Wicked Fame: A mafia stalker romance (Wicked Men Book 2)
Wicked Fame: Chapter 17

“Can I ask you for a favor?” Gabriele sandwiches my hand between his broad palms as our plane is about to land in Italy. His voice coaxes tender feelings buried under my skin to the surface. “While we’re in Italy, don’t think about your art. That includes your thesis exhibition, commission, and the paintings you still haven’t finished.”

“Including the one I need to deliver to you to repay my debt?”

“You can’t paint here and you can figure all of that out later. This is supposed to be a break. A retreat to get away from everything.”

My lips open with a huge sigh. “You can’t tell what I’m thinking about anyway.”

“I’ll know.”

I end up agreeing to it because I want to do everything to make Gabriele feel comfortable on this trip. He was shocked when I sashayed up to him at the VIP lounge in the airport. His knees gave out and he had to grab onto his luggage to stay upright.

“I was expecting you to be nursing a hangover at home.” His sarcasm was as sharp as ever.

“I am cutting back on my alcohol intake,” I retorted. “Plus, I keep my promises.”

We arrived in Italy in the evening and on our first day, we spent all day basking in every luxury amenity the hotel I booked us had to offer. The best Michelin-star dinner. The most relaxing spa experience. A luxurious night of lovemaking with Gabriele eating grapes and honey off my body.

Today morning, we skipped breakfast and started exploring the city of Como, which is on the southern tip of the famous Lake Como in northern Italy. I chose to come here because exploring Lake Como seemed like a relaxing weekend plan. I don’t want to wrestle with the crowds in cities like Rome and Milan on our very first trip since my secret agenda is to spend loads of intimate time with Gabriele.

So far, so good. I’ve been too absorbed by living in the moment to renege on my promise to not think of art.

Time moves at a different pace in a small town like Como which has a very old-world European vibe. Luxurious and expensive villas flicker in and out of my vision, replaced by brilliant blue waters, and cozy streets lined with orange and yellow houses line both sides. I know the pathways like the back of my hand because I’ve visited Como many times as a kid with Mom and Elliot.

My memories of throwing tantrums for gelato, of Elliot threatening me to behave myself or he’d give me away to child traffickers, Mom’s sharp voice scolding him for making me cry. Ethan never vacationed with us because he was always busy with work and him being here would’ve made things awkward for my mother. She was the reason Dad divorced Ethan’s mom.

Still, those are some of my happiest childhood days.

Gabriele mumbles periodically. Mostly, he’s looking around like a kid in wonderland, so taken in by the beauty of this place that sometimes, he forgets to keep walking, instead standing in one spot and staring at the picturesque city in front of him.

Given that we avoided the tourist season, the streets are blissfully empty and cozy.

“Isn’t this place…unreal?” he mouths after we’ve strolled the historic center of Como and are wandering along the promenade.

He hasn’t let go of my hand at all. He moves over to the other side, protectively shielding me from people and traffic, even though there isn’t any traffic here.

The promenade that runs along the lake is home to some fabulous restaurants and sights. Gabriele and I glance at the tranquil waters of Lake Como. It’s the third-largest lake in Italy, a perennial hotspot for the world’s richest.

“Have you never seen sunshine and water before?” I tease him.

He’s so lost in the world around him, he doesn’t respond for minutes. My throat contracts.

This is a side of Gabriele I’ve never had the privilege of viewing. It’s so pure, so childlike, that I want to bottle it up and hug it close to my chest.

He is intense, raw, and animalistic when we’re having sex. That’s why it has been a blessing to witness this softer, more human side of him during our recent getaways together, both in Woodstock and now in Como. When his rough mask chips off and his gentle face peeks through the cracks.

It’s also a curse to see this aspect of his character because now I can’t go on pretending what we have is only sexual.

His sweet gestures tug at my heartstrings. His awestruck expressions make my stomach somersault. His sincere words and his quiet smiles make every moment of my hellish existence worth it.

I’m so glad I did this for him. I’m so glad I’m trying to quit—even though I packed Valium and Ambien to make sure I have something if anxiety creeps up on me. Coke is too risky to bring to a foreign country. I don’t want to get arrested at the border.

