22
1125 Words
The next day I came to with a splitting headache. Polishing off half a bottle of scotch on my own had not been my brightest idea ever. It had seemed necessary at the time to dilute my thoughts. Now, I wasn’t so sure. I’d slept half the day and felt like s**t for more than one reason. Images of the mark I’d left on Camilla haunted my dreams. It was my responsibility to see to her pleasure and to care for her when the pleasure involved pain. Never in all my years at the club had I ever been so callous to a woman as I’d been when I up and left Camilla. Shame was a heavy boulder on my chest, the constant pressure a reminder that I needed to fix what I’d done. I rolled out of bed and showered the scotch from my saturated pores. As the scalding water cleansed my body, I thought about my father. In his prime, he’d been a fierce enforcer for the Gallo family. A legend of loyalty and brutality. He’d been a good father—though tough on us boys—who prized honor and courage above almost everything. I’d strived my whole life to live up to his legacy, but I also witnessed the way my mother’s death had destroyed him. Destroyed our entire family. I had pledged I wouldn’t allow myself to fall victim to that weakness. The lives we led were dangerous, and bringing a woman into the mix was asking for misery. Between that promise and my need to maintain control of my life, having a wife never made sense. How could I be adamantly against something yet cling to it with such ferocity? I never wanted to end up losing the love of my life like my father. Yet what kind of man would I be to ignore how I’d treated Camilla? I had to go check on her and give her some semblance of an explanation. My sense of duty demanded it, but there was more. I had to go because I wanted to. Because I felt guilty about what I’d done. Because I cared about her feelings. Hell, I’d been staking out her apartment like a total creeper. I told myself I was keeping her safe from the cartel and her own brashness, but there was more to it. I wanted to know her patterns. See where she went and who she talked to. Motherfucker. I was in far deeper than I wanted to admit, and it didn’t change a damn thing. Less than an hour later, I was knocking on her door. Her surprise at my visit quickly morphed to wariness. I hated that—despised that my behavior could make her feel uncomfortable in any way. “Can I come in?” She widened the door and stepped back. I was surprised to discover her place was almost as orderly as mine. In my experience, women’s apartments were often canvassed with clothes, papers, and all sorts of miscellaneous debris scattered everywhere. Camilla’s tabletops were barren save for a single vase of pink roses. “I hope I’m not interrupting. I needed to make sure you were okay. I should never have left you like that last night.” I drew closer and lifted her hair from her neck, grimacing at the sight. Purple smudges marred her delicate skin where my teeth had been. It served as a reminder of my primal response to her. How could something that tempted me to a point of madness also be the source of such torment? “It’s really not that bad,” she murmured. I lifted her gaze from my chest. “If anyone else had been so rough with you, I would have killed them.” “Is that why you left so quickly?” “That was a part of it.” I had to avert my gaze. We were touching on uncomfortable territory. “What was the other reason?” I sighed, trying to keep my irritation at bay. It wasn’t her question that bothered me. I was frustrated at myself for being messed up. For freaking out and having no control over myself. Camilla wasn’t going to judge me, I didn’t think, but admitting I didn’t want to want her felt shitty. I pulled out a jar of salve from my jacket pocket and swiped some to rub on her wound. “You’re just more than I expected,” I offered softly. “More?” “I like things a certain way in life, and when something threatens to change those things, it throws me off.” I wanted to explain further, but I also didn’t want to hurt her. “Oh.” Sadness saturated her voice. I slipped the jar back into my pocket and wiped my fingers on my jeans before clasping her face in my hands. “Sometimes change, no matter how disorienting, can be good. Yeah?” At least, that was what I tried telling myself. I’d spent so many years refusing to consider love or marriage that altering that mindset, no matter how deeply I craved Camilla, was still a struggle. “Be patient with me, little warrior. Not everyone is as brave as you are.” The air around us flickered and flamed with an electric attraction. She angled her chin ever so slightly toward me, sensing this was the perfect moment for a kiss, but I couldn’t. I didn’t kiss the women I was with. Ever. It was too intimate. And while she was different from the rest, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Like a line in the sand, allowing such intimacy would be the ultimate surrender, and I wasn’t ready for that. I dropped my hands and allowed an ocean of unsaid words to filter between us. “I have to get going, but I’ll be in touch.” She nodded, a lopsided smile assuring me she hadn’t given up on me. My heart thudded like an angry bass drum as I left her apartment, but the beat had rhythm. No thundering chaos. Maybe I could find a way to push past the anxiety and keep her without hurting us both in the process. I wasn’t giving her up, so we’d know soon enough. Either I’d find a way to live with her in my life, or I’d shred every ounce of my sanity trying. The moment I stepped onto the sidewalk outside her building, my phone began to vibrate. Matteo was calling. I expected it to be yet another errand, but his clipped tone had me immediately on alert. “I need you here. We’ve got a big problem.” “Be there in ten.”
- Writer
