Dominance, Threatened, page 31
Deciding to check the box, then work on cleaning off the table and washing the dishes, I squat down to investigate the gift. Something about it doesn’t settle well in my gut. The last illegal thing to happen around Caiden was an attempt on his life — or mine. The cops and private investigators we’ve hired have all come up empty. Each aggressor we catch is just a punk-ass street kid looking to score some cash in all the wrong places, which gives us almost nothing to work with. Unexpected packages are not what Caiden needs right now.
I open the box and glance inside. An unopened carton of menthol cigarettes — the same kind I smoke — is sitting in the bottom along with a note tucked to the side. Withdrawing the white card, I read over the calligraphy with some trouble. English cursive is the worst thing invented.
As you can see, Mazza Corp is very resourceful. A contract between us would be strong and beneficial to all parties involved. I look forward to our next meeting — Raimona Mazza
These specific cigarettes are banned in my home country, and Mazza Corp is an Italian-based trading company similar to Caiden’s back in New York, only they deal with a lot more illegitimate business.
I know Caiden should not be considering them, though that isn’t my place to say. On the other hand, Dante is close with Raimona Mazza, so anything to screw him over would benefit me. I still can’t bring myself to report my suspicions to Caiden just yet. I need to be certain.
Even though they’re looking for a deal and don’t seem scorned by him, I still pull out my cell phone and text Jamison to draw up a file on their company and main employees. Perhaps they have something to do with the attacks on Caiden if they are willing to delve into illegal business.
Well, they’re here now, so I tear into the carton, retrieve a cigarette, light it, and inhale the glorious taste and feel of nicotine-laced menthol smoke.
When the cigarette is gone, I gather everything up from the table — having to make multiple trips — and cart it all into the kitchen beside the sink. Once in there, I set my phone to the side and let it play some Avenged Sevenfold because the last thing I need is everyone walking in on some Taylor Swift when I’m supposed to be this big, bad bodyguard back in the states.
The methodical task of hand-washing dishes gives me plenty of time to think, and I’m not sure if that is a good or bad thing.
My mind wanders to Caiden’s Snapchat earlier, and I smile to myself. I know he took off his shirt and positioned himself like the muse of an intimate sculpture on purpose, and I know he did it just to get a reaction out of me. Oh, had I reacted.
The cocktease had told me to look at it, then disappeared into the house. I’d taken one glance at the picture before pulling down my notifications bar and turning on my screen recorder to capture the delicious-looking, half-naked man on my phone. I’d had to smoke another cigarette just to calm my growing erection.
I wasn’t sure what to reply at the time, and I didn’t have much to work with outside, so I sent him a winking emoji while contemplating what to send later — and when to send it.
Our messaging has to take the back burner while we’re here. Just one over-the-shoulder glance from someone could lead to a lot of questions, and I don’t want to put him on the spot like that until he makes a decision.
And by decision, I mean if he really likes men — likes me — in a more-than-friends kind of way. I know we went pretty far last night, and he doesn’t seem to regret it, but there is a big difference between having your dick sucked and sucking one yourself. Curious straight men experiment by getting blow jobs from other men, and then when it is time to be the one to do the ‘gay act,’ they almost always lash out with some ‘I’m not gay’ realization speech.
Or they propose while still closeted, then turn around and deny the entire relationship when you try to tell people, claiming you’re just obsessed with him.
That is how you get dangled over the Tiber River by your toes.
Finished with the dishes, I dry each one and replace them in the cabinets just as the sound of conversation drifts from the foyer.
Ma is the first to round the corner, telling me that everyone else is gathering in the living room for some game Gaia suggested they play while Ma cooks dinner. Of course, I tell her that I will help cook rather than play a game with them.
She seems to appreciate that, instructing me on a few pizzas she wants to be prepared for the stone oven. I start slicing and dicing ingredients and catch Ma nodding her head along to the music. Shaking my head with a smile, I let her listen to the 8-minute hard rock song singing about homicide, necrophilia, and demonic possession, and she tells me it is such a sweet love song. I’m not sure if she actually agrees, or if the English meanings of the words don’t quite click in her head as they should.
Together, Ma and I prepare an oven-baked lasagna, chicken and gnocchi soup, and four pizzas.
When we finally haul the food into the dining room, no one has offered to set the table. We have to return the food to the kitchen, grab everything for the table, set it out, then gather the food again. At our call that dinner is ready, Gaia practically screams that she will go wake Caiden.
Did I remember to lock the door when I left?
That’s all I can focus on as I return to the kitchen to grab my sister’s vegan portion of soup we made, carrying it carefully back to the dining room and setting it in front of her chair. It looks like everyone will be in the same spot as lunch, and I’m relieved that Caiden can be beside me again. Maybe I’ll be able to ask if he is feeling better.
At that thought, I take out my phone and send him the question through our messages. He can answer whenever he feels well enough to look at it.
I’m pretty sure a coughing fit like the one he had would leave him sore after — not just his throat, but his whole body since every muscle was engaged. Not to mention, he probably had a rush of adrenaline with it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he bypasses dinner to sleep all night, though I do hope he comes down to at least take the seat between Dante and me to create a buffer.