“I’m getting hungry,” I complain, checking out the restaurants on the promenade. Most of them have outdoor seating and I’d love to have a nice, slow meal right now with the sun warming my skin. Early April in New York can be pretty cold, but here, Mediterranean sunshine pours down on my skin.

We skipped breakfast at the hotel and after trekking all over Como non-stop, my legs are aching. I grab his arm and pull him into a ristorante that I visited in the past with Mom and Elliot and it’s still in business.

Gabriele leans back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. He’s the stereotypical image of a tourist in his light-colored pants and casual white linen shirt. None of the onlookers whose curious eyes periodically catch on him could guess he works in organized crime.

“I must say, a sexy tan and casual clothes make you look hot.” I bat my eyelashes at him appreciatively.

“Are you flirting with me, Francesca?”

“If you’ve noticed, then it must be working.”

My throat is dry even after I’ve gulped down an Aperol spritz. Nervousness churns in my empty stomach. My hand replaces his skin, desperately clinging to its warmth and comfort.

“Don’t tempt me or you’ll be lying on your back on this table in no time,” Gabriele threatens, though his voice is full of humor.

I tighten my fingers around his hand. “I’m down for that.”

“That’s sweet, but I try not to ruin nice girls like you in public.” He produces a lighter from his pocket and flicks it, until the flame’s reflection dances inside his pupils. Gabriele doesn’t smoke, but I’m afraid to ask what he uses that lighter for. “You come from a good family, yes? Let’s spare your parents the shock.”

“My dad’s in jail and my mom’s depressed. One of my brothers was just acquitted and the other one is deep in debt,” I say flatly. “Is that your definition of a good family?”

“Damn it.” His nail scratches against the lighter. “For a second, I forgot that your family is just as fucked up as you. You look like the poster child for a well-bred, upper-crust debutante.”

I snort. “You wish.”

The breeze intensifies, lifting the hem of my dress. I don’t bother to press down on the fabric. Torturing Gabriele with a peek at my lacy panties is a much more attractive prospect than modesty.

Until he comes over and tucks the loose folds of my dress under my butt. His stubble brushes the shell of my ear as he whispers, “I hate other people seeing what’s mine. Do you want me to kill every man who laid his eyes on you?”

Chills roll down my arms. Why is it so arousing to be reminded that I’m his? To be reminded of the violent power he wields over other people as well as my body.

“Then you’ll behave,” he finishes, pressing a possessive kiss into my cheek.

My blood temperature is soaring after his subtle display of power. I curve my head so his lips line up with mine. Then I sink into their roughness, the unique taste of the criminal that I’ve grown to love and need more than my friends or family.

This can’t last.

He’s only in it for the sex.

He’s going to get married someday soon and leave you.

Nobody wants you.

You’re worthless, both as an artist and as a woman.

Fears gain a chokehold on my throat so fast, the kiss doesn’t even register. Before I can push the words away, Gabriele’s head is lifting away from mine. It feels like losing a limb.

For the first time, desperately crave to be loved and cherished by Gabriele. His body alone isn’t enough. I want him to see me as more than a skilled sex partner, to see me as a part of his soul because he’s definitely become a part of mine.

“Would you really murder someone for me?” I ask, rubbing my chest to calm my anxious heartbeat.

Gabriele cups my face with one big hand. “If they laid a hand on you, hurt you, or dishonored you? You can bet I’d do more than murder them.”

“Dishonor? That sounds archaic.”

He shrugs, with no remorse. “What would you call it then?”

“Sexual assault.”

“Too technical. Also, I’m not going to wait around till they actually assault you.”

The unkind monologue inside my brain dissolves. I must mean something to him if he wants to protect me. That is going to have to be enough for me. I don’t have the right to be greedy. Because why would he choose me?

I’m a distorted mess of a human being with no willpower. Even at this moment, my fingers are sinking into my purse, trying to uncap the bottle with the pills. Hoping to slip one quietly while Gabriele’s distracted by the lake.

My scheme is interrupted by the waiter arriving with our order. The familiar aroma of the food I ate as a child with my mother and brother distracts me. Nostalgia clouds my senses as I chew the first bit of duck.

The version of me from the past dances before my eyes.

I wasn’t always like this. I used to be happy. Normal. Different.

I can still be like that, can’t I?

