of deciphering if it was a good or bad thing.
"What happened to your hands?" She asked suddenly and Massimo hid his hands. He then fell into the strange feeling of nervousness and guilt in his stomach.
Nervous?
Guilt?
What?
"It's not tight. It has to be tight." She lectured, still not looking at him. He studied at her, wondering what she was talking about.
"If your fingers are broken, that kind of grip won't help the muscles heal."
On instinct, he looked down at his hands and grimaced at his own handiwork. The bandages weren't loose but they weren't offering the right pressure his fingers needed.
He heard the slight shift of air as she angled her body towards him. Laura grabbed her shoulder bag and produced a bandage clip. She lifted her gaze at him and asserted in a tone that wouldn't take no for an answer.
"Give me your hands."
He didn't hesitate; he sat back and proffered his hands to her, palms up.
Her hands were long, soft and careful— a surgeon's and pianist's hands. He wanted to point it out, but he couldn't speak, subdued and overwhelmed by her voice, their closeness and the feeling of his hands on hers. It reminded him again of her selfishness more than five years ago. And how, no matter what he did, he couldn't emulate what she did.
When his left hand was tight and secured, she took the other and laid it on her thigh. Massimo clenched his teeth when she unraveled the gauze, some parts of it sticking on the fresh cuts.
"Gently."
"Sorry. Did you clean these wounds yourself?" She asked, her attention solely focused on his scraped knuckles.
He gave her a small nod. He couldn't tell her that he was too proud and egotistic to let anyone look after him. Laura opened her purse again and took out a small roll of clean gauze and wrapped it around his limb.
"My brother…" she shared, taking his left hand and undoing the bandage.
"...He always breaks something so I always had to carry a first aid kit with me everywhere. I couldn't get rid of the habit even after he started college and I moved to Warsaw for med school."
He didn't say anything, too engulfed in this little moment.
"But of course, you knew that, given your unwarranted stalking." She added though it was lacking the revulsion she had had accused him nights ago.
"Are you still on that?" he accused, though there wasn't much heat on it.
She hummed.
"I didn't." He answered truthfully. "The story with your brother, I mean. I didn't know about that."
She shook her head and gave a short, almost amused chuckle.
"When you get home, you have to clean it again. Soap and warm water and change the bandages." She sat straighter and expected her work. She took both his hands with extra care and attention that he didn't and wouldn't ever deserve.
"Thank you." Was all he could muster before he looked away, back at the brooding scenery of the Mediterranean.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while. The sound of waves lapping continuously against the rocks and the hum of nocturnal, garden animals were their only companion.
She stared straight ahead and minutely closed her eyes to take a deep breath. Massimo took this moment to take in her appearance. She had her hair in a messy updo, exposing her neck and shoulders. The elegant black dress hugged her slim figure. Criss-crossed straps adorned her neckline, teasing him with her fair skin. Wrapped around the tops of her arms was a black sequined shawl. She looked stunning, which made him even more nervous.
"You know, don't you? About them?" Her voice was quiet and timid that he thought he imagined it.
"Huh?"
Laura faced him, her countenance was firm but… calm. "You already know I didn't come to Italy alone."
Somehow, the grass stretching beneath their feet became much more interesting to look at.
"I kind of got the feeling you're important here. And I don't think your people would've let me stay with you if they think I was a threat of some kind. So, the background check was unavoidable but completely necessary. I forgive you for that."
He waited for her to continue.
"So... Given that you and your people have to know everything about me, you knew."
And like a lightbulb had gone off in his head, he knew that she was referring to Zalewski and Atnos.
He was almost pained to say it. "Yes."
Laura sighed, as though she was looking for the right words to say.
His people already informed him that after a few hours at the hospital, Zalewski fled to the airport, alone. Atnos seemed to have broken up with him, thanks to last night's fiasco and Domenico. His brother unceremoniously left her this morning, leaving her to settle the hotel bill and find her way back to her own hotel. And since Zalewski left her, she would then have to pay for his room and the extra room charges they left at the penthouse. Massimo was satisfied.
"Glad it was over though." She breathed before giving a small smile. "But let me make this clear, Massimo."
He sat even straighter, like a kid being scolded at.
"No more background checks. Whatever you or your people had to know, you can ask me directly…. If we're gonna work together, you have to trust me. And we have to tolerate each other."
He was processing her words even slower than he could. "Work… together?"
"Well, yeah. I just signed the papers with Osano. A year-long contract. He also put in a special clause for me. That if and in any way you mistreated me, I can go back immediately." She replied like the cat that's got the cream. He was surprised that she could pull off such a proud emotion.