My homophobic brother has been giving me disgusted glances, eyeing my chains, the rings across my fingers, and the earring in my cartilage. When no one is looking, I stick my tongue out at him like a child, hoping the words on my tongue piercing are visible. They must be because Dante recoils with a look of horror.
Little does he know, the man sitting next to him at lunch had already followed the instructions written on this piercing last night.
I hear heavy footsteps and look to the entrance of the dining room.
“Gaia! Get off of his back!”
24 Jealous?
Caiden Augustus
I awake to a Bernardi laying beside me, but not the one I fell asleep with.
“Ah!” I startle, scrambling off the bed and falling onto my ass. Grabbing wildly, I manage to pull the duvet down to cover the majority of my body. “Gaia, what are you doing in here?”
My mind wanders down many paths. Did she see Vincent in here? Did he leave? Did she come after? How long has she been here? Why was she in the bed?
Peaking over the edge of the bed, Gaia giggles at my awkward predicament. “I was trying to see how long it would take you to wake up,” she muses. “It has only been a few minutes.”
“Why . . .? What’s going on?” My throat is still scratchy and I feel utterly sleep-deprived. If I’m being honest, I’d like nothing more than to just sleep the night away. Not with Gaia in here, though. Rubbing my face to get rid of the sleep, I think back, distinctly remembering Vincent locking the door before laying down with me. If Gaia was able to get in, he must have already left.
“It is time for dinner. I see your succhiotto,” she points to my shoulder covered in a few bruises from Vincent’s mouth last night, her sentences jumping sporadically from one topic to another while I try to process everything going on. “What have you been doing?” Gaia manages to wriggle her eyebrows suggestively in an odd pattern.
I pull the blanket up to cover my shoulder, knowing it is useless because she has already seen the love bites. “Just give me a minute to get dressed, and I’ll come down for dinner.” The young woman smiles and nods, resting her chin in her hands from her position on the bed as if waiting for me to dress in front of her. “Alone?” I ask.
Gaia huffs, but walks out of the room, leaving the door open a crack. I roll my eyes at her actions and cross the distance to close it before finding some comfortable jeans and a soft t-shirt to wear to dinner. Hopefully, no one will blink an eye at my casual state of dress.
As I exit the room and turn to walk down the hall, something crash-lands on my back. Based on the tan arms wrapped around my neck and the light weight of the person, I know it is Gaia. The Bernardi girl kicks her legs until she manages to wrap them around my waist, thus putting us in a piggyback ride situation.
Though she isn’t large, I still find myself struggling against the ache in my muscles caused by the embarrassing scene from earlier. If I am lucky, no one will bring it up or make fun of me for the incident.
My footsteps are heavy as I carry Vincent’s sister down the stairs and into the dining room, following her directions. As soon as I cross the threshold of the room, I hear Vincent voice his protest at his sister’s antics, telling her, from what I understand, to get off my back — literally — because she immediately pouts and slides to the ground.
“You are no fun,” she sticks her tongue out at Vincent. He returns her gesture, and Gaia, Paola, and I catch sight of the vulgar words across his tongue piercing.
My chest pounds, wondering exactly why he is wearing that particular piece of jewelry, but his mother gasps loud enough to startle me. She starts rattling something off in Italian that sounds very much like a tongue-lashing, waving her hands in the air emphatically at him.
Completely at a loss for understanding any of the words, I shake my head with a small smile and take my place beside Dante and Vincent’s open chairs. We’re eating dinner inside, which is just as nice as lunch. Even though there isn’t a springtime sun angling down on us, the room is lit well by a large chandelier casting a soft golden glow across the long dining table. Everyone already at the table is in the same spots as lunch, so I assume I will be sitting beside Vincent again.
I will not be complaining about that.
Spread across the table is an array of different pizzas, a large lasagna, and a deep bowl full of delicious-looking soup. I wonder if Vincent helped cook any of this, and can’t wait to try it if he did. His mother may have taught him her ways in the kitchen, but lunch today could only partially compare to the dinners Vincent and I share back in his apartment in New York.
As I sit, Paola continues to scold Vincent near the doorway, but Gaia takes her seat, looking at the bowl set at her place with hunger-filled eyes.
“How are you feeling,” Jackson asks after getting my attention.
I try not to let a blush creep across my face at his question. “Good, thanks. How was the walk earlier?”
“It was so beautiful,” he practically gushes. “We saw the local market, and took a city bus to all of those famous buildings and fountains, just like in the movies. I’m thinking of taking a vacation here just to experience more of the city.”
Paola finally takes her place with Vincent beside her. “Well, you are certainly welcome to stay here whenever you want,” she offers to Jackson. “Is everyone hungry?”
A chorus of affirmatives rumble through the guests, and Paola kicks off dinner by handing Vincent a large ladle for the soup. One by one, each person passes their empty bowls down for him to fill up and return. At the same time, Gaia starts slicing the lasagna and offering a piece to everyone. The pizzas get passed around as well. Although they look delicious, I decline as there are some particulars I have with homemade pizza that always put me on edge.