“Do you like the food?” I inquire, seeing how passionately Gabriele is enjoying his meal. Italy is bringing out the hedonist in him, the man who loves to live and enjoy every moment of life. Also, he must have been hungrier than he let on.

“Thank you for this, Francesca.” Gabriele crosses his legs. The breeze has disappeared as if bending to his will. “Just sitting by the lake makes me feel complete.”

“I never thought you’d be the type to exaggerate.”

Gabriele shakes his head, hooking a finger under the collar of his shirt.

“I’m not. I feel a deep sense of connection to this place even though this is my first visit. It’s hard to describe. Do you know the feeling of replaceing the last piece of a puzzle and then seeing the whole picture for the first time? Realizing it’s so much more beautiful than you imagined?” He rubs his shoulder, going quiet for a moment as his gaze trails off to the distant horizon. “It might sound ridiculous, but it makes me so happy to know that my ancestors lived in such a beautiful place. That they walked these streets before me. That their echoes still linger between the branches of these trees and the sparkling waters. That I, too, have roots somewhere in the world.”

“New York doesn’t feel like home?”

He shakes his head. “Never has. It’s too unfriendly. The city will chew me and spit me out if I stop hustling. There’s no hustle in Como. Just relaxation.”

“That’s because you’re a tourist.”

“Even the locals look like they’re enjoying themselves. The pace of life is just different. People are way more focused on the simple joys of life—good food, nature, dolce vita.”

Dolce Vita. The Italian term for a sweet life. A life of living in the moment and savoring every moment like it’s a sweet bite of a juicy peach.

“Don’t tell me you want to move here.”

Gabriele’s lips squeeze in a half-smile. “If I could. But I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I have a job. A family back in New York.”

“A family that doesn’t feel like family,” I surmise.

Gabriele’s features thicken with chagrin. This must be the worry that keeps him up, that makes him brooding and surly when he’s alone. He doesn’t like the world he’s living in. Judging from how he described his boss as cold and empty in Woodstock, they must not get along. It sucks to have a mean boss, but it must suck doubly when he also happens to be your sworn brother.

“You can quit,” I suggest.

“You can’t just quit the mafia, Francesca. They have to kick you out.”

“Then get kicked out.”

“They’ll kill me if I betray them.”

“Is there no other way to get sacked? In a regular job, all it takes is to have poor work performance.”

“If I break my leg and become useless…” He shakes his head. “No, I’ve been with them too long. Angelo wouldn’t abandon me. I’d probably get assigned to manage money at the casino.”

I dig my elbows onto the tablecloth-covered surface of the table. “It’s a soul-sucking prison with no escape, isn’t it?”

Gabriele releases a noise between his teeth. “Most Americans would describe their job the same way.”

“Except my brother Ethan. He thrives on being a CEO. A born control freak who works all day.”

“Some people are just lucky.”

“Or different.”

Gabriele’s dark eyes look light brown in the sunlight but his pupils are wide in a silent question. “You never talk about your other brother.”

“Elliot? We lived in the same house but rarely saw each other. He’s always partying in Ibiza, Florida, or somewhere. He works at a venture capital company now. He says he likes his job—and his boss.” I slap my hand to my wet, Aperol spritz-smeared lips. “It’s dawning on me that both my brothers love their jobs.”

“You love art, too.”

“Yeah, but I’m scared I won’t have a career as an artist by the time I graduate.”

Gabriele’s hand comes down roughly over mine on the table. “No thinking about art or your future. You promised me.”

His strength shakes away the fears growing like cobwebs around my head. There’s no point obsessing over something I can’t control. I’ll have enough time to lament over my hopeless career once I’m back in Brooklyn.

“Sure. I’m a good girl who always keeps her word.” My statement is half-teasing and half-seductive. If he’s smart, he’ll figure out I’m giving him ideas for later.

We dig into our food again, to finish the last of the scraps. I’ve noticed Gabriele relishes eating. He probably food is sacred. He looks so happy when he eats like he’s deriving pleasure from every morsel of food.

Once again, I’m convinced that someone who respects food as much as he would make a great chef.

Too bad he’s only ever going to be a mafioso.

With lunch complete and a small food bump in our bellies, we stroll back down the promenade.