"Cocky." He pointed out, trying so hard to hide his own happiness. But it was already affecting his inflection. "Suits you."
"I've had a few drinks. I'm allowed to be." She smiled before adding. "No, but I'm serious. No unnecessary background checks. I don't' know here, but in Poland, it's called stalking and it's a serious felony."
"Zalewski is a felony." He replied without thinking, and then scowling at the mention of his name.
To his surprise, Laura laughed. A boisterous, cheery chuckle that was starting to make him all warm and fuzzy. She was holding a hand to her mouth, repressing her glee and amusement.
"You don't agree?" He asked instead, furrowing his eyebrows.
"Oh, I agree." The smile on her face brightened her Aphrodite-like features. And it was taking all his self- control not to reciprocate.
"Bald-headed freak." He muttered under his breath, looking away again. But Laura heard him again and burst into another fit of giggles. "Were you dropped on the head, Laura?" He added in a satiric tone, his question cutting through her mirth.
She shrugged, her body half facing him. Her fingers were wiping away —Massimo couldn't believe it— happy tears. "I don't know. May be."
He made a tsk sound. "Whatever."
They had fallen into another pleasant silence before the wind picked up a colder breeze. Laura shivered and subtlety crossed her arms over her chest.
"We should go back to the party." Massimo suggested and Laura nodded, trying so hard not to shiver again.
Once they were at the warmth of the castle, Massimo released the tension he didn't know he was holding. Laura was quiet but he wanted her to say more about her life, her brother, parents, Poland. Anything.
But before he could start asking questions, he heard voices and persistent footsteps. He caught Domenico's lame excuses for someone and an old man's rebukes…
His eyes widened when he realized it was Domenico making excuses for him in front of Mario. And before he could think, he grabbed Laura's forearm and pushed her behind the draperies. Her back landed on the stone and he felt her shiver once again. Then she hissed at him.
"What the fuck are you doing?!"
"Ssshhhh! Quiet, Laura!" He ordered and swore he saw Mario's vexed gaze turned a smidge in their direction. They were at least eight feet away.
He cursed inwardly.
"Why are you hiding from your brother and that old man?" she craned her neck forward, wanting to see who and what got him so riled up. But he pushed her further into the stone wall. Until the thick velvet curtains and the low light conceal their bulk figures.
"That old man is a menace and cranky as hell. I've been avoiding him for days." He whispered holding her shoulders back and peering through the slant opening in their hiding place. Massimo knew that Mario's doctors had told him to rest for a day so his arthritis wouldn't get any worse. And it has been a delight, for him and Domenico, not having him around. Massimo had gladly ignored his calls and messages. "Now, be quiet."
But then, she laughed, her body vibrating from the suppressed sound. He felt her hands rose to cover her mouth.
"Didn't I tell you to be quiet? Stop laughing! He'll see us!" He berated as his eyes locked with Domenico. His brother gave him a quick nod before turning to Mario again and convincing him to head back to the party. But Mario was relentless. His face was red with annoyance and frustration, steam was rising off his ears. Nothing funnier than getting Mario annoyed and angry when they were kids. But this time it was different. Massimo knew of the questions he'd be asking about Laura. And he didn't want to deal with him right now.
But the old man was marching towards their way now. That Massimo had to flatten his body even harder against Laura who somehow still find their situation funny.
He looked down at her and chastised in a harsh whisper. "Laura! Don't provoke me."
Her giggles stopped as her expression and body language turned rigid, bleak… challenging. Massimo was then made aware of their position; how every part of him was pressing against every part of her. How her dress felt like against his skin. How the shawl on her shoulders slipped down to her elbows. How luminescent and fucking tempting she looked right now with her pupils dilated. Her lips parted and her chin tilted up against him. She was close, too deliciously close he was having an identity crisis. His brain might've gone kaput when he felt her breath on his stubble as she said,
"Or what?"
And as easy as that, he was hard. His mouth opened in a small gasp. The footsteps receded into nothingness as Laura reciprocated his stare. He knew she could feel it, feel him. But she made no move to evade him. And nor did he.
He fixated his gaze on her lips, pink, and soft. He allowed himself to wonder what they would taste like. How it would feel like pressing on his skin, how they would feel like around him.
He was so lost in his scandalous thoughts that he almost didn't hear her when she said,
"They're gone."
As if electrified, he took a step back, confused and aroused as hell. While Laura, dios mio, was smirking at him.
That fucking smug and teasing look would be the death of him.
"See you on Monday." And she strutted out of his sight.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
I'll try to write and update when I can. Yes? *bites nails