One bite of the chicken and gnocchi soup is all it takes for an appreciative moan to rumble in my chest. A few others mimic my action, but none of the noises get a heated look quite like the one Vincent gives me.
Vincent takes his seat again after having served everyone, pressing his thigh against mine in the way that we do.
The dinner table conversation revolves a lot around the Bernardi siblings and their childhood, talking about grades when they were in school and friend circles and the wedding rather than embarrassing stories this time.
Gaia scoops a bit of what I assume is her vegan soup into her mouth before directing her next words at Vincent. She speaks with half-chewed gnocchi visible behind her teeth, and it reminds me so much of Vincent, I find myself smiling softly. “Enzo, are you excited to see Luca on Saturday?”
My ears pick up at Gaia’s words, though, interested in whomever she is talking about.
Beside me, Vincent stiffens almost imperceptibly but covers the action with a shrug. “Sure. I’m excited to catch up with all of our family and friends.” His tone is nonchalant, and so is the way he spoons another bite of soup into his mouth.
I have spent every waking hour with this man for almost a month now, and I know he is not relaxed. Gaia’s question struck a chord in him, though I can’t quite tell what cord it is until his sister keeps talking.
“We all think you and Luca are cute together. You two have so much history. Don’t you think there are some unresolved feelings there?” Gaia is giving him suggestive looks, waggling her eyebrows a bit like she is having uncontrollable twitches.
“We haven’t been together in years,” Vincent snaps just a little too quickly before taking a second to regain his composure. “Luca and I have spoken a lot since then. We’ve both agreed it’s for the best we don’t attempt to rekindle what we had, and there are no hard feelings between us.”
Gaia snorts. “There might be something hard between you two,” she mumbles under her breath while pushing soup around with her spoon.
That hits me like a ton of bricks, and I realize that is why Vincent tensed beside me at her comment. He and I are . . . whatever we are, and here Gaia is talking about an ex of his who is, apparently, still a friend and coming to the wedding this weekend.
Not awkward at all.
I try to convince myself this situation isn’t tense or awkward because why should it be? Vincent just said anything between them is long over, and he and I aren’t even . . . Ugh, I really need to get my shit together.
Am I in a relationship with Vincent? Do I want to be? Does he want to be with me?
These past few weeks — even with our arguing — have been an exciting new adventure for me. New roommate, new people, new friendships. Vincent and I may have our differences, but our friendship has grown just as close as my friendships with Adam, Jackson, and Phoenix. In some ways, we are even closer — and not just physically. He knows just how I have to handle my OCD, how I like my shower items set up, and even my little quirks. Lunchtime with him in my office is the highlight of my workday, and cooking dinner with him is what I look forward to every evening. These last few days, he and I have been sleeping beside each other, too. It’s to the point where any moment in my day without Vincent is strange. To my OCD, not having Vincent beside me is like not getting to push the buttons on an elevator, or count my steps between rooms — unbearable.
On the other hand, how do I know I’m not just mistaking a really good friendship for something more simply because I am aware of Vincent’s sexuality? It is entirely possible I’m misinterpreting my own feelings. I’ve never liked men in the past.
I have to correct my thoughts because they aren’t entirely true. There was one night in my high school football locker room where a teammate and I explored each other passionately and without inhibitions, but that was almost ten years ago, and I haven’t had any feelings or encounters like that with a man since. Could I have been closeted this whole time? How is that even possible? I always thought the locker room was a one-off, but maybe I haven’t let myself see another guy in that way because of everything that happened after.
Now, I’m having vivid dreams of Vincent and me in very compromising positions . . .
I really, really need to get my shit together.
“Are you choking again?” Phoenix reaches around Dante to nudge my shoulder, and I look up from my plate to see everyone at the table staring at me curiously.
I clear my throat, gulping nervously. “What? No. Did I miss something?”
Jackson snorts. “Yeah, Gaia was asking about your girlfriend. I didn’t know you were back with that . . .” He looks at Paola before editing his words. “Witch.”
“I’m not,” I retort defensively.
Gaia ‘ooh’s like she’s discovered a new wonder of the world, and I soon realize it is because she found gossip. “So who gave you the succhiotto? Enzo, help me with the translation.”
Amused dark eyes finally turn to face me, a smirk playing on his lips. “She is talking about a hickey,” he translates, though he doesn’t need to. The word is pretty obvious.
Immediately, I feel my face flush dark in embarrassment. I didn’t think Gaia would bring it up in front of their entire family and guests. What am I supposed to say? “It wasn’t Ashlynn,” I inform Jackson, but that is all I offer.
Jackson doesn’t seem suspicious of anything. In fact, he gives a wicked grin and raises one hand over the table toward me for a high five. Realizing this is the way I would act if another woman had been the one to give me the hickey, I reinstate my confidence and give him a smirk while returning his high five.
Why am I so embarrassed? I’m never embarrassed when it comes to women. Would I always feel this way regarding anything intimate between Vincent and me?