Gabriele’s hand shoots to my wrist. He captures it, tugging me back.

“I got this for you.” He nudges a long cardboard case in my direction. “It’s a souvenir I got at one of the shops during our walk. I want you to remember that we came here.”

I’m fascinated by his new moods, and by how much his tenderness toward me has grown since we spent time together in Woodstock. I want to keep this version of him forever.

He’s only in it for the sex.

He’s going to get married someday soon and leave you.

Nobody wants you.

As I lift the lid of the box, the voices echo louder. Inside the box is a silk scarf with colorful patterns. I know local silk is a specialty of this region. Mom also often bought these for her friends.

“I’ve never bought anything like this for someone, so I don’t know if it’s any good,” Gabriele says.

My throat is thick with a foreign lump.

I’ve never bought anything like this for someone, so I don’t know if it’s any good.

I’m special to him. The thought tickles my dead heart.

Now I realize why all the well-bred rich boyfriends before never satisfied me. I don’t need fancy dinners, flowers, and luxury handbags. I can buy those on my own. What I need is someone who makes me feel special, seen, and valued. Someone who takes the time to understand my little pleasures and great challenges.

Gabriele clears his throat. “Are you speechless because you like it or because you’re wondering how to get rid of this ugly thing?”

“I love it. Put it on me.”

He drapes it around my neck but doesn’t tie it.

I twirl around. “How do I look?”

“Perfect.”

I feel perfect, too.

“You’re not the only one with a gift.” I loop my arm around his. “I have one more surprise for you.”

“A fucking boat?” Gabriele’s expression is priceless as he stares at my father’s white motorboat.

“Hey, I’m rich. Or at least my brother is.”

A uniform line of white boats and yachts lines the harbor of Portofino. Portofino is a fishing village on the Italian Riviera. It’s a favored holiday spot for jet-setting models and other rich and influential people. It doesn’t have direct commute links to Como, so we had a bit of a thorny path getting here. It took almost four hours, to change trains and buses.

I’ve been here many times with Mom, Dad, and Elliot.

I usher Gabriele onto the boat. It’s not very big. Neither is it difficult to drive. I have lots of experience from when I was younger.

As I turn the keys and the motor whirs, propelling the boat into the clear blue waters, Gabriele’s mouth is frozen in an O.

“Sit back and enjoy the ride,” I tell him. “We’ll be cruising around Portofino’s protected marine area. We can stop anytime you want.”

Gabriele’s up close and personal with my face by the time I’ve swerved the boat to avoid collision with another one’s path.

“You’re supposed to look at the water, not me,” I remind him. “There are coral reefs here. And loads of fish and other diverse creatures.”

“I wouldn’t miss the sight of you captaining a boat for anything.” The crinkle of his eyes and the affection in his voice is just like Dad’s.

Dad did horrible things to Ethan and other people and for that, I can never forgive him. But he was a great father to me. He cherished me.

“Your mind is wandering, Heiress,” Gabriele notes, too sharp to let anything slip past his eagle eyes.

“Don’t be creeped out but you reminded me a little of my dad just now. I still miss him sometimes.”

Gabriele throws his arm around my shoulder, startling me. The boat jerks to the right. “You must have a thing for criminals.”

“Not funny.”

“I wasn’t making a joke. I was making an observation.”

“That I like men with a dark side?”

Gabriele quirks a brow. “Because they feed your dark side.”

I want to dismiss it outright, but that could be true.

“Before you, I didn’t believe I could have such extreme tastes in sex,” I confess. “If my ex-boyfriend had suggested holding a knife to my throat, I’d have called the cops.”

“Takes the right man to make it sexy.” He beams a smile at me. My heart melts into a puddle right away. He’s sexy alright.

Gabriele’s teeth look whiter against his newly tan skin. He’s enjoying this weekend break way too much.

Eventually, I manage to get him to focus on the purpose of this boat ride—the pristine panorama that surrounds us. The rugged cliffs overlooking Area Marina Protetta di Portofino. The sparkling blue waters.

We live in a concrete jungle. It’s a luxury to experience this intimate connection with nature.

Gabriele doesn’t need much incentive before he starts acting like a typical tourist and taking pictures. He even takes a selfie with me. I’m going to have to beg him for weeks to send it to me, though.

“I saw a fish that had a jawline like yours,” he teases, pointing to an ugly fish with a jaw shaped like a brick.

“You need to get your eyes checked.”

“Don’t blame me because your plastic surgeon fucked up.”

“I have never gotten plastic surgery.”

“Those lips can’t be real.”

“They are very real.” To prove my point, I kiss him. A long, sun-soaked kiss that tastes like us.

That shuts him up for good.

In an hour, we have covered almost the entire marine area, so I bring the boat back to the pier.

“That was something special,” Gabriele admits as we walk back along the promenade to our hotel. He has often been lost for words during this trip. It’s a sign that I’m doing a great job of providing him with memorable experiences that cannot be described using his limited vocabulary. “Thank you.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet.” I soften when his hand covers mine.

With the sun on my face and Gabriele’s fingers nestled in mine, the world is an idyllic place where my demons seem destined to wither and die.

Back in our hotel room, he immediately pushes me against the door. His lips break mine with a rough kiss, all sharp teeth and needy tongue. I whimper into him, luxuriating in the mindless, effortless nature of our physical connection.

My brain’s beginning to twist into those unwanted alleys of ‘you’re wasting time here instead of focusing on your thesis’, so I welcome the distraction.

For these two days, I’ve decided to forget about art and focus on making this the best trip of Gabriele’s life. I swear, it has been the biggest relief to stop thinking about painting. A burden lifted off my shoulder.

My nipples bead into hard dots as I press my ass against his hard cock. Our bodies move in unison. My panties stick to the wet flesh between my legs, wanting his fingers to rip off the useless fabric.

He can tell the state of my pussy without even touching it.

“Am I going to replace you dripping for me?” he questions, lifting my skirt. His thumb rubs my clit through the fabric and he gets his answer.

“Please,” I beg. “Take me.”

With one touch, I’m soaring. My body chases the rapture of merging with him. My head swims, unable to keep up with all the euphoria spinning around my bloodstream.

He rips away my panties, shifting my body to line up with his hard dick that he just freed from his pants. His hips move fast; he pounds into me hard. It’s primal, raw sex, as liberating as it is fulfilling.

My eyes burn with tears as waves of my climax gather in my stomach.

“Don’t you wish this could last forever?” I whisper between ragged exhales.

Galaxies spin in front of my eyes. The greatest and most pleasurable mysteries of the universe are all waiting to explode inside my body. I’m at the edge.

Then the boundaries dissolve and the stars break into thousand pieces right before my eyes, releasing their heat into my body.

Gabriele hiccups a laugh in my ear. “There’s no forever for you and me. But we have this moment and I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

My entire universe, stars, blah, blah, blah vision of rapture crashes instantly at Gabriele’s cold pronouncement. It’s always the truth that destroys my illusions.

The uncomfortable, itchy pattern of thoughts inside my head starts up again.

This can’t last.

He’s going to get married.

Nobody wants you.

Walking all day must have taken it out of Gabriele, so he dozes off as soon as his head hits the pillow. I attempt to read a novel that Ella bought for me last year. I packed it for this trip.

But there’s no way a slow literary book is going to keep my thoughts away from the pills in my purse.

I scratch my elbows, attempting to control my urges.

I made a resolution to quit drugs. My limit was that I’d stop when it started to endanger my normal life and routine. I only started two months ago and I only took it once or twice a week when I need to paint. I’m not like one of those druggies who don’t even know how bad their case is.

But I hate feeling scared. I detest feeling like I’m losing everything I loved. Gabriele is slipping through my fingers. I feel it. We’re getting closer, but at the same time, there’s a whole host of new fears in my mind that weren’t there before.

I’m growing deeply attached to Gabriele, to his sweet gestures, and to the way he makes me feel desired, needed, and beautiful. But with every little happiness he bestows upon me, I become greedier. Regardless of how much he gives me, I want more. My hunger never dies.

There’s no forever for you and me.

Quietly, I seize my purse, slip the pills under my tongue, washing them down with cool bottled water. It’s the knight in shining armor I need. My cloudy mind drinks the ecstasy.

I’ve pushed away the discomfort for now.

But even when I’m swimming in artificial tranquility, I know the darkness will somehow replace its way back to me.